Captain Save-A-Ho

...got jacked.  AGAIN.  We're 95% sure that it's the resident of one of the subsidized houses on our street, since a neighbour has seen her testing door handles before, and less than a month ago, she was caught red-handed, going into another neighbour's mini-van, in BROAD DAYLIGHT, at like, 3 pm on a Saturday afternoon.  KEEP IT CLASSY, SUBSIDIZED HOUSING RESIDENT, KEEP IT CLASSY.


Whoever the culprit is, also broke into our other neighbour's car and took his GPS.  This is what they stole from us:  our new GPS, our booster seat that we keep for restaurants (that our neighbour gave us) and, most galling of all, my homemade car emergency preparedness kit, which was a rubbermaid bin with some rope, some towels, candles, band-aids bottled water, stale granola bars, kitty litter, an umbrella, and a first aid manual.  LAME!  Who takes that shiz?!???  This is just further evidence that it was the ho-bag on our street.  Who would want to carry that around?  


Anyway, it's super-duper annoying.  Look: I get it.  I'm a lefty.  I'm pro-subsidized housing.  I want my street to be like Sesame Street - a melting pot of different socio-economic strata mixing together into a happy melange.  However!  TAKE YOUR THIEVING ONE STREET OVER!  That's all I ask for!  Don't send your billion kids to my house for trick-or-treating and then STEAL FROM ME!  It's the worst.


Also the worst?  Filing a police report.  I spoke to the dispatch officer and I was like, "So...are you guys going to come and take some prints or what?" (100% guaranteed that lady has priors.)  Him: "Well, we only do that if 6 cars have been broken into on the same street in the same night."  (Sidebar: WHO CAME UP WITH THAT RANDOM METRIC?!?)  Me: "Well, seeing as how this is the second time this has happened on our street to us, and that over the course of the year, more than 6 cars get broken into, then what do I have to do to get increased surveillance or something?" Him: "Uhhhh...I just take down the report.  You could go to 55 Division and speak to the Sergeant and try to get him to take an interest in it, but it's a man power issue."  Me: "Well, if this was happening on YOUR street, WHAT WOULD YOU DO?" Him: *mumbles*


DON'T GIVE ME ANY BULL ROAR ABOUT A MAN-POWER ISSUE!  How come whenever I have to rent a cop for $250/hour or whatever for a freakin' wedding, there's no man power issue?  How come when I go to Square Boy and try to get a chicken souvlaki on a pita and the parking lot is clogged with Toronto's finest, there's no man-power issue?  I'm incensed!  Mostly because I just bought that GPS like, two weeks ago!  And because I don't want to have to go to Babies R Us to get another booster seat!  


It's just so demoralizing.  As Dr. Rei said today, being a decent, hard-working person in contemporary society hardens you.  As soon as you say, leave academia and get a job, it basically turns you into a fiscal conservative.  I don't understand why I pay out the nose in taxes, when people I know, don't work, receive government grants, and don't PAY INTO THE SYSTEM THEY'RE USING!  Believe me, I'm all for the redistributive powers of the state.  At the end of the day, I live under the spectre of Marx.  And yet...and yet...I can totally understand the frustrations of the working stiff when they see people abusing the luxuries of a system they don't contribute to.  Instead of work to rule, why don't they do like, volunteer-to-rule?  Why do we spent time making high school kids amass volunteer hours, but people on the dole don't have to account for any of their activities except for how they COULDN'T get a job?  As someone who likes to follow the rules (when convenient, ha!) I get very aggrieved when people can succeed by circumventing them.  


This is what we've been eating lately:

 Friday night the roomie came over and we had spaghetti and meatballs.  We then watched L'Armi's new show, The Big Decision, which is kind of a Dragon's Den spin-off.  She made a delicious arugala salad and I made us a salad of raw shaved brussels sprouts with a cole-slaw-y dressing.  Delicious!

Saturday the Dotytron made us his special Swedish pancakes - the version he turned in that morning was a personal best.

Saturday night Lolly and SMckay came over and I made us an impromptu St. Paddy's Day feast. We had baked corned beef, cabbage sautéed with apples and bacon, smashed tatties fried in duck fat, and roasted maple-glazed carrots.  We also had that chocolate budino with salted caramel for dessert.

Sunday dinner I went into Jewish grandma mode, on account of the Dotytron and I both waking up and feeling sick.  I made a giant batch of chicken stock and threw together a modified version of Italian wedding soup, with sweet potatoes, carrots, leeks, celery, orzo, kale, and meatballs made with ground turkey and parmesan.

I promise you an NYC round-up post shortly.  My laptop is in the shop and we've been busy trying to you know, NOT BE SICK AS A FAMILY.

Did I mention the Big Yam has walking pneumonia?  I didn't even know that was a thing!  From what I can understand by the doctor in our clinic who saw us, it seems to be pneumonia that doesn't make you hate life.  The Boobla has been amazing lately.  He had a really good experience outside with a ball the day before we left for NYC and thus, the whole trip, anytime we went from outside to inside, he would start doing his jackknife-spasming thing and crying out, "BALL! BALL-BALL! BAAAAALLLL!" and we didn't put it together that "ball" was synonymous with "outside" until day 2 of the trip.  What a mensch.

