Huuuuurrrryyyyyy Haaaaaarrrrrrdddd

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on February 27, 2010.)

No, I'm not talking all sexy and stuff. I'm talking curling. I'm talking about Kevin Martin and the boys going undefeated to win a gold medal at the Olympics. Now that's hardcore.

MAKE
Menu (these recipes each serve four):
Herbed Bread Sticks
Chicken Tikka Masala With Jasmine Rice
Cosmopolitan Ice Cups

HERBED BREAD STICKS
I used a prepared pizza crust here because I suck at making pizza crusts… they always look like crackers or soufflés when I’m done. Also, this can be served as a roll instead of a stick.

1 tsp. extra virgin olive oil
2 tsp. dried oregano
1 tbsp. dried basil
½ tsp. fennel seeds
¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes
½ tsp. rock salt
1 tin prepared pizza crust

-preheat oven to temperature listed on pizza crust tin
-lightly oil a baking sheet
-combine oregano, basil, fennel seeds, red pepper flakes, and salt in a bowl and then divide in half
-sprinkle half of the spice mixture evenly on the lightly oiled baking sheet
-roll out the pizza crust and then transfer to the baking sheet; press the crust down in order to have the crust pick up the herbs on the baking sheet
-roll up the pizza crust and cut in halves until you have 16 pieces (8 pieces if you are making rolls)
-roll these pieces out into bread stick shape with a ½ diameter (if you are making rolls, form the dough into pieces about the size of erasers); do not overwork the dough or it will be tough when finished cooking
-arrange on the baking sheet, about 1 inch apart
-cook on one side for about 5 and then turn and continue to cook for another 3 – 5 minutes, depending on how brown you want them to be coloured

CHICKEN TIKKA MASALA WITH JASMINE RICE
While I don’t generally use bottled sauces, using a bottle sauce for this recipe reduces the preparation time and uses fewer ingredients.

 4 tsp. extra virgin olive oil
½ onion, finely chopped
1 tbsp. ginger, finely chopped
1tbsp. garlic, finely chopped
2 lbs. chicken breasts, boneless, skinless, cut into 1 inch pieces
¼ tsp. salt
1 can tomato paste
1 tsp. red curry paste
1 can tomatoes, crushed, with juice
1 c. Tikka Masala cooking sauce
½ c. plain yogurt
½ c. water
4 c. cooked jasmine rice (cook according to manufacturer’s directions)

-in a large saucepan, heat olive oil
-add onion, ginger, and garlic and cook on medium heat, stirring for about 3 minutes; sprinkle the salt over the mixture so it will sweat rather than brown and burn
-add chicken to the pan and cook on medium high heat, stirring constantly for about 5-7 minutes -stir in tomato paste, red curry paste, crushed tomatoes, and tikka masala sauce and cook for about 3 minutes, stirring occasionally
-add yogurt and water reduce heat to low, and simmer until the chicken is done, about 10-12 minutes, stirring occasionally
-serve hot over rice

COSMOPOLITAN ICE CUPS
1 pkg. strawberry jelly powder
1c. boiling water
1 c. orange sorbet or sherbet
4 strawberries
Whipping cream (optional)

-stir in the sorbet until it is completely melted
-pour 4 martini or wine glasses (about 10 oz. per glass)
-refrigerate for about 2 hours or until firm
-top each with sliced strawberry and a dollop of whipping cream, if desired

THINK
Don't yield to the temptation of believing that the world can be fixed. Above all, don't yield to the hubris that you can fix it. Realize that your actions can, at best, make some conditions in the world a little more bearable, make suffering a little less painful. But just because this is all you can do, does not mean that you should not do it... do it in the face of all hopelessness. And why? Because to help, to be compassionate, is your highest calling... if you can't do this, if you won't do this, then you are hopeless. -- Dr. Stephan Hoeller

LISTEN
Jay Z Featuring Swizz Beatz - On To The Next One
Pink - Glitter In The Air
Sham 69 - If The Kids Are United

READ
So I haven't been able to keep up with my scheduled book a week pace. Mostly because Cosmic Jackpot required a lot of re-reading and going back to review (I'm not a physics geek but I'm a geek for the cosmos). I've put that aside and started Don Miguel Ruiz's Four Agreements: A Practical Guide To Personal Freedom

WATCH
In June 2008, J. K. Rowling gave the speech "The Fringe Benefits Of Failure And The Importance Of Imagination". You can find it here.  Even if you aren't a Harry Potter fan, its worth a listen. The speech is transcribed below the video.

VISIT
Architecture and photography are two of my favorite things.  Check out the The Kings Of Architectural Photography page here.

GO GREEN
To remove coffee and mineral stains from the pot on your coffee maker, add 3 cups ice cubes or crushed ice 1/3 cup water, and 1/2 cup salt to the pot. Swirl the pot for about 2 minutes, rinse, and then wash. To remove coffee or tea stains from a coffee mug, rub the stained areas with salt and then rinse with water. Repeat until stains are gone. Wash mug before using again.

