Tuesday, March 20, 2007

HG Wells Hit

I have come to a decision.

I like what Stephen Spielberg did to War of the Worlds.

I realize that comment alone could get me lynched, but I plan to back it up with fact. My previous opinion, which was polar opposite, was formed having never in fact read the original novel. I simply listened to the opinion of my brother, my father, and I agreed wholeheartedly with them.

I should not have.

The primary point of contention around everyone's dislike of the adaptation is the fact that in the movie, the tripods were already deposited in the Earth, under its crust and only the aliens were delivered via some kind of energy tube.

Well, having now read that particular scene in the book, I can quite honestly say there is nothing in the book to contradict that interpretation. The cylinder that deposited the aliens in the original novel is described as having a diameter of approximately 30 yards, which calculates to 90 feet in diameter. Length is not described but if we assume that the cylinder is as long as it is wide we're looking at a total volume for the cylinder of approximately 500,000 cubic feet. That sounds like a massive number? It's about twice as big as big in terms of sheer volume as our space shuttle at 250,000 cubic feet.

I grant you that means these cylinders were very large, but were they large enough to carry enough equipment and materials to construct three TITANIC tripods, as well as the nine martian pilots, their life support equipment and supplies? These cylinders would also have to be extremely well armoured to withstand both atmospheric re-entry and impact with the earth's surface at extremely high velocities, so much of that cubic volume would be taken up purely by the shell of the cylinder itself. Remember as well that the tripods based on HG Wells description seem to have an organic component as well, which would probably require care and tending and special facilities inside the cylinder. Fuel would not have been an issue since Wells describes the cylinders as having been shot as though from a gun.

HG Wells never describes the actual construction of a tripod, never goes into distinct details about how it is assembled, what type of equipment is used to put it together, or where the parts come from. It is entirely likely that all the cylinders were for is transport of the pilots to very specific landing points, where equipment to build the tripods had been readied long in advance, and that upon arrival all that was necessary for the pilots to do was to dig out the materials and assemble them using what few tools it was necessary to carry onboard the cylinder.

So in my personal opinion Stephen Spielberg simply took this possibility and went one small step further with it, and I agree with his interpretation. I've been able to reassess the movie based on reading the book and I truly think Spielberg was as honest to the book as anyone could like while still putting in his own particular creative flare.

Disagree with me if you like, but read the book before you do.

Monday, March 19, 2007

Are We Crazy?

Well, having overcome the emotional tragedy and heartbreak of losing our first pet, Bun Bun, D and I thought and thought and finally decided that yes, we would get another pet. Our reasoning was mainly that we missed Bun Bun, and I think to honour her memory having another pet will constantly remind us of her, in a good way.

We once again decided on rabbits. Yes, the plural of rabbit. We are now the owners of two dwarf rabbits we obtained from the humane society, only 2 1/2 months old. They are brothers, and they came with very silly names, so we changed them.
The names they came with were Coal and Sweetpea. What kind of names are those? We have redubbed them Thelonious and Polonius. We call them Theo and Polo for short.

At this point we have yet to get a real feel for their personalities but as far as I've been able to deduce, Polo appears to be the more affectionate one, whereas Theo is more playful. Apparently Theo also likes to engage in a bit of incestual sodomy every once in a while, but we'll fix that maybe later this week or possibly next. Theo is a very dark black, while Polo has a brownish tinge to his fur. They enjoy grooming each other, and seem especially bent on cleaning each other's eyes. Both of them absolutely adore being pet, although Polo gets a lot flatter to enjoy it than Theo does.

We haven't really had them out of the cage for run arounds yet because we're still letting them adapt to their new environment. Since they're smaller rabbits as well we're going to have to keep a closer eye on them around places like the back of the fridge or stove to make sure they don't squeeze in and get trapped or find some wire to chew on and get zapped. Once D has finished her dining room table (HINT) I plan to use the vapour barrier she's protecting the finish with and seal up all the little hidey holes where they could inadvertently (that may be spelled incorrectly) kill themselves.