He's also started saying, "Da Da Doooooo" which we can't decode for the life of us.  It *seems* to be a catch-all phrase for something he wants or desires.  It gets applied to everything (food, outside, being picked up, the phone), and it creates a fair amount of frustration from both sides trying to decode what the actual topic in question is.  It IS however, tremendously cute to hear him going, "Da Da DOOOOOOO" repeatedly.  

Fin.

NYC!

We're heading out in just a little bit to one of my favorite places on earth.  Love, love, love NYC!  Can't beat it.  For a chowhound and a jazzer, it's the perfect city to satisfy both our desires.  This is what we have on our itinerary:

...and more!  

Roundup post upon my return!  Enjoy the next four days, all!

Fin.

From shoes to Ugandan war children

Ugh. So stressed today.  I'm trying to wrap up a jillion things at work before taking next week off and of course I got hit with a bunch of requests, which I love working on, but which are stressful.  


Then I ended up crying at my desk no less than 2 times, a steady, salty leak from my peepers that I tried to furtively wipe away to avoid any unnecessary commentary from my office mates which would no doubt have sent me spiraling into full-on wailing.  The first set of leaks was as a result of an email exchange with my mum, the second set was after I watched that Kony 2012 video (Twitter hashtag #stopkony), which is EPIC long for an internet video (29 minutes!) but was only uploaded like, 3 days ago and has 40 million hits.  Here it is:

I came across it cuz John Green, my hero, posted about it.  So I watched the video and of course was swayed by it's slick construction and message (can you IMAGINE someone kidnapping the Big Yam and forcing the little Boobla to be a child soldier?!) and got all weepy.  

I followed it up by reading the inevitable educated liberal backlash (you know, the kind that results in crippling inactivity) like this article from The Atlantic (note: I agree with and frequently invoke the author's point about the dangers of western banal sentimentality when speaking of the developed world, thereby continuing to put my training in post-colonial studies to good use) and this one in The Washington Post and now I'm right back where I started, which is knowing a little bit about a pretty bad situation happening outside of my own privileged sphere in the world and paralyzed by the opposing forces of wanting to do good and not knowing enough to be able to be a true agent of change into self-loathing and doubt.  Which is basically the calling card of the educated liberal elite.  Sigh.

I don't know how people do it.  I barely have it in me to stay on top of Ontario news, which I need to for my job.  Let alone Canadian news, let alone what's happening in the REST OF THE G-D WORLD.  Let alone attain a nuanced, critical, educated understanding of a particular issue enough that I would be deemed to have the "authority" to be able to speak on it.  If that was the case, the only topics I'm qualified to talk about are:

- Pinterest

- the Big Yam

- which ramen restaurant in the GTA serves the best tonkotsu

- the relative merits of AYCE Japanese restaurants in the greater golden horseshoe

- why Jazz music is the refuge of the damned (and by "damned" I mean tragic nerdy guys)

It's just so demoralizing.  So, even as I so fervently wish that I could be a proactive, smart, contributing member of civil society (like so many people I admire!), I end up reaching that point of cognitive saturation where it's just easier for me to watch Top Chef or like, think about where I want to eat dinner with the Goosetang Clan tomorrow than do anything that will make any real change (however minute, at least it's not so self-gratifyingly directed) in the world.  

It's bigtime depressing.  BIGTIME.

Edit: The Dotytron coincidentally and independently also watched that video today and we talked about it, and as usual, he helped me to crystallize and formulate some thoughts on the above.  To wit: the critiques of the Invisible Children movement miss the point.  All the movement is hoping to accomplish is to harness the short attention spans and vapidity of the Facebook generation towards a common goal, within a short, fixed deadline (the only kind that exists today, the only kind that is sustainable today) and then leave the politicking and the logistics to the experts.  It's pretty smart and savvy and neatly tailors the activity to the right people - so you let the social networking dummy masses generate the momentum to push policy makers to then turn over the details to the experts.  

The post-colonial theory discourse of the banality of sentimentality doesn't necessarily hold true here.  In this case, it's different than when Paolo Friere or Gayatri Spivak talk about enabling the disenfranchised "Other" to attain their own autonomy free from the paternalism of the northern elite.  Friere and Spivak and the like are talking about more insidious and, some could argue, dangerous systemic power dynamics than in the case of the LRA and its actions.  In the case of the LRA it becomes a question of human immediacy.  The citizens of Uganda (by all accounts) don't have a conflicted, complicated relationship with the LRA - the LRA is terrorizing the people and the rest of Uganda don't have the means to do anything about it, but want to.  Big difference.  I think.  I have to think this through some more, but I can say that I find The Atlantic's critique to be fatuous.  