Duck A La My Back Yard

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on April 29, 2010.)

Look who came for dinner.

It amazes me how I can live in a city of about a million people and yet there is this abundance of wildlife in my back yard. At first it was only the birds. Then the squirrels and the bunnies showed up and the birds had to share the bird feeder. Now we have ducks. I had heard these two had been around the neighbourhood for about a week and tonight after I came home from the gym, this is what greeted me in the back yard.

Sigh.

Some days are fanflippingtastic.

This Is Your Brain On Geek

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on January 29, 2010. )

Oh laaaa, this is my brain all. the. time.

Touchdown Jesus

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on November 15, 2009)

I have a friend named Mark. Mark loves football. And he loves hockey even though he hasn’t watched a game since he left Philly. Please don't hate him. He's stuck in Ohio. He's learning about bad choices as we speak ;)

Back to football. I understand that Americans tend to be fanatical about the sport. Just think back to when Janet Jackson’s teet threatened to ruin the game and American morality. Yes, friends, a nipple covered in metal revealed at half time at the Super Bowl almost brought a nation to its knees and worse yet, threatened to tarnish the game of football forever.

I don’t get it. Both the tit thing and football. Honestly people, it was a boobie. In a country that has such a predilection for all things pornographic, how can Miss Janet’s breast be a sign of the end of times? As for football, the North American version of it is hardly about feet, and what the hell is up with the ball? European football, that’s football. Got foot, got ball, got game. But the helmets, the spandex, the ball that looks like it’s been hiding in the tight end’s arse… really? Hell, if football were played on ice, wearing skates, I might become remotely interested in it. Alas, they don't and so I am left to wonder about many facets of this game.

Mark and I were talking sports. He was reminding me the Oilers are in trouble and I was reminding him he’s dangerously close to the Bible Belt and football fanatics who must be shitting themselves after an episode of Glee used Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” to help the football team to victory.

Mark then unloaded football’s savior on me. Literally. Let me introduce you to the University of Notre Dame’s Touchdown Jesus…

Fantastic, isn’t it? It’s really something else, non? I have spent most of my morning pondering TDJ. The unabated size of it is amazing. Sure, TDJ is actually a mural called “The Word of Life” by Millard Sheets, and the mural is actually part of the Hesburgh Library located adjacent to the stadium the Fighting Irish play in but it reads more like "God is on our side. We have divine intervention.” Or even more bizarre, note that TDJ looks like he’s got his arms up like a football ref in a “touchdown, it’s good” position.

I wonder what Jesus would look like if he traded in the halo for a helmet , traded the sandals for cleats, and got rid of the hippy toga gear and donned some spandex. Okay, so he'd look like just about any other football player but you can bet Mark's ass that his touch down dances would be extraordinary.

MAKE

Menu:

Edemame Beans

Cranraisin Salad With Citrus Peppercorn Vinaigrette

Chocopudd Mousse

EDEMAME BEANS

I buy the frozen version of these because I have yet to find them raw. Follow the directions on the label to cook. When done cooking, quickly toss in a lemon pepper with a dash of salt and serve immediately. Remember, the pods are not edible so remind the people you are eating with to suck or pick the beans out of the pods and eat the beans only.

CRANRAISIN SALAD WITH CITRUS PEPPERCORN VINAIGRETTE

You can use any vinaigrette for this salad, however the best I have had so far has to be the citrus peppercorn vinaigrette from Blue Kettle Specialty Foods. I first found Blue Kettle at the St. Albert farmer's market and it is well worth the trip to find their stall at the market if you live in the greater Edmonton area. Blue Kettle also retails in some locations... check out their "Where To Find Us" section on their site. Their products can be a bit on the pricey side but I assure you, it is worth it!

6c. Romain lettuce, washed and torn into bit sized pieces

1 c. broccoli florets, cut into bit sized pieces

1 c. celery, sliced

1 1/2 c. cucumber, halved and sliced

1/2 red onion, sliced

1 mango, diced (use 1 can if fresh mangoes are not available)

1/3 c. sunflower seeds, shelled

1/2 c. cran raisins

citrus peppercorn dressing, to taste

shredded cheese (preferably marbled cheddar)

-put Romain lettuce in serving bowl

-mix broccoli, celery, cucumber, red onion and put on top of lettuce

-add diced mangoes, sunflower seeds and cranraisins on top of vegetable mixture

-coat salad with dressing as desired

-top with shredded cheese, if desired

-note: add cooked and diced chicken for extra protein

CHOCOPUD MOUSSE

6 pre-made Jello chocolate pudding snacks, chilled

1-8 oz container Cool whip

-empty pudding into mixing bowl

-slowly fold in the cool whip

-scoop into serving bowls and chill for 20 minutes

-you can top these with chocolate shavings or marachino cherries if desired

-note: you can use the "sugar free" version of pudding and the "lite" version of cool whip to reduce calories

THINK

We're all fucked. It helps to remember that. - George Carlin

LISTEN
Lady Gaga - Bad Romance
Social Code - Satisfied
Stiff Little Fingers - Suspect Device

READ
JPod by Douglas Coupland

If you work on a cube farm, under fluorescent lights, for The Man, you will get it. I found myself literally laughing out loud at some parts.