They seem to have a very strange fascination with paper towels. I was cleaning up something in their cage and couldn't finish because both rabbits were attached by very strong jaws to the paper towel I was using.

We'll have to find out if paper towels are bad for their digestion and if not, give them a supply to play with.

So far both rabbits are healthy and happy and seem to enjoy their new digs. I have yet to be thumped at, but that may be only because I've yet to bother them enough to warrant a thump. Time will tell, however.

I'm really hoping we have these two for quite a while. I quite like the burgeoning personalities I see in both rabbits and look forward to getting to know them over a period of years. But, since they are rabbits, I suppose I do have to accept the reality that they are fragile, and not very well designed from an individual survivability standpoint, so I'm trying to steel myself against potential tragedy. Still, they're brothers, and they seem to be looking out for each other so far. Perhaps they'll keep each other out of trouble.

We'll put pictures up soon.

Oh, and even though we haven't tested it yet, we're pretty sure both will fit in the crock pot simultaneously.

Saturday, March 3, 2007

Swing Low

I'll be brief.
Bun Bun, for reasons yet unknown, is dead. She was a beautiful rabbit. I loved her, and D loved her. It's hard to find a pet as perfect as she was.
Cherish yours.

Friday, March 2, 2007

Retraction

Okay, just in case everyone didn't read my response to the previous post, I would like to be very clear about a few things.

I will never criticise any of my friends on this blog, either in subtext or overtly, and if something in one of my comments makes you feel like I have, I apologize in advance and if necessary, I will DELETE the offending post.

I love all my friends openly and completely, every fibre of each and every one of you is important to me and all of you are JUST as important to me as every other. None of you are better to me than any other, all of you are equal in my heart and mind, merely different in many wonderful ways.

While I will play the devil's advocate I will never play it in order to deride someone, or put someone down. As you may have seen previously when I play the devil's advocate I make sure that all fire and venom I might incite gets aimed squarely at me, and I make no effort to spread that around to others.

Finally, my blog is about posing entertaining questions, provocative if possible, and telling funny stories. I'm not using this as a soapbox for harsh thoughts and feelings towards anyone except for perhaps nebulous public organizations and the occasional stranger who may have incited my wrath. It will never be a place I come to be negative about my friends or family.

If my previous post was offensive to anyone, that was unintentional, as I was engaging in idle speculation.

Ooh! Look! Something on the ground I can read! La...tex... con...dom. I'd sure like to live in one of those!

EDIT: The previous post was deleted.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

No More TOdyssey and a Query on Netspeak

Okay, so I've decided to leave the third day of the TOdyssey up to your imaginations. Okay, I'll tell you something. We went home. There were hugs and puppies. She cried, then I cried, then Melany laughed... she's such a little trooper!
I've recently been thinking about language, possibly because of Melany talking about *shudder* irregardless and how some fringe radical groups have decided to use powerful lobbying tactics to have it added to the English language, and it's possibly because I've been spending so much time on *Gasp!* WoW lately. REGARDLESS (Do you see what I did there?) I've been wondering when certain elements of our online vocabulary are going to make their way into common speech.
I've actually found myself debating whether to laugh at someone, or say LOL to them, depending on the actual hilarity of the situation or their statement. An actual laugh is an honest expession of amusement, whereas LOL is a sort of noncommittal, "Yeah, I kinda chuckled, at least internally, so I'll throw you a bone." word, or at least it is in my mind, but there are circumstances where I actually have to fight the urge to SAY LOL to someone. My friend and D's friend Tim uses LOL as a sarcastic way of making fun of someone's attempt at humour, but he uses it in actual speech!
What about other expressions. There are a number of online acronyms and words that might translate well into our consumer dialect. IMO, IMHO, IRL, BRB, WTF, WTH, ROFLMAO, GTG... these could all easily take the place of the phrases they are short for.
I shudder at the thought but I accept the possibility. Do you think Netspeak will take over English, or are we as English speakers going to fight to keep the language, if not pure, at least as acronym free as possible?

