Shakylegs: 03/01/2004

Oh, did I mention...?

5 litres/100 km, went to Burlington (VT) and back, costing me a whole $8 in gas. Vroom vroom.

Review of last night's The West Wing
It didn't suck.

Proof #52 why I'm an idiot
You know those footprints I was wondering about? Um, yeah, well, I forgot that I ordered take out last night.

Okay, that's just creepy
Leave my apartment this morning, there are fresh tracks in the snow, foot steps that go up the stairs, walk a bit around my door, and then walk back the way they came. No one rang the bell, or anything.
Cool! I have my own personal stalker. I always wanted me one of those. (I guess the word is out that I don't wear clothes in the apartment.)

Close call
After an "episode" on Sunday night, I was initially diagnosed with having had a transient ischemic attack. After Monday night in emergency and a Doppler today, it turns out that I was simply tired.
Top of the world, ma! Top of the world!

A vote for shorter people
Like Descartes fingering a piece of wax, I struck on a brilliant theory. I would go so far as calling it a law. Coming back from Mont St-Hilaire yesterday, we were driving by all the apple tree groves. The milliner pointed out how creepy they all looked, and I mentioned that they were pruned. This way, by staying short, they expend more energy to bearing fruit, and therefore don't waste it all on growing.
And then, eureka! It struck me! Short people have way more energy to spend on, say, sex, than they do for being tall. It's so simple! Occam's razor. So, to everyone out there over 5'8" (1.75m)? You're terrible in bed compared to us more-earthly bound folks. Hey, the truth hurts. I guess you could always play basketball.
The same theory, I guess, could apply to anyone over, um, 30. You've stopped growing, time to knock boots properly.

Word of the day...
is prag. Who wants to be my prag?

Cutie Pies
Okay, I'm turning into a big suck. I present: my nephews.

Margarita, tu me llamas
New blender with ice crusher option. Tequila. Triple Sec. Limes. Summer oblivion, wait for me.

No more bitchin Camaro
Sad news, Dave Blood, from the Dead Milkmen, decided to live up to the band's name. Won't be dancing to no more The Smiths. No more dancing to Deepeechee Mode. No more dancing to godawful art fag music on MTV.

That seems about right
From the geek.

Magister Mundi sum!
"I am the Master of the Universe!"
You are full of yourself, but you're so cool you
probably deserve to be. Rock on.
Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Shudder
Saw Touching the Void last night. Absolutely brilliant. Absolutely cringe-inducing.
Having endured nightmares after minor mishaps and falls while climbing, I can just imagine what the past 20 years and the time taken to make the film were like for the two climbers involved.

Saturday night menu
Yup, I'm truly lucky to not only have a really sweet better half, she's also as good (if not better, but I won't admit it) cook as myself. The following, which the milliner made for me on Sat'day night, was taken from the French Laundry cookbook. Definitely a restaurant to which I want to go. Maybe if I make a reservation today, there'll be an opening next year.

My kinda town
Apart from serving as "base camp" for some of the best climbing in the east, New Paltz, NY has hit the (inter)national spotlight because its mayor, Jason West, is following the San Francisco example of allowing and performing gay marriage in the city. True, the town is home to elves, trolls, and is only about 20 miles from the Woodstock, so there might be something weird in the water, but still. Kudos.

I don't see this as being a big seller
Was in Blockbuster last night (yeah, yeah, sue me), renting School of Rock. Get to the cash, and the clerk asks me whether I want to sign up to be one of the first customers to receive the Cat in the Hat DVD.
Gave me a good laugh.

Enough with the hard sell, already
Went to test drive a car last night. This is becoming a weekly thing, since we tried out the Mini last week. (I think I left a wet spot on the seat after that one; imagine taking the road up the mountain at 80kmh, feeling the car absolutely hug the pavement. Gawd, what a great car, but I don’t have an extra $450+ hanging around every month to pay for it.) Both the chickie and I are in the market, I because I’ve never had a vehicle before, and the gf because, as I may have mentioned, her ’90 Civic ain’t cutting it anymore, costing almost as much every year in repairs and upkeep as it would to pay for a new one. Anyhow, I want to try one more car before I decide, since my mind was pretty much made up beforehand, what with taking into account what I want, can afford, and most importantly, what will make the bettys swoon.
However, it’s always interesting to witness the “déroulement” of the evening, from initially walking in, being slyly pounced upon by whatever salestron is available, given the spiel, etc. Man, do they ever want you to try out the car. None of that icky talking will do. Nope, into the car with you. Well, especially with the Mini, ’cause they know that, the moment you try it out, you’re sold. Good enough, you try it out for about 5-10 minutes, and back to the dealership. (Unfortunately, the milliner doesn’t let me drive her car anymore, not since October, not since she had to lay out lotsa coin to replace the clutch. I still say it wasn't my fault. So, as a result, I happened to stall the car several times last night. Hee.) So, back to the dealership, and then you’re almost nailed to the wall. “You gonna take it? What do you mean you want to try another car? Did you know that we have a great deal going on right now, but it won’t last long, so sign up now, ‘cause I can’t guarantee that it will still be here when you get back. Oh, did you know that we have the exact same deal you’re looking for in a demo, same colour, same options, yadda yadda, but hurry ‘cause we won’t have it for long.” Honest, the desperation is literally dripping from their brows.
Without a doubt, if I do decide to get the car I tried last night, I might actually get it from someone else. The milliner enjoys the spiel, simply because, because of her work, she can predict how every step of the evening will go. Me? Leave me the fuck alone, and don’t pressure me. I have enough trouble with performance anxiety, I don’t need any more.

That went quickly
Already a year with the milliner. (And she still hasn't made me a hat!) However, this also means a year has gone by that I haven't had any rabbit. The stomach growls.

Yes, it's a fine bouquet
Funny how our approach to expenses changes with the surroundings. We walked down to Olive & Olives on Laurier yesterday: if you haven't been, you've got to go. The only thing they sell is, to paraphrase King of the Hill, olive oil and olive oil products. All these different types of olive oil for sale, and it's amazing how different one product can taste from the other. Oil for lamb, oil for salads, oil for soups, oil, oil, oil. Some taste like freshly mown grass, others taste like olive skin, others, well, it doesn't stop.
So, we're there, and I ask for a salad oil. Taken to a table, where the salesperson has us eat some bread to clean our palate, and then has us sample three different types of oil, pouring portions into little cups. Now, I like olive oil as much if not more than the regular person, but sucking back three consecutive shots of oil was a bit much. Chose the oil I wanted, and upon hearing the price, thought to myself, "Well, $18 isn't that expensive." Riiight.
Still feeling sybaritic, go next door to Le Fromentier to indulge even further. No wonder I'm gaining the poundage. But, at least my diet salads will taste good.