WATCH
What are you doing Wednesday nights? You're watching Glee, right? If you aren't watching Glee, what the hell is the matter with you? The lip synching may be craptastic but Jane Lynch as Sue Sylvester is genius! Oh and let us not forget Puck... mmmm I likes me some Puck.

VISIT
Bubble Coral... who knew??

GO GREEN
Go here to read about quick and easy ways to make your office/workspace greener.

Somewhere A Walmart Is Missing A Family

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on December 28, 2009)

The Weekly Whaaaaa

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on June 08, 2010)

So a pig and a gerbil and a bunny got it on...

Ya, I got nothing.

Just Thought I'd Let You Know Your Little Ugly Sweater Contest Sucked Ass

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on December 28, 2009.)

Okay, okay. So the ugly sweater contest at work did rock a little bit. Every time someone decides to be an asshole to me at the torture pit, I will think back to the sweater contest and take solace in the fact that their fashion crimes will always overshadow any shitty thing I ever do at that place. How bad was it? Oh lawd, the ghost of Coco Chanel is going to haunt the lot of us for years to come. I could commit homicide and it would never ever be as bad as the blue cowboy on the pink horse on the grey cardigan or the sequined AND bejeweled number. Never. What’s worse is very few people actually went to places like Goodwill and Value Village to purchase these abominations against haute couture, or in this case, Office Casual. That’s right, these atrocities were *all whispery and tragic*hanging in their closets. Uh huh. Big. Fucking. Gasp. Best retort/defense I heard was this: “And I said to him (co-worker’s husband), as he was laughing hysterically, you probably fell in love with me while I was wearing this!” Yep. It was exactly like that. I, friends, am not creative enough to imagine this shit up and if I get my hands on pictures, I am soooo posting them!

Now, what did indeed suck ass was the potluck portion of the day's festivities. There were some lazy assed epic fails on that table. Let this be said, a bag of potato chips or nacho chips is flat out negligent and goes against the laws of a pot luck lunch. Even the munchkins who brought in desserts from the grocery store bakery get better points than you. You, dear, get cultural demerits. Like you have to wear that acrylic number you are sporting until you have that teenage boy goat-like odor.

The pot luck gawds were not shining on me. I was going to make not one or two dishes, but three. I know, how scandalous. Whatev’s. People flock to my desk when they smell my lunches. I had this shit locked up tighter than a duck’s ass puckered up for a nose dive. Or so I thought. I’m not even giving the ingredients this time around. I can’t be arsed. Yeah, that’s right, I don’t deal with failure well. If I had been a contestant on Top Chef, Tom Coliccio would tell Padma to tell me to pack my knives and fuck off. And they would be totally justified in doing so.

Reindeer dropping?


RASPBERRY SWIRL

This recipe is why I don’t bake. Baking is chemistry. Baking has rules that you have to follow, directions you must conform to. I don’t conform well and I think directions are for pussies who can’t figure it out on their own. I work in logistics quite by accident. I’m not a baker or pastry chef by choice. My entire training as a chef is cooking in a fast food restaurant for a couple of years and one semester of cooking/home economics in high school. The restaurant was a write off and the most profound thing I did in the home economics class was throw a used tea bag at Brian Preiston and Gordon Hodges. When it hit the edge of the counter and exploded everywhere, it immediately made up for five months of torture at the hands of The Mullet Boys!

This recipe turned out horribly and I’m sure the only people who will eat it are my nieces and only because there is raspberry jello on top. Do you know how to cook Cool Whip? I do. And I know how to do it using milk and marshmallows. Yes, you read that right but you can go back and re-read it. No, I will not be providing details privately by email.

TRUFFLES
Who doesn’t love a wee bit of chocolate at Christmas? Truffles and Christmas go together, right? The goddess of all things truffle must know I’m atheist because baby Jesus would have never been presented with this mess and I imagine only the steamers Santa’s reindeer produce look worse than what I created.

Here’s the thing, I was thinking, 4 ingredients, 4 instructions, easy peasy, done like dinner. Second small recipe to pacify the potluck brigade. I shouldn’t have thought. It should have been so simple and so splentastic. But it wasn’t, not even a little bit. Big fail. Epic fail. First things first… you need at least 2 hours for this mess to set. Secondly, when you figure out how to roll this shit (because that is exactly what it looks like when you’re rolling it) between two ice cubes so it does not melt all over you, drop me a line. I should have just showered it in coconut and called it forest fresh reindeer droppings.