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Valentine's Day

Oh, and happy VD everyone!
Ew... that sounds like a celebration of pestilence.

Goodbye Mr. Churchill

To mollify my mother I have removed the image of Winston Churchill from my blog. He will be missed. When available, I will replace it with an image of Bun Bun composed as to incite hilarity.
Until that time I may try to put in something in place of Mr. Churchill, a placeholder as it were. I will consider the options available to me.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Bunny Girl

I'm going to pause in the recounting of the TOdyssey to make an announcement that most of you have already heard.
Last week, D and I got a new pet, a rabbit we promptly renamed from Bon Bon to Bun Bun. Our reasoning is that she happens to be a lop eared rabbit who may or may not talk and may or may not be psychotic, so we may as well be prepared with the appropriate name. If you don't know what I'm referring to, I will refer you to the Sluggy Freelance link in my links section.
In the week and a half that we have had her, Bun Bun has managed to train us very well.
The first thing she did was put on an act that she was small and terrified and only wanted to be left alone in her cage. This was superb acting on her part, and we totally fell for it. We got used to leaving the top of the cage off because she seemed to feel more comfortable that way, and seemed quite content to remain in the cage.
Today, D woke to find the rabbit roaming free, having deftly escaped the cage's confines. We're not quite sure how, although it is possible she jumped. The height of the cage is not beyond her capacity to vault.
D responded to the fact that our rabbit is an escape artist by doing what I would have done in her place, letting the rabbit out of the cage and erecting the baby gate we got from her original owners instead.
Well, apparently Bun Bun can climb, as well, because I woke groggy and unpleasant to the pitter patter of sneaky rabbit feet outside the bedroom door. I woke up and there was Bun Bun, standing on her hind legs with an expectant look on her face. She took my opening of the door to be an invitation to scoot inside the bedroom and get under the bed. I barely closed the door in time because I NEVER would have gotten her out of there again. It took me another fifteen minutes to herd her back into the kitchen, and eventually resorted to scooping her up bodily, much to her dismay, and depositing her in the cage. It is now locked.
For the rest of the morning I couldn't help but feel the smugness emanating from her cage.
The rabbit is such a sneak that I've actually promoted her to this rank and D has been demoted to miscreant. I realized that in terms of sneakiness, the capacity to escape all bonds placed upon you by higher intelligences far outweighs the ability to secretly plan ways to insert culture into my life. It was not an easy decision to make.
Bun Bun has also become very accustomed to D and I in her short time with us, and now has no problem making plain her discontentment if she is not getting her way. We periodically herd her from the living room to the kitchen so that she can hang out with us while we watch TV in the living room or eat and pee in the kitchen, and she takes the trip between rooms as an opportunity to hide under the kitchen table. Well, if we try to prod her out from under the table before she's ready she gives the ground a good strong thump of dissatisfaction just to let us know she's not happy with being rushed.
One night she also peed on us. We found out this was because she was marking her territory, but I have a suspicion that deep in her heart of hearts, she really just wanted to pee on us.
She's my kind of bunny.
We get along quite well. I'm thinking of consulting with her about ways we can conspire against D. Apparently she gives D the stink eye whenever I'm not in the room, so I think she's got a vested interest in working with me to this end.
If only I could get past this damned baby gate...

Tuesday, February 6, 2007

Don't Sin Near Me. Anywhere Else is Fine.