The Big Yam had his first visit with the pediatric dentist today.  His canine teeth are coming in okay and his molars seem fine...so it's just a matter of monitoring.  The dentist said the canines should act as placeholders to prevent shifting and there shouldn't be any impact on his speech development.  Basically, loosing his four bottom baby teeth shouldn't impact his speech any more than if he had lost them in the regular course of life, in their proper  time.  He can eat everything and we have to see the pediatric dentist every 6 months to keep tabs on the situation.  Phew!

As a reward, I jettisoned our dinner plans in favour of Amaya takeout and cupcakes from Bobette and Belle.  My book club was supposed to meet tonight at the Harbord House but people were sick so in the end, we called it.  I'm glad.  On a rainy cold day like today (with hail!) Indian food and cupcakes at home with the boys is exactly what the kind of restorative measures I need.

Fin.

Snooziest of snoozies

The Dotytron and I are still battling the cold of doom so it's been a boring few days.  I basically spend my days in a fog of cotton-ball-brain (I seriously had to place FOUR follow-up calls to a client to negotiate their request because I was too mind-fuzzy to figure it out and ask the right questions the first three times) experiencing chills at work, then I stumble home, get it together enough to be able to play with the Big Yam (who has been absolutely lovely these past few nights) and then pass out at 9pm.  All I want to do is sleeeeeeeep.  I also want to be in top form for NYC.  Which means top form for Uniqlo!  And Shake Shack!  And BBQ!  And buying cool clothes for the Big Yam!  And the Cindy Sherman exhibit at MOMA!  And visiting with Pingy & A and my cook-friends!


I'm having issues finding summer footwear for the Big Yam's cabbage roll feet.  For some reason, mainstream kids shoe designers think it's okay to make little kids wear ugly, tourista dad sandals.  It's the worst!  Look at these things:

BRAF!  As I said on FB, I didn't go to the trouble of having a mixed-race kid in a vibrant multi-cultural urban metropolis to have him prancing around looking like that little brat above.  Gross!  And my other options?  Forget it:

FRAB!  Seriously?!?  How is that even a shoe that anyone would want to put on?  BTW, Geox sandals (the brand pictured immediately above) cost SIXTY DOLLARS.  Soooo uggie!  I find them offensive on so many levels.  

The thing is, I know like, Kanye has a source but I'm not gonna spend $250 on BAPE shoes for my kid.  There's like, no middle ground of affordable yet stylish sandals for boy toddlers that will not make me want to beat them up but will still mitigate the summer stink foot factor.  I guess my only choice are like, Crocs.  Which is muy depressing.

These are the only dece ones I've been able to find, and they don't have 'em in the Big Yam's size:

Maybe the problem presents a paradox.  You can't dress your kid cool AND still have him wear sandals.  Does 'Ye wear sandals?  Probably not.  Does like, Kid Cudi wear sandals?  No.  So it's an irreconcilable difference.  You know what brother does wear sandals?  The black guy from Hootie and the Blowfish, that's who.  And we all know what an outlier he is.  

In the end, I might just have to sooth my aggrieved footwear aesthetic with a pair (or two) of Creative Recreation high tops for the little lad (which cost $30, by the way, make sense of THAT.)  

I've gotten to a depressing part in my cancer biography (yes, there are parts of it that are more depressing than others) and so I'm injecting a little levity into my life with some comics reading.  I'm midway through Adrien Tomine's Scenes from an Impending Marriage and it is precisely the antidote to beautifully-written-but-unencouraging-treatises-on-cancer-mortality-and-the-politicization-of-cancer-treatment-and-research.  

Tonight we repurposed leftover chilaquiles mix and leftover (frozen) carnitas and merged them into one, unholy and delicious tostada.  Topped with the de rigeur sour cream, avocado, scallions, etc.  

Tonight was also my second night in a row of doing yoga.  I'm not gonna say that I've basically transformed my body, except I just did.

Fin.

Autism Inventory & Other Weekend Activities

NBD, we only had the BUSIEST WEEKEND EVER!  Holy carp!  This weekend was intensity in ten cities.  Friday night the Dotytron had a Doty sibling special dinner with Ehmdo and I had my friend E over.  I made us chilaquiles with black beans and hominy topped with tostadas, sour cream, scallions, chopped salted avocado mixed with lemon (I was out of lime) and there's a fried egg (or two) hiding under there as well.  I really, truly, love chilaquiles.  And I really, truly really like new friend E who is not only a crack dodgeball player, but a crafter, an eater, and a stylish lady who knows a lot about environmental toxins and is doing good things with her life, unlike a certain buckshot shorty.