HOT ARTICHOKE DIP
I got this right because I could fuck around with the ingredients. Well that and artichoke dip is pretty hard to fuck up. I added to it, watched it bubble and bake with love in my heart. And no one ate it. Potluck brigade was all “Oh we will get it set up for you” and they didn’t. I can't believe I was actually losing my mind in Costco wondering what the hell kind of crackers I should serve with this.

Fuck it. Next year its squares from the bakery at Safeway.

Is It Friday Yet?

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on January 06, 2010.)


I have been smoking at work. Go ahead, judge.


I’ve also been longing for last week where it was all about me and fresh pj’s. I thought I missed work. Turns out, not so much. The problem with going on Christmas break is that, while you are away, the paper gremlins come along and turd out faxes and mail all over the place and you are left to dig through piles of paper to find your desk. Rumor has it I still have a desk on the cube farm but its currently cleverly disguised as a paper holder. When you look at it from the right angle, my desk actually looks like piles of paper are levitating. All week I have been losing my mouse and keyboard which is cool with me because when I opened my email on Monday morning, there were 96 (not including spam) reasons to grab my stuff and go back home.


I think now would be a good time to adopt my niece's philosophy about asses and sofas.


When asked what she was going to do for Christmas break, my niece Janelle responded, “Park my arse on the sofa and read.” She’s eleven and deeply profound. Her verbage cracked me up. When I was half her age, I came home from school and ALLEGEDLY said a particular boy was a fecking koont (say it in your head with a Scottish accent. Uh huh, now you’re getting it). I cut Janelle some slack on this one because someone cut me slack when I was a kid and she didn’t rat me out to the Proper Authority Figures when I ALLEGEDLY said a sales clerk at Please Mum could go suck a bag of dicks.


Don’t be all judgey. You would have done the same.


Perhaps you would have had more tact and said something less vulgar but who the hell asks for your name, address, phone number, email address, and work phone number when you are purchasing a shirt? And paying cash? I still have no idea why this rocket scientist who was cleverly disguised as a sales clerk wanted this information. When I asked her why she required this information as all I wanted to do was pay for a $10.00 shirt, I was the recipient of one of those minimum wage sighs, followed by the obligatory mall employee eye roll, and the embellished “now I have to work” banging of the finger on the delete key on the till. I’m sure I’ll be going straight to her version of consumer hell for adding wear and tear to her trailer park low budget press on nail manicure, but I will never understand why purchasing a shirt requires surrendering my personal information. Consequently, I dropped the “suck a bag of dicks” bomb, Janelle giggled, and I took solace in knowing karma was going to keep that snotty little girl working in a mall, lunching in a food court, and wearing a name tag for a living.


Stay in school kids.


I’m not going to lie, I didn’t do much on my break. Apparently, I put in one day at work . We started at 8.00 am and left at 1.00 pm. What was actually accomplished in that time was nominal but the good news is, Whoville got packed away and it doesn’t look like Christmas puked in certain offices any more.


What did I actually do for a week? I stayed up late and slept in a lot even though I was totally convinced this was going to be the week I was going reset my body clock. Hmmm not so much. . The week was really an homage to pajamas and snacking.


I was completely relaxed and romantic during the break too. I made love to my sofa, love seat, chair, computer chair and bed.


In an effort to feel like I had accomplished something, I did two things. First, if something was tucked away in a drawer or closet and I was annoyed by its existence, I put it in the middle of the room and found a permanent home or garbage can for that item. Secondly, I ripped apart a wardrobe that serves as a book shelf and desk and a catcher of all things I can’t be arsed to put away where they belong. I did this last August on my vacation too.


How the hell did I accumulate so much shit in four months?


When I did this exercise in August, I was determined to keep all my shit organized. When I was done cleaning, sorting, alphabetizing, purging, and shredding, the inside of the wardrobe looked lovely. It was a ode to organization. For a day. Maybe two. Chaos started with ATM receipts. I save them and reconcile them with my bank statements. I used to be really good at this. Used to be. Every month when my bank statement arrived, I would be on it that night, highlighting and shredding and it was all good. Now? Let’s just say that the ATM receipts that weren’t in the bottom of my purse or preventing my wallet from being closed, were in a crumpled pile in a Ziploc. Did I mention I spend a large portion of my day accounting and filing? Scandalous, I know. I’m down to two piles to sort out. And yes, one of those piles is four months of ATM receipts.


