In North America we are working more and doing less. The amount of stress leave has gone up exponentially and people are complaining of always feeling tired and overworked. Can you blame them? Times are tough and people are worried about their jobs. What's more, advances in technology mean that you can never really leave the office. Ever.
- Things are different in Italy.
In Italy you cannot simply come to the office and go to your desk and start working. You must say hello to everyone in turn and spend a few minutes talking about the shoes you bought, or the gelato you ate. Once at your desk you must re-apply your perfume or cologne because it makes you feel better. After 2 hours - as if by magic - somebody asks you to go for a walk and get a capuccino. There is coffee available in the office and Santina brought cornetti, but it is good to leave the building and get some air, no? Of course going out for coffee is not just going out for coffee. You can't go to the first place because they were mean to Fabrizia last week when she tried to pay with a 50 euro bill. The second place is closed because today is 3 days before the Festa della Republica and people like to take the days off beforehand per la vacanza. The third place is over on the Piazza Buenos Aires but of course this means we have to walk a bit - but it is worth it because they make a real Capuccino Freddo (cold cappucino) as opposed to just adding cold milk to hot espresso, which would be (apparently) unthinkable. Besides, if you take more time for a break, people will assume you were stressed and needed the extra few minutes, no?
Coffee proceeds at a leisurely pace...you sit at the terrace and flirt with the waiter and smell the Mugetto in bloom. You feel refreshed, and saunter back to your office and talk to your coworkers about where the best bakery is in the neighbourhood.
As if by magic, the next 2 hours fly by. And then it is time for lunch. Well, ordinarily it would be time for lunch but today there was a diplomatic reception at the Villa Grazioli, which of course we went to. Afterward, we went for lunch. There was food at the reception, but that was not lunch. And of course, you cannot have lunch without going for coffee....
Do you see the pattern?
Now it is 5:15, and I was supposed to leave at 4:30. Of course, I was not done my work at 4:30 because I went for a cappucino and a reception and lunch, and then coffee. But now I am done my work. And now I am going home. Maybe I will stop for un aperitivo on the way home.
Do you see the pattern?
- Ciao.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Sunday, May 31, 2009
I love Rome
I love Rome.
I love Rome because it is full of short people who like to eat good food and talk with their hands.
I love Rome because is a place where a bottle of good wine costs less than 5 dollars and waiters are offended if you don't eat at least 2 courses. It is a place where nuns dance in parks and old men sell flowers....
I love Rome bcause you can wear blue shoes and green pants and carry an orange bag and wear a pink tie....and nobody cares.
Rome invites you to make a nice dinner just for you...and to eat it overlooking an obelisk as the sun sets. Rome is confirmation that humans can be eternal and eternally silly.Rome gives you the permission to have delusions of grandeur and the grandeur of delusions. You can also just sit and have a coffee and watch the children play in the street...everybody else does!
I love Rome because Rome is crowded and confusing and noisy and beautiful.... I love Rome because Rome is old and has been around the block. In fact, I think Rome invented the block.
Rome has 7 hills and 13 aqueducts and a wall with 14 gates.
Rome has 3 million people and 2 million cats. Rome has children and nonnas and gardens and
fig trees and flowers and trafic and grafiti and garbage.
Rome has 1 big, beating heart.
I love Rome.
I love Rome because it is full of short people who like to eat good food and talk with their hands.
I love Rome because is a place where a bottle of good wine costs less than 5 dollars and waiters are offended if you don't eat at least 2 courses. It is a place where nuns dance in parks and old men sell flowers....
I love Rome bcause you can wear blue shoes and green pants and carry an orange bag and wear a pink tie....and nobody cares.
Rome invites you to make a nice dinner just for you...and to eat it overlooking an obelisk as the sun sets. Rome is confirmation that humans can be eternal and eternally silly.Rome gives you the permission to have delusions of grandeur and the grandeur of delusions. You can also just sit and have a coffee and watch the children play in the street...everybody else does!
I love Rome because Rome is crowded and confusing and noisy and beautiful.... I love Rome because Rome is old and has been around the block. In fact, I think Rome invented the block.