Mama Dread strikes again.  New weekend activity - the bin of beans.  I picked this up from some Montessori parenting blog.  Ideally, there should be a LOT more beans in there...I'm going to go to the bulk barn sometime and get more.  The beans can be reused, which is nice and he had a grand, grand time picking them up, scooping them with the cottage cheese container, letting them run through the funnel, sifting his fingers through them, and piling them on his fat feetsies.  It's a pretty good activity and pretty clean, as far as kid's activities go.  You can just vacuum/sweep up the errant beans that get dumped outside the container and there you go:

Saturday we woke up EXHAUSTED because the whole family has a cold and the Big Yam opted to wake up at 5am.  So we were grumps.  R & R came over in the afternoon and brought us tonnes of mutton-based delights from Babu, which were delicious, my favorite being the mutton roll, which is their mutton, rolled up into a chubby log that is breaded and deep-fried.  Of course, the Big Yam, being the little Tamil tiger that he is, ate a million samosas and mutton rotis and rolls, even though they were pretty incendiary.  I don't know where he comes from sometimes.  He LOVES Indian/Sri Lankan food.   Then we posse'd up and headed to The Artist Project, to check out independent, unrepresented artists and support our dear, dear friend S, who was the winner of the Un-Tapped artist competition and exhibited her beautiful, ethereal loom panels:

Then we went back to our house with R & R and ate a million Turkish pizzas (pides) and I made us churros and these chocolate budinos with a salted caramel (which broke down and got runny!  BOOOO!), topped with whipped cream, and Momofuku milk bar chocolate crumbs.  Once I dial in the dessert (reduce the sugar, use a salted caramel that's more stable and firm), this dessert will be a winner.  Thick, rich, creamy, cold with texture from the crumbs and a nice balance of sweet and salt:

Then we took the autism spectrum inventory, which was hilarious and fun (it's especially fun to do it in front of your partner, as it's a self-assessment and lead to some spirited back and forth between me and the Dotytron).  We're not on the spectrum.  I scored in the slightly high range for a female and the Dotytron was in the normal range for a male.  Some of the questions are hilarious, though.  The Dotytron isn't detailed-oriented enough to be on the spectrum.  LOL!  

R was telling us this story that involved coming home and surprising her hubby by putting on "something cute."  At that point, I interrupted to say, "what do you mean by 'cute'?"  and R kind of gave me a weird look, and said, "you know...something cute" and the Dotytron had to intervene on my behalf and say, "it's a fair question for Karl, because it would NEVER occur to her to put on something that wasn't sweats.  When you say "something cute" she's envisioning a hot dog costume or like a chicken suit."  LOL!  So true!  I have a problem being seriously sexy or wearing something that's slippery.  It's just not in my lexicon.  I can't do it.  The fact that the Dotytron knows me well enough to know that I had NO EARTHLY IDEA what the subtext for "something cute" meant was really endearing.  

Sunday morning I made us this dish that I stole from a restaurant near m ywork.  They call it "eggy hammy cheesy" and it's precisely that.  An english muffin, spread with dijon mustard, topped with aged cheddar, melted in the oven.  Topped with chunks of ham, and topped with a fried egg.  DELICIOUS.  I sided it with oven-roasted grape tomatoes tossed with garlic and fresh thyme which is one of the Dotytron's favorite things in the world, strangely.

Then I parted ways from my family and went to get my bangs trimmed with Lolls and SMcKay before we headed to our friend N's baby shower.  N is the cutest preggo ever and her baby shower was so fancy!  Everyone was so lovely and the food was great and the games were fun and her Nonna is the most adorable woman ever.  I was so glad I was invited to share in it with her and her friends and family.  I can't wait to meet this little wee one!  

The Big Yam continues to learn things at a staggering rate (or so I've convinced myself, using my own personal metric of "super-genius" as my guide and not reading a single thing about child cognitive development).  He's learned how to say "7" and "8" in Cantonese and "ten" in English (he actually LOVES his flash cards, which is all kinds of awesome).  He says "roll" for this song, Roly Poly, he makes the appropriate sounds when we're reading this Robert Munsch book he loves, he says "go!" and "brown bear" and when you ask him what a lion says, he says "roar."  But it's the cutest, most muted, matter-of-fact "roar" you've ever heard.  Evidence in the video below.  He's wearing an outfit gifted to him from Auntie TPat in Vancouver:

We've also instilled the Pavlovian response in him that when we put him on the potty, he pees like, 90% of the time, thereby proving that my "reward" (he gets 1 square of toilet paper and we all clap and say "yay!") that SMcKay thought was the lamest thing ever, is working!  I'm sure nicer mums would give stickers, or candies, or some other real treat, but if your kid thinks 1 single, measly square of single-ply, scratchy eco-toilet paper is a reward - why fix it?  

Tonight the Dotytron is off doing professional development and then possibly going to a concert with Momma D.  So it was just me and the Big Yam.  Lots of stories and songs and being ridiculous.  I love 12 months plus.  It's just the best age.  He's FUNNY.  Like, intentionally funny!  And he doesn't really have enough of a sense of agency yet to be super-obnoxious or obstinate or willful.   So the past 4 months have just been a lovely, lovely time of him being a sponge of learning and a big goofball.  

I made us a dinner of packaged tortellini mixed with baby spinach in an alfredo-y cream sauce for dinner, with brussels sprouts, in awareness of the fact that our days eating brussels sprouts in 2012 are numbered, if the warm weather continues apace.  It was delicious!

Fin.