On the second day of our trip to Toronto, which I am going to hereby dub the TOdyssey, the first thing I remember is the wake up call. No, I did not schedule a wake up call. No, I did not WANT a wake up call. No, it was not the hotel which was making the wake up call. It was D, having woken up about three hours earlier than expected and run out of things to do while tottering around the hotel room in her gitch, poking me with cold little hands until consciousness reared its ugly head.
I don't actual mind these ministrations. It's become something of an established routine that if D actually has the opportunity to sleep in, she takes advantage of that opportunity and doesn't. I, on the other hand, when given the opportunity to sleep in, nay even the suggestion that sleeping in may be a possibility, leap into it with true passion. We end up connecting somewhere in between sleeping in and getting up early, and the result is D getting several hours of suggestible, gullible tired Jeremy who she then hauls around like a walking purse to whatever morning activities her imagination can conjure.
On this particular morning I actually got a coffee with my wake up call. It was terrible coffee, as coffee goes, but it was the ichor of the black god and hence it left me feeling mildly refreshed. I don't actually feel awake until my third cup but D was not that patient. I was commanded to shower and dress and that we were going to go to Nathan Phillips square again. I assumed that D was feeling better.
I won't go into details about my shower. Suffice it to say I ended up clean.
We left the hotel room, D with a giddy bounce to her step and I with the promise of coffee to come dancing in my head. Yes, I wanted more coffee. See my point about needing three cups at least. At this point I'd had one.
We exited the hotel and the very first shop (I briefly thanked the Black God for this courtesy) up the street from the hotel was a Starbucks.
I had never had Starbucks before. I had avoided it in the same way that someone who drinks Colt 45 avoids even the scent of a Guiness, believing it to be some fouled decoction from the abyssal planes. There was something about the way people talked about Starbucks that had always set it up in my mind as a place a Tim Hortons' regular (heck, a Tim Hortons' thrall) should avoid. It turned out I was correct in my assumptions.
Ordering coffee at Starbucks made me feel like I was filthy, unworthy of the sophistication offered by the establishment. I looked at the menu and it looked as though a dozen italians had thrown up all their adjectives onto an advertisement for homosexual pornography featuring a 50's diner in france. "Grande Bold Cafe Latte Crapuccino." is one example. "Tall No Foam Espresso Malt-shake" is another. Perhaps I exaggerate. Okay, I do exagerrate, but a first time customer should not walk up to the counter and before opening his mouth feel like a complete and total idiot before even laying down his money. It's like being a virgin all over again.
I left Starbucks feeling spiritually belittled, and it seemed the perfect cue to be introduced to a raving madman. The best word for how he walked is loped. He was a loper. Huge strides that carried him rapidly down the street, spreading his word of... something far and wide. At first I thought him inarticulate but it became quite apparent that the gospel he preached involved quite a number of statements about how jesus flows over us and coats us and all sorts of other imagery that seemed quite inappropriate to attach to a divine symbol. His most interesting statement, D and I found, was "Take your sin away from here. Don't sin near me." As though he feels it perfectly acceptable to sin, just not in his vicinity. Now, D and I were walking along holding hands at this point so maybe he thought we were somehow copulating in public (I have no idea what a raving madman's grasp on reality actually is. He might have thought this.) Anyway, we didn't feel like aggravating him further so we took our sin into the mall, the perfect place for it.
The mall was amusing for me. There's a games workshop store there, tucked down in the bottom under the stairs, with bad lighting outside, making it look like a forgotten tobaccanist's shop or an ancient billiards parlour. The one thing I love about games workshop stores is that I can walk in with my girlfriend and start chatting up the employees and immediately realize that while I may be a nerd, these people have PERFECTED that state. They're like monks who have spent thousands of hours fasting in basements, memorizing tables and rules and army lists until they are incapable of discussing any other subject, and so become games workshop employees. I always feel better about myself after that.