Rome has 7 hills and 13 aqueducts and a wall with 14 gates.
Rome has 3 million people and 2 million cats. Rome has children and nonnas and gardens and
fig trees and flowers and trafic and grafiti and garbage.
Rome has 1 big, beating heart.
I love Rome.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Walk like a Man
The other day I was walking to work. I walk to work every day, not because I like to walk necessarily, but because it seems the least invasive way to add exercise to my daily regime. Ideally, I would prefer not to move my limbs at all - rather, I would like to be surrounded by cushions and brought things on occasion as I needed them. And if you think that this is a recent affectation, think again: I did not deign to walk until I was two. I realized early on that life is easier if people just come to you. Why move when you can just sit there and make people laugh and have them feed you? I must admit, this is much easier to pull of while wearing a diaper, but I digress.
In any event, whoever is in charge has decided that I was not to be a man of leisure.
And so I must walk. To work. And even though I do so, please do not for a moment
think that I am one of those people who wears runners with his suit
so that he does not wreck his dress shoes. No, I wear my expensive, uncomfortable and impractical shoes on my walk to work - for life is a difficult journey along a difficult path and it begins with one small step and you must keep your head high and always look forward. Therefore, it helps to have fabulous footwear.
Of course, it is not really a hardship to walk in the early morning beside the ocean as the sun rises through the mist. The view of the mountains is not quite as unobstructed as it once was, having been obscured by many tall shiny buildings where rich people get to live, but I can deal with that. And I must be careful not to step on the people asleep on the sidewalk - who seem to have multiplied at the same rate as the number of Bentleys driving by... but can I deal with that?
No. I cannot. And if there had been someone to yell at I would have done so, but I was loathe to disturb the slumber of the people sleeping around me - for they have few other comforts save their dreams. And if I could have run with superhuman speed after the Bentleys and Lambroghinis and Mercedes, and attacked them with my keys and thrown the cellphones of the owners into the sea, I would have done so, too. But I have never been a good runner. I had no choice but to keep walking in my ridiculous shoes, and for the first time in a long time I looked down rather than forward, as is my custom.
...and speaking of walking...
Last night I went to the fireworks at English Bay. They were beautiful, and when it was over we all walked home - tens of thousands of people walking. And I thought to myself - there is no human force on earth that can stop so many people from moving in one direction like this. And as I looked around me I prayed that one day we would all be walking together - in the same direction - for something a little more important than a bit of noise and colour in the sky....
...because I hate walking over people.
In any event, whoever is in charge has decided that I was not to be a man of leisure.
And so I must walk. To work. And even though I do so, please do not for a moment
think that I am one of those people who wears runners with his suit
so that he does not wreck his dress shoes. No, I wear my expensive, uncomfortable and impractical shoes on my walk to work - for life is a difficult journey along a difficult path and it begins with one small step and you must keep your head high and always look forward. Therefore, it helps to have fabulous footwear.
Of course, it is not really a hardship to walk in the early morning beside the ocean as the sun rises through the mist. The view of the mountains is not quite as unobstructed as it once was, having been obscured by many tall shiny buildings where rich people get to live, but I can deal with that. And I must be careful not to step on the people asleep on the sidewalk - who seem to have multiplied at the same rate as the number of Bentleys driving by... but can I deal with that?
No. I cannot. And if there had been someone to yell at I would have done so, but I was loathe to disturb the slumber of the people sleeping around me - for they have few other comforts save their dreams. And if I could have run with superhuman speed after the Bentleys and Lambroghinis and Mercedes, and attacked them with my keys and thrown the cellphones of the owners into the sea, I would have done so, too. But I have never been a good runner. I had no choice but to keep walking in my ridiculous shoes, and for the first time in a long time I looked down rather than forward, as is my custom.
...and speaking of walking...
Last night I went to the fireworks at English Bay. They were beautiful, and when it was over we all walked home - tens of thousands of people walking. And I thought to myself - there is no human force on earth that can stop so many people from moving in one direction like this. And as I looked around me I prayed that one day we would all be walking together - in the same direction - for something a little more important than a bit of noise and colour in the sky....