MAKE
Menu
Banana Strawberry Smoothie
Scones
Quinoa Porridge


BANANA STRAWBERRY SMOOTHIE
2 c. banana
2 c. strawberry
1 c. milk
1 c. strawberry or vanilla yogurt


-peel and slice bananas
-wash strawberries and cut tops off
-put fruit in blender or food processor with yogurt and milk
-blend to desired consistency and serve immediately


SCONES
¼ c. cold butter
1 ½ c. all purpose flour
¼ c. sugar
½ tsp. cinnamon
1 tbsp. baking powder
¼ tsp. baking soda
2 eggs
½ c. butter milk (if unavailable, add 2 tsp. lemon juice to 2% or skim milk)
1 c. fruit or cheese of choice


-preheat oven to 350 degrees
-combine dry ingredients
-beat one egg and combine it with the buttermilk
-thread the butter through the dry ingredients until texture is like gravel
-add the milk and egg mixture and mix
-add fruit or cheese; blend through batter
-mix and separate into two balls
-flatten the balls into two disks, five to six inches in diameter
-slice each disk into four sections and place on an ungreased cookie sheet
-beat the second egg and brush it on the scones as a glaze
-bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes or until the scones are brown


QUINOA PORRIDGE
½ c. quinoa
¼ tsp. cinnamon
1 ½ c. almond milk (or soy with 1 tsp. almond extract)
½ c. water
2 tbsp. brown sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1 pinch salt


-preheat saucepan over medium heat and measure in quinoa
-season with cinnamon and cook until toasted, stirring frequently
-pour in the almond milk, water, vanilla, and stir in the brown sugar and salt
-bring to a boil and cook over low heat until thick and grains are tender (about 25 minutes)
-add more water if liquid has dried up before porridge finishes cooking
-stir occasionally to prevent burning


THINK
You should not take part in your own persecution. – Bobby Seale


LISTEN
Pixie Lott – Cry Me Out
Dan Balan – Chica Bomb
The Buzzcocks – What Do I Get


READ
Chantel Simmons – Stuck in Downward Dog


WATCH
The Nature Of Things: The Everlasting Oasis


Start here:



VISIT
The future of books, here today… audible.com


GO GREEN
Have a swap meet with your friends. The idea is that everyone gets together and swaps belongings they no longer want or use. Anything left over immediately goes to a donation bin.

I Do Sam, I Do

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on May 12, 2010.)

So I have decided that after Sam Worthington comes to Canada and lands on me and falls in love with me, we are getting married and he is taking me to the Poseidon Undersea Resort in Fiji for our honeymoon.

It is all under water. Can you imagine? How many people can say they took a bath underwater? With Sam Worthington? I know.

Now, if you see Sam, tell him I'm waiting. Patiently.

And slightly stalkerishly.

That is what he gets for being on top of my freebie five list.

Also, feel free to remind Sam that I am worth every penny of the 20K per week this place costs.

Who knew it would cost so much to have under water sexy times without drowning?

Mr. Hanky, My Not So Christmas Poo

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on March 19, 2010)

I don’t know what’s wrong with people. Who knew my poo would cause such a crisis in someone’s life.

When I poo, sometimes it’s stinky. And guess what, it happens to about 6 billion people every day, including you. Sometimes, it will happen twice if you have a healthy colon and a high fibre diet.

Soooo, when you get all puritanical because people are pooing in the office bathroom, my advice to you is to get over yourself and your aversion to feces. It's a friggin' bathroom and designed for some pretty specific uses, one of which happens to be pooing. Oh I know, you don’t fart in front of anybody and you only poo when you are completely isolated from society, but I’m fairly certain the only person in the world who shits glitter and baby powder is Lady Gaga. For your own sake, relax and ixnay the poo perturbation. Ya, I know, I had a poo in the office bathroom but the poo-approved bathrooms on the other side of the building are under renovation and, for the next four to six weeks, you will have to deal with it.

Now, when you came to my desk with the air freshner and acted like I had shat toxic waste (which I didn’t… for what its worth you only knew I poo’d cos I farted), that was precious. It must have pissed you off that I didn’t rush to admit I had poo’d in the poo-free bathrooms and then apologize profusely for ruining your day. Really, it wasn’t necessary, was it? We both know what your motivation was. Epic fail if you were trying to make a point. You should know it gave me great pleasure to smile and tell you the scent was nice (scent of the freshner, not my poo). Honestly, it took all I had not to laugh and ask you if you were the corporate shitologist but I realized after that thought left my brain but before it had left my mouth that I was really close to crossing the line.

I'm not sure what is more cryptic to me...
1] Your reaction to poo.
2] The fact that, on a regular basis, you shit in that poo-free bathroom yet the rest of us are forbidden to use the bathroom for one of its originally intended purposes.
3] How the hell a bathroom became a poo-free zone.

Just wondering out loud, ‘kay? Don't hate the pooper, hate your shitty game.

By the way, I still have gas from the turkey rice soup I had yesterday. Yes, still. You should also know, I’m bloated so there’s more farts and poo to come. It’s gonna be great. And now thanks to you, it will also be “meadow fresh”.

He Did Not Forsake Us

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on May 22, 2010)


I strongly suggest you get yourself a punk rawk anger shaman who has a wee bit of hippie dippie do to share. Ta Hank. And ta M-Dawg for showing up.

The following is the speech Rollins gave last year at the Sonoma State University commencement, on May 23, 2009. Hank spoke about it last night and I totally ripped it off the SSU site to share with you.

"It is an honor to be in front of you today as we congratulate all of our graduates and welcome their families and friends. My name is Henry Rollins and the fact that I was asked to speak briefly to you all today is one of the highest compliments and most terrifying propositions I have ever had and I only hope my words have some meaning and merit.