In which I talk about two things that made me almost cry with laughter this week

1)  Some people loathe office culture.  I can see why.  Putting together a randomly assigned group of people to work on tasks for over 8 hours a day for years at a time means that the veneer of public-sphere normality that most people can maintain for short periods rapidly wears off.  People are weirdoes.  MOST PEOPLE.  A lot of other people can't deal with that.  I, on the other hand, REVEL in the banalities of office interactions.  I find it such a fascinating sociological experiment every day.  Assisting me in this is that I have an unparalleled ability to find humour in the mundane and to not get fussed when people are just being weird in a way that doesn't directly impact my life.  I can let a lot of stuff roll off my back.  This week I was taking a break with G and K at work and we were trying to remember all the student placements who have passed through our hallowed halls. At one point, one guy's name came up and G said, "oh I remember ___!  We used to call him 'The Doughnut Toucher.'"  AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  It makes me laugh because it is ONLY in a work environment where you could call someone "The Doughnut Toucher" and have it actually be a thing.  It is ONLY in an office where you will find yourself looking on in horror when you bring in a box of Timmy Ho's and see a fellow colleague pawing through EACH AND EVERY ONE.  LOL!!!  So funny!!!


2) My nephew, Little Ze, has had this stuffed bear named BoBo that's he's had since he was born.  The relationship has changed through the years - it started with Little Ze sleeping with him, and then sniffing BoBo's butt to get to sleep, and then stuffing BoBo down his pajama pants for reasons unfathomable to anyone but Little Ze.  It's been almost a 6 year relationship.  My sister sent an email this morning to the family with the subject line: "BoBo is dead" and the content that my poor nephew was too scared to go to the bathroom in the night, and pooped and peed in the bed, and it was "horrific" (in my sis's words) and that as a result, the BoBo decision was made to let BoBo go.  


I responded that when I first read the words: "BoBo is dead" my heart stopped a bit (given the past year or so we've had, not an unreasonable reaction), even though I know who/what BoBo is.


My bro then responded:



Seriously...let's refrain from using the D-word in the subject line of emails. *lol* 


PS  worst way to go ever.




^^^  The PS had me almost peeing my own self with laughter.  So funny!!!  Picturing poor BoBo dead by way of a poo/pee tsunami is hilarious on so many levels, not all of them scatological.  


Last night the roomie and L'Armi brought us dinner.  It was very sweet and we had a fun time.  Today is my day off - I'm doing the usual massage thing.  Followed by a dentist appointment and futzing around the house kind of stuff.  Tonight I'm having my friend E over for vegetarian food and crafting.  Wheeeee!!!  I'm making us chilaquiles with black beans and hominy and crunched up tostadas.  And churros for dessert.  The Dotytron is taking his sis out for dinner somewhere - which was our Christmas present to her.  This weekend is hectic, but fun - baby shower, art show, dinner with friends, house stuff.  The usual melange of mundane, life-propelling, life-affirming stuff.


Fin.

Hackz0red!

So the Dotytron's credit card got hackz0red.  I manage all our finances because I'm a type A micro-managing budgeting psycho, so I was paying the bills and noticed this weird PayPal charge on his credit card.  And of COURSE I wigged out like the controlling freakazoid I am and was all like, "ummmm...what are you buying on PayPal that's not a play kitchen or clothes for the Big Yam (read: "antique milk glass plates and cutesy stuff on Etsy for me)?!?"  Then we had a message from TD Loss Prevention on home line.  So I had him call loss prevention and they're like, "this charge was made by Karl Lagerfeld on PayPal" which is weird, because his credit card isn't linked on my PayPal account and the charges weren't showing up on EITHER of our PayPal accounts.  It was annoying because the credit card company wasn't willing to refund the money and wanted us to do it on the PayPal side of things (which is stupid, since their loss prevention program was already on the case!)  So I call PayPal and talk to their fraud department and the dude is all like, "Ms. Lagerfeld, do you have a 932 area code?" Me: "no."  Then, "Ms. Lagerfeld, do you have an aol account?"  Me: "Uh...no.  Does ANYONE have an aol account any more?"  So they're going to reverse the charges.  But this is crazy for a few reasons:


1) the sophistication of the scam.  A charge made on the Dotytron's card, with MY name authorizing it.  How did that happen?
2) how insulted I was that someone thought I would have an aol email account.  What is this? 1994?  
3) this is probably an indication that I should be more circumspect about shredding stuff.  I'm always like, "oh, this credit card statement?  Booooring!  Into the recycling with you, friend!"  


In unrelated news, Purple Rain came on the radio the other day.  

My favorite part starts at the 3:30 minute mark, basically when the guitar solo kicks in and the whole tune gets launched into the slow-jam anthem stratosphere.  Singing this song and reflecting on how that anthemic-guitar-solo-accompanied-by-Prince-falsetto-hoo-hooing made me feel got me thinking about how there aren't a lot of hands-in-the-air, rock anthem slow jams.  Like, there are slow jams, but anthemic, heart-pumping slow jams?  Not as easy to pin down.  Can you think of any others?  November Rain kind of counts, but it still isn't as heart-poundingly uplifting.  November rain is a bit of a downer.  The Dotytron suggested Alone, by Heart, but again, a bit of a downer.  Let me know if you think of anything.