...because I hate walking over people.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
For Heather
I know it has been a long time since I have written... and I do recall that my last entry was rather morose, or at the very least far more introspective than I thought it would be. I wonder why we share our intimacies with people online - writing on a blog to me seems like the ancient Jewish ritual of scattering crumbs on the water at the New Year as a way of cleansing - of casting off the burdens of the past year. Words are like scattered crumbs in that you never know where they will end up, but it doesn't matter because you feel lighter having gotten rid of them. And I wonder why it is so much easier for me to share my innermost thoughts anonymously on a computer screen than it is to tell people who I have known all my life what I really feel.... perhaps because I do not know what your reaction to my words will be.
I hope of course that you will like them, but I cannot know. And if I could see the reactions of people's faces as they read what I write, I would certainly stop writing altogether out of sheer embarrassment. Indeed, the only saving grace about singing (like writing) is that usually you can't see your audience - the darkness makes it easier to bare your soul. In that way, it is like being in a confessional booth - you have the sense that you are anonymous and alone, but that somebody is listening.
One of the peculiar things about me is that I never know what I am going to write about when I start a blog entry. For instance, I was going to write all about Heather, but now I have written about something else altogether! Oh dear.
Well, the last time I saw Heather, she was wearing the most beautiful red coat, and it was custom made, and it looked as though a flower petal had fallen from the sky and molded itself to her, so well did the coat fit - so vibrant was the shade of it. And it had movement and I remember it was the only element of colour in an otherwise drab room, and I thought that was very much like Heather.
For when it comes down to it, we are here to add colour to drab rooms, and to have movement. And in that way we are like crumbs and words in that we travel and perhaps have no destination.... but it does not matter because at least we are
moving.
I hope of course that you will like them, but I cannot know. And if I could see the reactions of people's faces as they read what I write, I would certainly stop writing altogether out of sheer embarrassment. Indeed, the only saving grace about singing (like writing) is that usually you can't see your audience - the darkness makes it easier to bare your soul. In that way, it is like being in a confessional booth - you have the sense that you are anonymous and alone, but that somebody is listening.
One of the peculiar things about me is that I never know what I am going to write about when I start a blog entry. For instance, I was going to write all about Heather, but now I have written about something else altogether! Oh dear.
Well, the last time I saw Heather, she was wearing the most beautiful red coat, and it was custom made, and it looked as though a flower petal had fallen from the sky and molded itself to her, so well did the coat fit - so vibrant was the shade of it. And it had movement and I remember it was the only element of colour in an otherwise drab room, and I thought that was very much like Heather.
For when it comes down to it, we are here to add colour to drab rooms, and to have movement. And in that way we are like crumbs and words in that we travel and perhaps have no destination.... but it does not matter because at least we are
moving.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Dear Diaries
One of the traits which I am less proud is my tendency to re-read my old journals.
I don't know why I do this - perhaps it is narcissism. Maybe I just like my own writing best! (How narcissistic). Maybe there is nothing better than to sit at night by a candle and try to make sense of things - that is probably it.
There they sit, my journals, arranged chronologically in an old steamer trunk I bought for 5 dollars at a garage sale. Some are them are beautiful - hand-bound with cream coloured vellum... others are just looseleaf stapled together, all are full to bursting. When I left home, I took only one suitcase, and it contained (in addition to completely impractical clothing and far too many toiletries) my scribblings... granted I moved out when I was 20, so there were (mercifully) far less scribblings then there are now. Interestingly, I still write the exact same things that I wrote when I was younger. I still have the same fears and wants and anxieties, for all my belief that I have changed.
I remember when I started keeping a journal - the exact day, to tell you the truth. It was May 10, 1996. I was sitting in Chemistry class and we were supposed to be working out some formula or another, and I wrote (in copperplate script, as was my custom)
"Ben is gay".
I remember feeling deeply afraid at that moment, for it was the first time I had accepted this, much less written it down. I don't know why I was compelled to write these words at that precise time, but nobody ever plans the moment when they cannot take it anymore. Nobody says "in 3 days and 10 minutes I will not be able to live a lie any longer". And so you should always expect the profound and the life changing to occur at inopportune times - while you are brushing your teeth, or writing your LSATS. Or as a 16 year old in chemistry class, as I was.