"I would like to thank you for going to college. I would like to thank you for taking years of your life and devoting it to study and the pursuit of knowledge. The world is in great need of people who can think, people who value ideas.

"For a moment, think of the person you were before you came here as a freshman or a freshperson if you will, and the person you are now. Of course, there was a large amount of good times, carrying on and engaging in behavior that we need not mention here. It is perhaps why the human brain is allotted such a vast amount of cells, so that it’s not a big problem when a few million fall off the back of the truck. But amidst all the fun and frivolity there were infinitely long stretches of time where you had to hit the books and work and work in order to achieve. There was no one there to tell you to keep at it but you. And you did it, and here you are. You may not need every single course you ever took to get you though life, but the focus and discipline that was required to complete the course will be invaluable tools that you will utilize and that will hopefully benefit you and those around you for the rest of your life.

"Your education and the time you spent here must be more than merely the means to a good job and financial security. Those are certainly important concerns but I am hoping for much more out of you. To come all this way only to become content cogs in a large machine or merely indistinguishable threads in a massive tapestry is not enough. It just isn’t.

"I know you are well aware of what is happening on planet Earth in 2009. Some say that we are in tough times. I believe we are in challenging times that are in need of bold thinking, fresh ideas and new ways of going about old things. This is where you come in. The future greets you today. You are a very big part of what it will be. So, it is incumbent upon you to take all that you have learned and all that you have worked so hard to achieve and do something with it that is more than the gathering of items and the purchase of a place to put it all in. Because at the end of the day, that is a bit of a checked swing, isn’t it? You don’t want to retire into the dull roar that quickly and quietly, do you? I should hope not!

"It is interesting, the excuses people give when they tell me why they don’t read as much as they used to, don’t travel or inquire as much as they did years before. They tell me they got tired, the kids, the job, the drive to work, the grind, not enough hours in the day, they say. When someone would tell the great philosopher Seneca that there wasn’t enough hours in the day, Seneca said that the gods had been quite generous with time allotment but that many people just don’t make good use of it. Not a second of your life will you ever get back. Make every day count, or acquire a taste for regret.

"I don’t understand how a mind that has been enlightened by years of study and immersed in an environment of such frenetic intellectual activity could ever suffer the crushing blow of complacency. I hope that none of you ever suffer this self-inflicted, greatly compromised condition. Not only is it inexcusable, it is boring as hell and no fun at all.

"Your curiosity must never wane! Ever. You are, therefore you want to know, want to go, want to know more and want to go further. As college graduates, you know all too well how much there is to know and the incalculable amount of fascinating things there are to explore, from thought to geographic destination. It is your curiosity that you must enhance, strengthen and value, more and more as the years go on and on. It is your curiosity that you must guard against exhaustion, apathy and that awful plague called middle age. You are allowed occasional but brief vacations from your curiosity, DVD box sets of television shows and carbohydrate rich foods are permitted—but don’t make a career out of it! It is your curiosity that you will pass on like a genetic trait to your children, infect all those around you like a virus and inspire the anger of those who have chosen to admit defeat. One of the greatest and most powerful words in any language is: WHY.

"When you stop wanting to find out, you’re done. There are few things more unendurable than being forced to spend time with someone who is intellectually incurious. This can never be you. Ask a question. Go forth. Arrive at the answer. Catch your breath. Ask Why. And then set off again. Never relent!

"The world is in need of bright minds. Individuals who seek to spread peace and prosperity by the way conduct themselves and the value they place on the lives of others and on life itself. These people, by way of their concern and awareness, whether they know it or not—are leaders.

"You lead through kindness, generosity, tolerance, innovation, the quest for knowledge and a basic, resolved goodness that is incorruptible, inexhaustible and undefeatable.

"You do not lead by intimidation, by economic coercion, overwhelming military might or sanctions.

"Brutality, oppression and the constant threat of violence only results in brutality, oppression and actual violence. The world has more than it needs.

"A member of Ku Klux Klan doesn’t need a frying pan upside the head! He needs an Al Green record and some good books. He needs better information so he can make better decisions and reach better conclusions. He needs to be inspired. You could do that for someone else, you could do that for a lot of people. It might take a lot less and go a lot further than you think.

"If you have noticed, I keep mentioning the people and the world around you. I have been doing this because you are surrounded. You are surrounded by millions of square miles of land, billions of gallons of water and who knows how many cubic feet of air. You share all of these finite and vulnerable resources with millions of people. Everything you do, affects someone else, perhaps more than you realize. I am hoping that you understand that your responsibility to yourself and your well-being must also somehow include the planet on which you live and the people you share it with because like it or not, it does."

On being cynical (from the "Provoked" tour) NSFW

Oh Henry

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on January 24, 2010)

This week I received another sign that Armageddon is on the way.

Our anger shaman, Henry Rollins, has a girlfriend.

Say whaaa?