That being said, Alone ROCKS.  When Nancy drops to the floor on her knees and wails on the guitar in her sweeping, giant-collared, black trench coat with her magnificent heaving bosom?  Quit it!  If Heart comes back this summer, I'm so going.  When the (synthesized) drums kick in, I will without fail, do the most horrible, awkward, unintuitive and inaccurate air drum fill you have ever witnessed in your time on this earth.  And yet, I CAN'T STOP MYSELF.  

Sooooooooo...last night I was at the Eaton Centre before class returning some kiddie stuff for the Big Yam and I saw this tank top on a mannequin outside of Hot Topic and I kind of stopped dead in my tracks and I kinda sorta really really really want it.  I know.  GIANT NERDLINGER.  The thought processes are as follows:


a) how nerdlinger is it to get a Hunger Games tank top?
b) am I too old to be wearing this kind of tank top?  Note the fact that the model in the picture is probably like, 14 MAX
c) it IS pretty tasteful
d) am I too old to be setting foot in Hot Topic buying something for myself?


I feel like I need to be talked down from the ledge here, folks.  Help me help myself.


In other news, I'm still dutifully slogging my way through The Emperor of All Maladies which is that (award-winning!) biography of cancer but which is kind of mucho depressing and disheartening.  Then my Academic Book Club picked Joseph Boyden's Through Black Spruce as our next read and I'm already super-depressed.  I don't want arty-Canadian literature about First Nations people!  I want more Daughter of Smoke and Bone and I want it stat!  I know what I want, and I want it now!  


The Big Yam had his follow-up appointment with Sick Kids dentistry after Tooth-Gate-gate and his gums are healing well.  Now it's up to the pediatric dentist to monitor the situation and keep an eye on whether his bottom adult teeth grow properly and space themselves right.  Stay true, bottom adult teeth, stay true.


Fin.

For a self-professed misanthrope

...my heart feels like it's going to explode sometimes from all my love for my adorable friends.  We received our wedding invites yesterday for H & A's wedding in Cleveland and we are BEYOND pumped.  Those two are the sweetest, most adorablest, most a**-kickingly-awesome-at-making-halloween-costumes pair of doppelgangers, ever.  They're just the best of the best.  My feelings on matrimony aside, nothing warms the cold, black cockles of my heart more than seeing two best people throw their lot together in life and become even MORE best. My only gripe with them is that they insist on living in the United States, when it's so obvious that they're socialist pinkos at heart and should really be living in Canada.  Specifically, Ontario.  More geographically specifically, Toronto.  Preferably, within walking distance, but I'm willing to negotiate a bit on that.  

Then my friends R & R did this recently.  I found the article hilarious because their endearing adorableness shines through.  I can't believe we only started hanging out like, last year.  Best new friends of 2011, hands down.  Also, I can't believe that the first time we hung out socially, was at AYCE Japanese in Markham and they claimed to be lightweights.  Those two are class acts.  Like, every time you go to their house they have tonnes of beer and mutton patties on hand and homemade cookies.  When you come to **our** house, you've scarcely crossed our lil' ugmo threshold before I'm barking at you with all the finesse of a Brigitte Nielson, Eastern-Bloc Gestapo type to take off your shoes before coming in the house and then offering you a drink of either: milk, water, or apple cider that's turned to vinegar.  I will then exhort you to push aside the piles of folded socks and underwear on the couch and "make yourself at home."  I am the definition of déclassé, even though I was born with a gilt spoon in my mouth.  

Then I found out that my friend P got accepted into TUM (that's Toronto Underground Market to you) and I'm so excited for him to do well!  Having tasted his entry (butter chicken) before, I think it's well deserving of being on TUM's illustrious roster and I'm mad jelly that 500 other lucky Torontonians get to taste his wares.  Add to that this week, S (P's partner) is participating in The Artist Project and I'm beyond thrilled for the two of them individually and as a couple.  

There is so much talent, smarts, moxie, and funny in our extended crew that I'm humbled by it all.  It makes me feel like a right slouch but I'm so glad that I get to bask in their reflected glory.  

This week is madness.  After a two week hiatus, class starts on Tuesday night.  Wednesday is the Dotytron's night to do boring music stuff with other music nerds of the highest order.  Thursday is the art opening, but we might duck out.  Friday, I'm having my friend E over.  Saturday is the art show, then dinner with some Supper-Club-y crew.  Sunday is a baby shower in the 'Loo for the cutest, sweetest preggo I know, N.  I'm getting tired and overwhelmed just writing that out.


Tales of a Mama Dread - this is my new favorite Saturday afternoon, it's-too-cold-outside-to-play activity with the Big Yam: a rubbermaid tub, a le creuset pot, some water, some kitchen utensils and some blue food colouring.  Look at him in his undershirt!  He looks like a Chinese worker in Hong Kong - all he's missing is a farmer's blow into the street and a toothpick and a Marlboro.