I was afraid, for change, by its very nature begets fear - especially if that change leads to increased vulnerability and openness, as it did in my case. I feared that somebody - my teacher... a classmate...a moth... would walk by and see what I had written and my life as I knew it - my carefully constructed artificial way of being, would spontaneously crumble and I would be alone in the world. Hastily, I crossed out what I had written, and although I felt smug in the notion that I had the power to write the truth, and then to rub it out - as if it had never been, I was compelled to write it again, and so I did. And this time I did not erase it. And I could not stop what I had started.
We were supposed to be working out a formula...one formula or another - some random collection of letters and numbers which would allow us to make a little more sense of the world: We were supposed to find out an an indisputable and absolute truth which we could hold on to and if things became too much or we lost our way, we could at least say "I may not know where I am going and I may not know who I will become but I did learn at one point in time many years ago that if you mix hydrogen and oxygen together in the proper proportions, you will have created water".
Of course, we all know that few of us really remember anything we learned in school.
We remember the moments in our lives when we had the audacity and the courage to write our own formulas - to be sure of one true thing to hold on to so that if things became too much or we lost our way, we could at least say
"I may not know where I am going and I may not know who I will become, but I did learn at one point in time many years ago to accept myself and to be brave enough to walk forward into freedom, even though I thought it might kill me. And I survived."
I don't know why I do this - perhaps it is narcissism. Maybe I just like my own writing best! (How narcissistic). Maybe there is nothing better than to sit at night by a candle and try to make sense of things - that is probably it.
There they sit, my journals, arranged chronologically in an old steamer trunk I bought for 5 dollars at a garage sale. Some are them are beautiful - hand-bound with cream coloured vellum... others are just looseleaf stapled together, all are full to bursting. When I left home, I took only one suitcase, and it contained (in addition to completely impractical clothing and far too many toiletries) my scribblings... granted I moved out when I was 20, so there were (mercifully) far less scribblings then there are now. Interestingly, I still write the exact same things that I wrote when I was younger. I still have the same fears and wants and anxieties, for all my belief that I have changed.
I remember when I started keeping a journal - the exact day, to tell you the truth. It was May 10, 1996. I was sitting in Chemistry class and we were supposed to be working out some formula or another, and I wrote (in copperplate script, as was my custom)
"Ben is gay".
I remember feeling deeply afraid at that moment, for it was the first time I had accepted this, much less written it down. I don't know why I was compelled to write these words at that precise time, but nobody ever plans the moment when they cannot take it anymore. Nobody says "in 3 days and 10 minutes I will not be able to live a lie any longer". And so you should always expect the profound and the life changing to occur at inopportune times - while you are brushing your teeth, or writing your LSATS. Or as a 16 year old in chemistry class, as I was.
I was afraid, for change, by its very nature begets fear - especially if that change leads to increased vulnerability and openness, as it did in my case. I feared that somebody - my teacher... a classmate...a moth... would walk by and see what I had written and my life as I knew it - my carefully constructed artificial way of being, would spontaneously crumble and I would be alone in the world. Hastily, I crossed out what I had written, and although I felt smug in the notion that I had the power to write the truth, and then to rub it out - as if it had never been, I was compelled to write it again, and so I did. And this time I did not erase it. And I could not stop what I had started.
We were supposed to be working out a formula...one formula or another - some random collection of letters and numbers which would allow us to make a little more sense of the world: We were supposed to find out an an indisputable and absolute truth which we could hold on to and if things became too much or we lost our way, we could at least say "I may not know where I am going and I may not know who I will become but I did learn at one point in time many years ago that if you mix hydrogen and oxygen together in the proper proportions, you will have created water".
Of course, we all know that few of us really remember anything we learned in school.
We remember the moments in our lives when we had the audacity and the courage to write our own formulas - to be sure of one true thing to hold on to so that if things became too much or we lost our way, we could at least say
"I may not know where I am going and I may not know who I will become, but I did learn at one point in time many years ago to accept myself and to be brave enough to walk forward into freedom, even though I thought it might kill me. And I survived."