First things first, I’m not seeing Edmonton on your tour schedule, and now you publicly admit to being attached and in a committed relationship? WTF, Hank? Clearly, pigs are about to fly and that weasel Garry Bettman is giving Satan his own NHL franchise.

Henry, my friend, I thought we had a deal.

The Rollins Church of Cynicism cannot exist when our jaded leader falls in love. And how the hell am I going to convert others to your pontifications when you and the Bon Jovi Mobile are steering clear of E-Town?

I feel exactly like I did when I found out the Tooth Faerie is a hoax. Cheated and holding a box of manky old teeth. But without the box of teeth.

I swear to gawd, if Lady Gaga gets caught in jeans and a tee shirt, I’m jumping off the roof.

I was also cheated in another way this week. Book number three of the year was supposed to be Salman Rushdie’s The Enchantress of Florence. I am abandoning it. I am on page 184 out of 349 and this story still hasn’t picked up. As a matter of fact, after 184 pages, it’s been a complete snore and somebody really needs to liberate Rushdie’s thesaurus; his writing is excessively wordy and quite frankly, hollow. Oh ya, I went there. I’ve also dropped a couple of Rushdie’s books off my “I Must Read This Before I Die” list. Life is too short and he’s already shaved way too much time off my life with this piece of doo-doo.

I accept part of the blame for this situation. I did pick the book myself after reading stellar reviews and watching it appear all over Best Seller lists. Generally, I am not persuaded by a journalist’s review of a book or Best Seller lists. Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one. And a Best Seller is exactly that, a best seller, and never a clear indication of what the quality of the book is.

Let me take a moment to remind you that Britney Spears is a best selling author.

Ya, that’s right, now you get it.

Literature is subjective, as are all art forms, and I should know better than to allow another person to sway my choice. The last time I picked up a book that people were gushing over was Sara Gruen's Water for Elephants. After four attempts, I still haven’t got past the second chapter of that cure for insomnia.  Just shoot me if I pick up anything by Stephenie Meyer.  Gawd, her writing is shite.

So, after reading The Dalai Lama’s Little Book of Inner Peace by His Holiness, the Dalai Lama, Stuck in Downward Dog by Chantel Simmons, and abandoning The Enchantress of Florence by Salman Rushdie, I am rounding out the month of January with Cosmic Jackpot: Why Our Universe is Just Right for Life by Paul Davies. I have flipped through it and it promises to be a mind-fuck for sure… leptons and quarks, big bangs and big rips.

This better be good Trev or you owe me $34.95 and your testicles. And don’t think I won’t collect either.

Two Girls And A Dye Job

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on February 15, 2010)

It was supposed to be a lovely day at the spa. A treat for me. For the most part it was.  Until it came time to get my hair did. Who knew my two-tone root emergency would prompt a cat fight?


Back in the day, I used to see Carla for all my hair dressing needs. Carla's husband knocked her up and told her he would not stand for her to be around chemicals that might give their baby a third arm or a cyclops eye. Asshole. Carla was a hair care goddess. I could say, "Do what you like" and not leave the spa looking like Denis Rodman. Now she's a mini-van mumma and she hasn't looked back. I miss her and hate her.


After being scalped and scalded with hair bleach by some sista who clearly had no idea what to do other than pose out, I ended up in the chair of the spa manager, George. In the beginning, things were great with George. It was magic. He was my therapist, my not gay gay hairdresser, and my follicular messiah.


Then he got complacent.


Three hair cuts in a row that were meh and this became a crisis for me.


I have nothing going on in the looks department so my hair is my crowning glory (ya, I'm a Leo). It pained me, but I did not have a choice.


I had to break up with George and see someone else.


What I should have done was change salons. But I am a fool. I cheated on George in George's salon. Right.  Under.  His.  Nose. I had to be all ninja about that shit too.  Believe me, I burned off the karma for cheating on George immediately. I ended up in the chair of a bat shit crazy woman who stalks her kids and wanted me to not only have an opinion about that, but wanted me to agree with her actions.  But she is the most amazing colour tech in the world.  So I endured the drama for a couple hours every six weeks.


Then there was the Sunday last summer when George busted my ass.


George does not do Sundays.  Bat Shit Crazy worked every other Sunday.  Perfect.  Getting my roots touched up was becoming a Black Ops ninja nightmare.


Then it happened.  George should have been having a lovely Sunday somewhere else. But no. No. NOOOOOO!!. He came into work. And there I was, in a chair, in the middle of the salon, mid colour application, hair standing on end with aluminum foil nesting on top of my head. My only options were to jump into my purse (too small, if you can believe it) or slide right off the chair and hide under the mirror (ewww, other people's hair). I was a hawt mess with nowhere to go. George's stank eye was like a laser.


Six weeks later, all  humble and humiliated, I went back to George's chair. "I knew you'd be back" was all he said. For two hours. It was purgatory but that's what a girl gets for cheating on her hairdresser.