The Big Yam chowing down on a leftover Chino Loco burrito.

Tonight's dinner was a spinach and feta brown rice casserole with panko topping.  So easy.  I've posted the recipe below.

Bit of a snoozy chapstick post.  I'm feeling kind of tired tonight - I biked to work today and I'm hoping to re-start a yoga regimen of sorts.  Har.

Fin.

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Spinach, Feta and Brown Rice Casserole
serves 4-6


1 T. butter
1 onion, thinly sliced
1.5 lbs of spinach, thinly sliced
minced garlic or roasted garlic
4 cups cooked brown rice
2 eggs
1 c. of yoghurt
400 g. of feta cheese
2 c. panko
canola oil


- sauté the onion, in the butter, with a tablespoon of oil until golden.  Add the garlic and the spinach in batches until it's all wilted.  Season lightly with salt and pepper.
- mix the spinach, the brown rice, 2 eggs, the yoghurt together in a large bowl.  Crumble in the feta cheese.  Season again gently with salt and pepper.
- pour into a 9x13" pan or other similar combination of casseroles and top with panko.  Drizzle panko with canola oil and bake the casserole in a 400F oven for about 30 minutes covered with a piece of foil, and then, as soon as the panko is golden brown, covered with foil until heated through.

F-F-F-Friday!

Whaaaat.  A couple of weeks ago the Dotytron decided that he wanted to get into Leonard Cohen, so he d/l a discography and put it on while we were cleaning the house.  Obviously, my opinions are my own, but guys: LEONARD COHEN IS THE WORST.  It's so...Québecois.  Like, literally accordion instrumentation, fraaanche.  Like, you can practically hear someone twirling a moustache in the background while pedaling a unicycle.  Then you have the standard Leonard Cohen droning delivery.  I think the point with ol' Lenny is that he's supposed to be a superb lyricist.  Unfortunately (for him), lyrical prowess is wasted on me.  As I said at the time, unless the lyrics are, "take rings off" or "kidnap that fool" - I stopped listening 5 seconds in.  LOL!


Not much to report.  I went on a bit of a spring work wardrobe shopping spree.  Here's what I got:

To be paired with either my black, wide-sleeved blazer or my fitted blazer or a cardigan for that oh-so-professional, "ladies that lunch" look

Because I feel that spring means that colour should be welcomed with open arms into a wardrobe.  I like this because it can be dressed up or down - I think it'll look smashing on it's own at a garden party (I think I might actually be going to one of those this year!), or with a jean jacket for an adults-only dinner out, or with a navy blazer for work.

Again, more colour.  This saucy sweater would look great with any number of bottoms - navy, white, denim, khaki, brown.  It's perfect!

Same goes for this one - I bought it because it was neutral enough to pair with a lot of different things, but I loved the pop of colour by the face, and the sweetness of the Peter Pan collar

This scandalous top is VERY sheer.  I don't know if I'll be ballsy enough to pair it with a tank top or cami underneath for work, but it will certainly be a nice weekend look.  Unless I'm too old to be wearing sheer (with a tank top underneath, people!!  I'm not a total harlot!)

Finally, a last sheer blouse - but one that's got demure enough styling to make it very work-appropriate with the proper layers underneath.  

I'm not necessarily going to keep them all, but when shopping online, I feel the safest thing to do is buy now, try later, return even later after that for full refund.  

There has been a lot made of the whole Rihanna working with Chris Brown thing in the media already.  So much so that I don't feel I have to weigh in on how ABSOLUTELY ABHORRENT it is that someone who BEAT THE CRAP out of a woman can be welcomed back into the music industry with open arms.  Haven't we learned anything from James Brown, Ike Turner, etc.?  It's sickening.  She is a HORRIBLE role model for young women, and I say that as a former Chris Brown/RiRi fan (remember the Kanye concert?  Remember how thrilled I was when mothereffin' Chris Brown surprised us by coming on stage?)  I can't believe that she would consent to work with him, professionally or otherwise.  It's not like he's the ONLY PERSON SHE CAN COLLABORATE WITH.  

Ugh.  We need a cleanse.  Here's a photo of Becks holding his daughter, Harper, dressed in a suit, looking foine:

Ummm...ARE YOU F**KING KIDDING ME?  I feel like he's a good dad and it makes him a billion times hotter.  Stop, Posh and Becks, just stop.  Posh seems like she's just the awesomest.  Designs amazing clothes, isn't afraid to mess up her greyhound body by having kids, owns who she is but doesn't coast on it.  She just seems very likeable to me.