Monday, February 04, 2008
Update from Chad
I was starting to get worried because I had not heard from Arvedt in a couple of days - but all cellphone links to Chad are now blocked, so there was no way for him to text me. I had read that all non-essential personnel had been evacuated, but I wasn't exactly sure how they determined who was essential and who was not. So I waited, and checked news updates on the internet more often than was probably good for me.
I got a call early this morning. Arvedt is fine - he had just been airlifted to Libreville in Gabon and was calling me from a French military base. He said that he was caught in the middle of the fighting, because the German consulate was located between the presidential palace and the front line of the rebels. He told me that there were 5 unexploded grenades inside the embassy compound, and that there was shooting everywhere and that he had not slept for 3 days. He said it was not clear who was in control in Chad - there were periodic announcements over the loudspeakers proclaiming victory by the rebels, and then there would be another announcement by the government stating the rebels had been defeated. Arvedt said that this development was unexpected, because everyone believed that the government troops would defeat the rebels at a battle 80 km outside the city. He told me that he had just had hist first meeting with his French counterparts 10 days ago, and they had talked about emergency measures and crisis management, but the talks were informal.
Needless to say, he was glad they took place!
After waiting in the compound for 3 days, they were were rescued by French commandos. Everybody had to literally run across an open field into waiting helicopters, where they were flown to the French military base and then to Gabon by cargo plane.
Arvedt sounded very calm, and after he told me all of this he asked very simply
"how are you? How was New York?" .....I just had to laugh.
I got a call early this morning. Arvedt is fine - he had just been airlifted to Libreville in Gabon and was calling me from a French military base. He said that he was caught in the middle of the fighting, because the German consulate was located between the presidential palace and the front line of the rebels. He told me that there were 5 unexploded grenades inside the embassy compound, and that there was shooting everywhere and that he had not slept for 3 days. He said it was not clear who was in control in Chad - there were periodic announcements over the loudspeakers proclaiming victory by the rebels, and then there would be another announcement by the government stating the rebels had been defeated. Arvedt said that this development was unexpected, because everyone believed that the government troops would defeat the rebels at a battle 80 km outside the city. He told me that he had just had hist first meeting with his French counterparts 10 days ago, and they had talked about emergency measures and crisis management, but the talks were informal.
Needless to say, he was glad they took place!
After waiting in the compound for 3 days, they were were rescued by French commandos. Everybody had to literally run across an open field into waiting helicopters, where they were flown to the French military base and then to Gabon by cargo plane.
Arvedt sounded very calm, and after he told me all of this he asked very simply
"how are you? How was New York?" .....I just had to laugh.
Friday, February 01, 2008
New Message
Today I was sitting at home eating soup. Pretty routine... I had a rehearsal later today, and then a performance at the opera. I was listening to a CBC radio programme about perfume. Suddenly, my phone started beeping, and I opened it to find that I had a new text message from my friend Arvedt who is first secretary at the German Embassy in N'Djamena, Chad. This is what it said:
"Hi Ben... we have 4000 rebels 10km out of town. They want to end the dictator's presidency. Lots of military at the presidential palace 500 m away. Lots of work. I am working closely with the French Embassy on evacuation plan for us 50 Germans, but it is too early to tell."
First of all, I couldn't believe that I was getting a text message from the middle of Africa. Second of all, I couldn't believe that a friend of mine was sending me
a text message in the midst of an attempted coup d'etat. One wonders what Edward R. Murrow would have done with such technology....
I texted Arvedt back and told him that I was glad he was safe, and to keep me informed...It is hard to believe that a few short weeks ago he was visiting me in Vancouver -- we were sitting by the ocean drinking lattes and talking about nothing in particular, watching the ducks swim by - looking at the reflection of the mountains in the water. I don't know how any of us have the audacity to do such things when there are horrors being perpetrated around the world every day... and yet we do.. and they probably sit by the water and drink coffee in Africa too, when they get the chance.
I finished my lunch, and went to work, where I put on my costume for the Vancouver Opera's production of "The Italian Girl in Algiers" . It consisted of a turban and a loose cotton robe and as I looked in the mirror, I realized that I looked almost exactly like the pictures of the Chadian rebels I had seen on the BBC website earlier in the day.