Over an hour was spent in the mall, window shopping, browsing for outfits for D, although she actually showed little interest in buying anything, or even looking, but we were trying to waste time while waiting for events to start at Nathan Phillips Square. On several occasions she rued the fact -rued it I say- that she'd woken me up so early.
Eventually we decided to head back towards the hotel to pick up our skates and do some skating before Nathan Phillips Square opened. On our way saw the raving madman again, who appeared to be growing short of breath, but was still marching strong, this time on the opposite side of the street. I realized that his circuit must take him up and down Yonge street, allowing him the opportunity to harass thousands of people a day. Quite the ambitious madman.
We got to the hotel without incident, grabbed the skates (yes, we hauled them with us to Toronto) and went back to city hall.
It should be mentioned that I enjoy skating. I got D her skates for Christmas and mine as well, and we've put them to good use. I'm not very good at skating but then again, I'm not exactly that adept at walking either. There is one thing that I excel at, however, and that's spatial perception. It is easy for me to notice that I am close to another person and avoid impact with said person by the expedient of moving out of the way. This is a talent that 98% of children somehow lack, or neglect. D and I were consistently the targets of ballistic infants whose only goal, as far as I could determine, was to hamstring the adults on the skating rink and claim it as their own territory Lord of the Flies style. I even saw one of them playing with a conch. It became eventually perilous to stand still on the rink, let alone maneuver around the injured skaters littering the ice, so we decided to check out a cooking demonstration.
We were pretty cold when we went inside city hall, so we were ready to be entertained by anything that happened to be going on when we got there. D and I had a quick argument which I quickly won, about what event was about to start (this is the first argument I've actually won by dint of being correct, so it was a memorable accomplishment) and we sat down to watch some opera singers.
There were three women called the Duelling Divas, whose individual names I've forgotten, because what I primarily noticed about them was three things:
1: They were attractive
2: They sang very well
3: I knew none of the songs they were singing, but D knew them all
So I sat there and enjoyed three hot women singing while D spent her time actually listening to the music. It worked out for both of us.
The presentation that occurred next was for lack of a better word dull. The description in the pamphlet intrigued me, but it ended up being a very pleasant jamaican woman rhyming off her spice shopping list for half an hour. She was herself a charming lady, but unfortunately if I wanted to listen to someone talking about their shopping... well, I can't honestly say that's an entertainment I would choose.
Following that was an East Indian woman performing a traditional dance that I found quite intriguing not because of my fondness for East Indian women (she was too old for me) but because while I could not necessarily interpret it, the dance seemed to be telling a story about the woman's day, her activities, may in fact have been a microcosmic representation of a woman's entire life. I would love to have a better understanding of that type of traditional dance to better enjoy such a presentation but in my own limited capacity I found it quite fascinating.
From there we were off to lunch. A quick stop back at the hotel to drop off the skates (Raving madman was now crouched in a doorway, muttering to himself, apparently having run out of religious go-juice). We had lunch at a restaurant D had visited years before called Fred's Not Here. I, as usual, was worried we'd be late, but we ended up arriving early and had to sit at the bar in the basement (which was actually a sub restaurant called the Red Tomato). D mocked me for ordering a ceasar. I like ceasars, and I don't have to defend that fact.
Lunch was for me amazing. D was not so enthused. She had her tastebuds back so she was able to tell that the gnocci dish she had this time was dreadful compared with what she'd had at Romagna Mia the other day. It was venison over spinach gnocci and she found the gnocci starchy and lacking in flavour. She enjoyed the other aspects of the meal, her appetizer and her dessert. For dessert we had bread pudding... which was not the best bread pudding I've ever had.