Okay, enough celebrity ranting and raving.  I also think about serious things.  Such as how my previous post included huge spelling/sentence/grammar errors, but I'm too lazy to change it.  It's because I've been fending off the Big Yam when I'm crafting my posts at home.  He's super-into his mama right now, which of course warms the cockles of my heart and gives me ammunition in the incredibly childish comparison war of "who does the Boobla love more?" that I insist on waging with the Dotytron.  It's kind of crazy how much he understands, even though he can't express everything he wants to express.  I've got him toddling around doing all kinds of things: "go get your shoes!" "put that in the cupboard!" "go get your story!" "give baba a hug!" just to marvel at how he can FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS.  He understands me!  Yesterday I started giving him little Eskimo kisses (I know it's not PC to call them that and I acknowledge, but I don't know the suitable replacement name for rubbing your nose against another person's nose!  So sue me!)  and I called them "smushies" just once, but he instantly picked up on it.  So later that day when I said, "give mama smushies" he PRESSED HIS NOSE AGAINST MINE AND IT WAS THE CUTEST THING. GAH.  But I kinda wish I hadn't picked such a weaksauce name for them.  It's so...mawkish.  

Tonight the roomie is coming over!  Yay!  We're having my mac'n'cheese (recipe already posted before) with a mix of fontina, cheddar, and asiago.  Topped with toasted thyme panko breadcrumbs, with sautéed rapini on the side.  And a little wee devil's food cake baby cake frosted with Momofuku Milk Bar birthday cake frosting for dessert.

Fin.

Naming

The other week when we were at DonDon Izakaya, the Dotytron and I were looking at the name tags of the servers and staff and remarked (not for the first time) that we really liked the sound of Japanese names.  I like Hiro and Keiko and Misumi.  They're all so pretty sounding - with a nice balance of hard sounding consonants and flow between syllables.  Then we realized that it would be "weird" of us to name any future progeny with that name - like it's "trespassing" on another culture, when most Westernized people don't give a second thought to borrowing from traditional French or Anglo or Irish names.  It just shows the hegemony of Western values.  The divide between "us" and "Other" is still firmly entrenched and the Dotyron and I fall victim to it as much as the next person.  We aren't "authentic" enough to appropriate a Japanese name but we're fine appropriating a German one (in the case of the Big Yam's moniker).  

One of the things I realized when we were trolling through Nameberry last Friday looking for names for the roomie's kid, I realized that the act of naming is so loaded nowadays as a marker of taste and distinction (in the Bourdieu sense).  The most radical thing you could do nowadays (sorry, K!) is name your daughter Jennifer.  Everyone is going for the most "unique" names that Jennifer, Samantha, Amanda have been relegated to the bottom of the heap.  It's pretty interesting.  This coming from a gal who currently loves the name Cassius.  Love it! 

Last night we had my version of Italian wedding soup for dinner.  It was our first time making it and it was such a big hit that I've included the recipe below.  It was really easy - it sat simmering in the slow cooker all day.  It was made slightly easier by the fact that I had the foresight to freezer some leftover meatball mix in a ziploc bag in our freezer.  Taking out the step of having to make meatballs from scratch and then put them in the soup really sped things along and made it more feasible for a weeknight meal.  Since meatballs are such a great staple to have on hand (either loose, already formed, or cooked into tomato sauce), I'm going to make it a point to always make a double or even triple batch, so we have it on hand.

Tonight we had corned beef hash.  That's some good eatin' 3 nights in a row.  We had a baby shower for my friend K at work today - which means I ate about a million slices of cake.  I have negative self control.  I was going to try to go for the first run of the season tomorrow morning...and then I found out that we're supposed to have the ONLY snowstorm of winter 2012.  Boourns, nature!  Boourns!

So glad tomorrow is Friday...even though this week was a short week, it's felt long.  We're having the roomie over again tomorrow night - we're babysitting her while L'Armi is away shooting on location.

Fin.

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Italian Wedding Soup

serves, a million people

1 onion, chopped

3 stalks of celery chopped

3 carrots, peeled and chopped

1 zucchini, chopped

1 bunch of kale, thinly sliced

minced garlic, to taste (about 4 cloves)

1.5 L chicken stock

2 L of water

1 cup of orzo, cooked

1lb of meatball mix (recipe follows)

salt and pepper, to taste

- put all the vegetables and the stock in the slow cooker.  put the lid on and cook on low all day (we had ours on from like, 7:45am-5pm).  You could obviously also cook this in a large stockpot on the stove.  Bring to a simmer and let simmer, covered, for 2 hours.

- cook off the 1 cup of orzo, a little past al dente.  Stir into the soup.

- using teaspoon-fulls of meatball mix, roll into little balls, throw in the soup.   We then cranked our slow cooker to high and cooked the meatballs in the soup for about 30 minutes or until they were cooked through.

- season with salt and pepper and serve.  It's sooo good!

Lagerfeld's Go-To Meatballs

1lb each ground veal, ground beef, or ground pork (or any combo of the three, or just one type of meat)

3 slices of white bread, crusts removed, torn into small pieces and soaked in milk

1/2 c. grated parm

2 eggs

salt and pepper to taste

- put the meat into a bowl.

- squeeze handfuls of the torn bread to get rid of excess milk.  Add the soft bread to the meat mixture.  Add the rest of the ingredients and toss the mixture together until it's just combined (try not to overwork the meat!)

- form into balls and freeze.  Or freeze the mixture as is.  Or form into balls and sear off to put in sauce, etc.