And I thought to myself: "The world is fucked".
"Hi Ben... we have 4000 rebels 10km out of town. They want to end the dictator's presidency. Lots of military at the presidential palace 500 m away. Lots of work. I am working closely with the French Embassy on evacuation plan for us 50 Germans, but it is too early to tell."
First of all, I couldn't believe that I was getting a text message from the middle of Africa. Second of all, I couldn't believe that a friend of mine was sending me
a text message in the midst of an attempted coup d'etat. One wonders what Edward R. Murrow would have done with such technology....
I texted Arvedt back and told him that I was glad he was safe, and to keep me informed...It is hard to believe that a few short weeks ago he was visiting me in Vancouver -- we were sitting by the ocean drinking lattes and talking about nothing in particular, watching the ducks swim by - looking at the reflection of the mountains in the water. I don't know how any of us have the audacity to do such things when there are horrors being perpetrated around the world every day... and yet we do.. and they probably sit by the water and drink coffee in Africa too, when they get the chance.
I finished my lunch, and went to work, where I put on my costume for the Vancouver Opera's production of "The Italian Girl in Algiers" . It consisted of a turban and a loose cotton robe and as I looked in the mirror, I realized that I looked almost exactly like the pictures of the Chadian rebels I had seen on the BBC website earlier in the day.
And I thought to myself: "The world is fucked".
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
French Lessons
The other day I decided that I needed to improve my French. It is, after all, what a lady of breeding does when searching for a husband. In fact, this limitation is the only piece missing from the puzzle, as I am already quite an accomplished debutante: I am a masterful flower arranger and an expert cook. I sparkle in conversation and can play Beethoven sonatas on the piano.... I even have my own personalized stationary (understated yet elegant - with my name printed on medium weight cream coloured vellum. No monogram though... that would be a bit much).
While I do have infinite time to devote to this pursuit at the moment, I do not have infinite resources,so that rules out the larger schools like Berlitz. However, I do want quality instruction, and so I viewed it as positively providential that I happened to come across an advertisement for private lessons at an establishment named "Le Petit Sorbonne". The name appealed to the snob in me, and the price...well it couldn't be beat.
My teacher, Nicolas, is so kind. He is from Montpellier - in the south - and there is a touch of the Spaniard in his dark complexion and liquid eyes. He has traveled the world and lived in 52 countries. The only reason he moved here is because he has never lived in North America. He told me that he loves Vancouver, but he believes that the women here are the most frigid in the world. I blushed. He says it is because of English Canada's puritan culture, and he thinks that we Vancouverites don't know how to enjoy life. As I took a swig from my decaf-skinny-sugarfree latte and observed the hordes of people rushing about to their various exercise classes in Lululemon yoga pants, I could see his point.
Oh, how wonderful it was to talk with a French person... I have always loved France - its "laughing awareness" (as Julia Child says) -- its insouciance, its joie de vivre. My mother thinks that in a previous life I was an absolutist king giving edicts from Versailles. I told her that I must have gotten my perceived hauteur from her, because as far as I remembered, she ruled the household by what seemed to be Divine Right. In fact, she even insisted on a simplified version of the "lever" ritual in which the monarch would be attended by the nobility of the court as they awoke. It was my responsibility to convey to my mother her morning coffee at precisely 8:00. In my house, as at Versailles, the bedrooms were quite far from the kitchen, so I had to ensure that I moved quickly lest the coffee become cold. I also had to make sure I walked silently and did not spill. One did not want to raise the ire. Once I delivered the coffee, I would gently wake my mother and wait for further instructions.
It should be noted that Louis XIV invented elaborate court ceremonial to ensure that the nobility stayed under his control. Before the Sun King, the nobles lived on their own estates and were free to plot against the king, which they did. By building Versailles and making it so irresistible, Louis ensured that his nobles would live in a gilded cage: free to pursue pleasure, but completely dependent on him for
everything...in attendance...waiting with bated breath for any sign of favour.