My appetizer was escargot "purses" which were actually little pastry puffs with the escargot inside. They were delicious. For main course I had their "Holy Basil Stir Fry Chicken" which was.... well, holy. I devoured it the flavour was so robust and delightful. There was not a scrap of food left on any of my plates. D had leftover main course AND dessert, but claimed this is because she was getting over a cold.
I'm not sure what we did with our afternoon. Memory fails me. I do know that we found something to do to entertain ourselves until dinner, which was at the Drake Hotel.
The Drake Hotel was where we were going to drop the most cash out of any of the restaurants we visited on the weekend, so we got there anticipating a fine, classy establishment full of people in suits, sort of like somewhere Niles and Frasier would frequent. What we got was... something else.
I can best describe the Drake Hotel as a combination of Jane Bond, Del Dente's and The Starlight. The entrance to the hotel was a standard lobby, with a couple of funky chairs and statues and a hostess dressed in one of the most atrocious outfits I have ever seen, at least when visiting an establishment which charges $35 per person on a Price Fixe menu, let alone on a regular basis. She had a jean miniskirt. There was a run in her stocking. She looked like Uma Thurman after a bad drug trip and a hurricane of clothing set free by Courney Love. It was bad.
But what was worse came next. She was dealing with a couple who had never made a reservation. We were standing in line behind this couple. The hostess' co hostess came in.... and proceeded to ignore our existence. We waited there while the co hostess greeted a couple that came in after us, sat them, returned, greeted another couple and seated them, before the first hostess who was now finished with the reservationless pair decided that it might be important to attend to us. By this point both D and I were livid.
We were taken inside the restaurant but our table was not ready yet, as we were early for our reservation. Fine, I can understand that. We took a seat at the sushi bar. Yes, there was a sushi bar. I drooled while watching those two men make plate after plate of spicy salmon rolls.
Of course, my fascination with the food only held at bay my growing anger for so long, as our reservation time came, went, and then fifteen minutes passed. I finally got up and went up to the woman who would actually be seating us and she told me that our table was almost ready. At this point, I was ready to explode.
And then, like a miracle, things started to get better.
A very pleasant, very perky young woman, quite stylishly and professionally dressed and as courteous as you could ever want found us at the sushi bar, took our coats, took D's hat and escorted us to our table. She was blonde and almost diabetically sweet to us.
At our table we were almost immediately offered glasses of champaigne to apologize for the fact that we had been sat late. The server was professional, prompt, and knowledgeable. The food was spectacular. I had sushi, a lovely risotto, and some sort of lemony dessert. That's the only word my mind brings to bear on it. Lemony. I can't remember anything else about the dessert.
Suffice it to say we were not only mollified but left the restaurant feeling quite content, pleased with our choice and with the overall level of service the hotel had shown us, even given the ineptitude of certain individuals.
Our next and final activity of the night was to visit Second City, which we do almost every time we visit Toronto. Telling you about the sketches would ruin them if you ever see them. However, D and I were howling with laughter almost the entire evening. If you go to Toronto, go to Second City on a Saturday night for their 10:30 show. It's worth it. Stay for the improv after. It's almost better than the main attraction, sometimes.
Satisfied in our hearts and in our stomachs we walked home through the growing cold of the early morning. The TD tower was surrounded in mist and glowing green, and I wondered if the city is ruled by a supervillain called the Toronto Dominionator who strikes down with fury from his sickly emerald tower.
D laughed at me because I'm a nerd.
At the hotel, we watched TV, then slept. The next day we would be leaving.
And I will tell more later.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Leaving on a GO Train