I have a dinner engagement this Friday and the only day I could address my skunk root explosion was today. George doesn't see clients on Monday but with his blessing and recommendation, I booked with someone else.


I thought I was in good hands.


Not so much.


Those hands did not know how to show up to work on time. Those hands and their lack of respect for their employer and this client landed me back in Bat Shit Crazy's chair. As per George. Payback is a bitch and he had me behind the eight ball. For two hours I got to hear about loyalty and being on the client list of two stylists in one salon and how this is just not normal in the industry. I took it. Normally, I wouldn't. But I was desperate and Bat Shit Crazy is cleaver. She waited until the bleach was on my hair before she packed my bags for the guilt trip. That was when Late As Fuck And Doesn't Give A Shit showed up for work, demanding I switch chairs. Bat Shit Crazy told Late As Fuck And Doesn't Give A Shit she was taking the client, getting the credit, and the tip. Luckily there was no stabbing each other with scissors or bludgeoning each other with hair spray bottles, but even I can't repeat the language Bat Shit Crazy and Late As Fuck And Doesn't Give A Shit used at the washing station. Horrifying.


This has truly been one of the most dysfunctional relationships I have been involved in.


My roots are gone and so am I. Anyone know a good salon with a gayer than gay hairdresser/therapist/fashion consultant who needs a new client/patient?

I'm Bringin' Sexy Back

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on April 19, 2010)

And last week, I may have inadvertently tried to do it at work. Maybe. Possibly. At this point, I hope not.

I used to have my shit together, it used to be in one place, and I could find it at a moment’s notice. Now? Not so much. Most days, only a little bit. Last Thursday, not even close.  It should be said that in the last month I have lost my mobile phone, transit pass, and my long black Old Navy tank top that has lace trim (no big sexy times… I think I left it at the gym. I think. My brain is leaking and I just don't know any more.).

Last Thursday I may have lost my dignity as well. I’ve been asking around and it appears that I probably didn’t but you can call me Miss Jackson if it was nasty.

I started Thursday with my usual mad panic flight of the bumble bee that is commonly referred to by you normal people as “getting ready for work.”

Then I heard that snap sound that a woman never wants to hear.

Feck.

One favorite black bra, done.

Feckity Feck.

While the rational side of my brain was thinking of a logical Plan B, my dark side was being all MacGyver and shit, thinking about ways to fix the snapped under wire with cotton balls, band aids, and a rather large dose of medical tape. Double dee’s kids… a mere band aid will never do.

The other side of my brain, the allegedly logical side, remembered the convertible bra from hell was sitting in a drawer all patient and such, waiting to be worn again. I hate that thing. I paid waaaaaaaay too much for it. It has rubber anti-slip grips strips all over the place that make me itchy and those strips are totally unforgiving. It’s really too bad they don’t put that shit on the straps. You know, on the place where I could have used it the most. You will come to appreciate that later. I certainly would have.

Keep in mind, this black padded (I know!!) contraption is CONVERTIBLE. You ladies know what that means. Hooks on the straps for the band, hooks on the straps for the cup, and a prayer that your girls stay in place. Men, this will be important later.

Obviously I didn’t pray hard enough to the mammary gawds. Nay, nay. And if you know me, I never do things the easy way. Or half way. No, no. No, the possibility exists that I was Janet Jackson, circa Superbowl wardrobe malfunction. But with a whole lot less Justin Timberlake and possibly a whole lot more nipple. Not all of us leave the house in the morning with metal sunshine pasties so at this point I can only hope there wasn’t a nip slip. I am fairly optimistic that the lovely ladies I work with would have, at the very least, helped a girl out and at least body blocked so I could give Thelma and Louise a reset. After all, I did cup Susan’s ass when I spanked her last week… you’d think she’d return the favour, non?

Yes, I call them Thelma and Louise… a couple of wild and reckless girls.

So you can imagine my horror when I got home from work well after 6:00 pm and started to get changed out of my work gear only to be faced with the knowledge that at some point after 2:00 pm the hook for Thelma’s strap had slid out of the cup and was hanging off the strap only.

Did I happen to mention I had been wearing a sheer blouse?  Did I mention I had gone grocery shopping before I got home?

Do you know that humans have the ability to make horrified shrieking sounds that only small animals and babies can hear?

It must have sounded something like instant mortification, humiliation, embarrassment with at least six bars of ohmyeffingawd. When I realized the magnitude of what was happening, I froze.

Don’t look down.

But I gotta look down.

If you look down, your tit could be hanging out and then what?

Doesn’t matter if I look down or not, if the tit is out it is out.

Dammit, how long has the tit been out? Oh my gawd, if the tit is out oh my gawd I can’t even think it.

It was all I could do was unfreeze and ever so carefully look down. Actually, it was more of a wince to see if Thelma was loose and flapping about. At that point, I can say she was safely behind the padded loveliness of the world’s worst bra.

But for about four hours, she was AWOL.

So if you got to see Thelma on Thursday, you’re welcome.