This past weekend, D took me to Toronto, which is a dangerous thing to attempt as many of you know, since I do not travel well. But she braved my irrational fears and booked us a two night stay at the Suites on King West, and then proceeded to tell me we were going.
That's usually the best way to do it.
Anyway, we left again from Milton, and okay, we didn't leave on a train PER SE but we did take a GO bus... but bus doesn't really work with the song lyrics and makes for a crappy post title. Allow me my artistic license, damnit!
It was Friday morning, and this time, there were no creepy criminals at the terminal, although there was a possession bag from the police laying empty on the ground. The GO station must be a popular departure point for malefactors.
I'm going to reiterate that Milton is a suburban wasteland. It's a scary place. Imagine Mordor, and fill it with young urban professionals and acres of semi-detached homes. *shudder*
The bus trip was relatively uneventful, which suited me fine. Except for the guy who hopped on the bus without enough money to buy a ticket and argued with the driver until finally being kicked off, little happened of note.
I should mention here that D was sick. Practically all I heard from the seat beside me was the snort and slurp of nasal congestion, and its subsequent expulsion into a growing tumour of kleenexes stored up her sleeve. By the time we got off the bus I was travelling with Popeye. At one point I contemplated trying to find her forearms but immediately recoiled from the idea, not knowing what sort of mucus-spawned monster I would find hybernating within.
We got off the bus and immediately went in search of the hotel so that we could drop off our luggage with their valet service as we were about 2 hours early for our check in time. We did not know before booking the hotel that the valet service would hold our luggage like this, but apparently it's commonplace. We were ecstatic about that.
The hotel was literally a hop, skip, and a jump away from the train station (for Superman) and we got there a lot more quickly than I originally anticipated.
We were immediately impressed by the hotel. A very cleanly dressed valet opened the door for us, welcomed us cheerfully, and we walked into a small yet sophisticated main lobby area. It was clean, well appointed, with friendly looking staff and a professional air. The valets were only too happy to take our bags and wish us on our way.
Now the reason D wanted to travel to Toronto was to take advantage of Toronto's Wintercity festival, specifically the Winterlicious Price Fixe (that's how they spelled it) that many of the high end restaurants were offering. Essentially, at a participating restaurant for lunch you can obtain a 3 course meal for $15-$20 or for dinner you can get a 3 course for $25-$35. That's an appetizer, main course, and dessert for what most of these restaurants would charge just for an appetizer.
Our first stop was to a restaurant called Romagna Mia on Front Street. We experienced a small hiccup in trying to find the restaurant when we walked into 106 Front Street and found it was in fact an office complex. Luckily there were two girls smoking outside who apparently dealt with tourists like ourselves every day, just as I deal with people trying to find the passport office every day, and they directed us to walk ten feet further and turn the corner. Lo and behold we found the restaurant.
I'm going to give this restaurant the highest praise I will ever give a restaurant. The service was exemplary. The host, the server, all the staff were professional, well trained and polite. Our server in particular was attentive almost to a fault without actually ever hovering over the table. If he even thought that we needed him to come he would attempt to engage my eyes from across the room to confirm his suspicion, and if I wavered or became distracted he still kept and eye on me to make sure I didn't need anything. The moment I made a definite movement that I required his presence he was there, ready to serve. I was truly, thoroughly impressed.
At that restaurant I had an appetizer that I can only describe as an extremely tasty scrambled egg patty on a bed of roasted asparagus and sauteed mushrooms. It was divinely flavoured but a little too hot, temperaturewise. D, because she was sick, had chick pea soup, which she described as "Mushy". It was probably quite tasty but no match for the creature living in her nose. For a main course I had a beef brisquet on polenta (I immediately thought of a penny arcade cartoon where Gabe wishes for a placenta sandwich, but that's not my story to tell: go to the website www.penny-arcade.com and look in their archives for the comic titled "I don't think he knows what that is.") and D had a cheesy gnocci dish which was extremely tasty and delicately textured. For dessert we had a delightful panna cotta. I was thoroughly sated.
From the restaurant we proceeded back to the hotel to check in. As soon as we got to the room we dropped out luggage to the floor and had a nap. Ah, what a nap. 3 hours of blissful sleep. D needed it, and I wanted it.
Once we woke we were thoroughly energized for the evening.
We walked up to Nathan Phillips square, just a quick jog up the street. The first thing we did was head into the art exhibit they had going on called Paintings Below Zero by Gordon Halloran (I think that's his name: I'll check the website later and update if necessary). Basically what he did was dye some water and freeze it using the same cooling elements they use in skating rinks. He shattered the dyed ice and arranged it in some very beautiful patterns. Part of the exhibit appeared to me to be a cityscape, but D thought he just ran out of ice at that end. Ah, D, always the cynic. Overall the exhibit was quite lovely.
We wandered over to the stage that had been set up to see a performance by the Italian theatre group Kitonb. I may be a victim of modern consumer culture here, and maybe that's why I require instant gratification, but the performance really failed to catch my attention. I was not engaged, not engrossed, and in an open public space where I can just walk away at any time that is not a good thing. I should have been hooked within the first fifteen seconds and I can honestly say that I wasn't even hooked after ten minutes of watching. A theatre group may be able to get away with that in a closed stage because the audience has already paid their dollar and anticipated investing their time in a performance, but it's not something that works at a free show. Not to mention that the bass from the soundtrack they were playing was so pervasive that the vibrations actually caused D, perhaps because of her congestion, to feel queasy and nauseated. We were literally driven away from the performance.
We wandered around and did other things while Kitonb finished up, and came back to catch a free concert from the Philosopher Kings (or as they're known in the U.S., the Sorcerer Kings*). We caught three songs before D started to freeze to death (it was -15 out) and so we went back to the hotel.
We had a nice dinner at the hotel but I would not eat there again. They charged $7.50 for a bottle of evian water. My pint of beer cost less, and was approximately the same size. Other than that the prices were good. I had a smoked salmon and caper pizza, and D had more soup. Roasted Vegetable this time. She described its flavour as "eh."
Because we were frozen, tired, and full of food we went up to the room and fell almost immediately asleep.
I'll leave you with that for now. But there is more to come!
* The Philosopher Kings are not actually known as the Sorcerer Kings in the United States. This is a lie. They are actually known as "Johnny Righteous and the Flying Radioactive Plantains." `
`This is also a lie.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Counting the ways

Perhaps it's because it is winter, with the cold days reminding me of all the warmth and joy and happiness in my life that make those days bearable, but I've been thinking a lot about my relationship, the wherefore and the why.
That I love D is not in question. How could I not? But I have a habit of trying to qualify and quantify my feelings towards things, either as an intellectual exercise or because I'm a stubborn bastard who NEEDS to know the core reasons behind everything. So I've been trying to figure out why I love her. It's a futile exercise, as anyone knows, and D herself would probably claim that it's primarily pheremones and body chemistry (she's a cynic through and through).
While I could not come up with an answer to the question, I did remember a number of instances, anecdotes, and moments that really drove home for me just how endearing she is.
The other day D and I were walking to the arena to go skating. She was carrying both pairs of skates, so I called her a pack mule. Her response: "No, I'm a Sherpa. Neigh!" So I paused, grinned, and looked at her. "Let me get this straight." I said, "Are you under the misapprehension that a sherpa is a goat?" And she looked at me with chagrin and replied, "Yes?"
Another instance that occurred when I was still living with my brother makes me chuckle every time I remember it. It was either a day I was finished work or we'd just come through the door, but we were sitting on the couch and D decided to tell a story about her day. She explained that she'd been driving along the road and she saw the cutest animal. "It was brown and furry, and it had this tiny little tail and it looked a bit like a pig! It ran away and dropped into a hole in the ground!" Now my brother and I looked at each other, each knowing EXACTLY what animal she was describing, and we said in unison "Are you perhaps referring to a ground hog, by chance?" (yes, my brother and I both speak like this.) How D managed to live twenty five years without seeing a ground hog baffles the heck out of me.
My brother and I want to publish a book of D's made up words, too. Here's a couple of my favourites:

Debattical: To take a long break from an argument
Influtry: The fourth branch of the military
Broccolie: A false statement about being a vegetarian OR a fraudulent green vegetable

For some reason I can't remember the rest of the list right now (brain fart) but if I remember them I'll put them down.
I love that she's such a capable and together person, more mature and responsible than I will ever be, but who can drop her guard and be unabashedly silly and blissfully ignorant about the most random things. She's obviously brilliant or I wouldn't find her interesting, but one of the things that makes me adore her is those brief yet endearing lapses in understanding or knowledge, or the very infrequent wrong assumptions she makes about things that are understandably unimportant.
It really makes me accept the idea that it is our flaws that keep us together, and because of that they are no longer flaws, but qualities, and I wouldn't take her without them.
Hell, if she can laugh at my jokes, I guess she feels the same about my flaws. I mean, who in their right mind would laugh at one of my jokes? Besides me, I mean.