While I do have infinite time to devote to this pursuit at the moment, I do not have infinite resources,so that rules out the larger schools like Berlitz. However, I do want quality instruction, and so I viewed it as positively providential that I happened to come across an advertisement for private lessons at an establishment named "Le Petit Sorbonne". The name appealed to the snob in me, and the price...well it couldn't be beat.
My teacher, Nicolas, is so kind. He is from Montpellier - in the south - and there is a touch of the Spaniard in his dark complexion and liquid eyes. He has traveled the world and lived in 52 countries. The only reason he moved here is because he has never lived in North America. He told me that he loves Vancouver, but he believes that the women here are the most frigid in the world. I blushed. He says it is because of English Canada's puritan culture, and he thinks that we Vancouverites don't know how to enjoy life. As I took a swig from my decaf-skinny-sugarfree latte and observed the hordes of people rushing about to their various exercise classes in Lululemon yoga pants, I could see his point.
Oh, how wonderful it was to talk with a French person... I have always loved France - its "laughing awareness" (as Julia Child says) -- its insouciance, its joie de vivre. My mother thinks that in a previous life I was an absolutist king giving edicts from Versailles. I told her that I must have gotten my perceived hauteur from her, because as far as I remembered, she ruled the household by what seemed to be Divine Right. In fact, she even insisted on a simplified version of the "lever" ritual in which the monarch would be attended by the nobility of the court as they awoke. It was my responsibility to convey to my mother her morning coffee at precisely 8:00. In my house, as at Versailles, the bedrooms were quite far from the kitchen, so I had to ensure that I moved quickly lest the coffee become cold. I also had to make sure I walked silently and did not spill. One did not want to raise the ire. Once I delivered the coffee, I would gently wake my mother and wait for further instructions.
It should be noted that Louis XIV invented elaborate court ceremonial to ensure that the nobility stayed under his control. Before the Sun King, the nobles lived on their own estates and were free to plot against the king, which they did. By building Versailles and making it so irresistible, Louis ensured that his nobles would live in a gilded cage: free to pursue pleasure, but completely dependent on him for
everything...in attendance...waiting with bated breath for any sign of favour.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Vanity Fair
They say that January is the busiest month for gyms. Of course, I have no statistical evidence to back this up, but I can venture to say that I speak correctly based on my first hand experiences at the West End Community Fitness Centre these last few days. The sight of legions of flabbily fearsome Vancouverites gyrating wildly to remove all bodily evidence of holiday gluttonies is something to behold before dying - if only for the comic relief. I say that it is a sight because when I went there, I took one look at the exercise room yesterday and promptly returned home... there were no machines to be had, and I did not feel like waiting.
However, I fear that I will have to return sooner than later, as I went for a costume fitting the other day for the upcoming opera, and I discovered (to my horror) that I will be dressed in harem pants AND NOTHING ELSE. The opera is called "The Italian Girl in Algiers" and is almost comically outdated, sexist, racist and out of touch with the realities of the 21st century. That is to say, it is typical of the genre.
Much of the opera takes place in a spa, where a chorus of eunuchs dressed as slave girls laments the fate of women... Interspersed among them are male "customers" who need attending (that would be me). I would have felt much more comfortable being a slave girl - I wouldn't really have to act, and the costume drapes so much better. But, I feel that playing a man will be more of an acting challenge and will therefore expand my range as an artist. It will also motivate me to stick to my embryonic fitness regime.
Failing that, I can just ask the makeup department to add a bit of contouring...
After all, as my brother (who is far more fit than I am ) says "Jews just don't have 6 packs".
However, I fear that I will have to return sooner than later, as I went for a costume fitting the other day for the upcoming opera, and I discovered (to my horror) that I will be dressed in harem pants AND NOTHING ELSE. The opera is called "The Italian Girl in Algiers" and is almost comically outdated, sexist, racist and out of touch with the realities of the 21st century. That is to say, it is typical of the genre.
Much of the opera takes place in a spa, where a chorus of eunuchs dressed as slave girls laments the fate of women... Interspersed among them are male "customers" who need attending (that would be me). I would have felt much more comfortable being a slave girl - I wouldn't really have to act, and the costume drapes so much better. But, I feel that playing a man will be more of an acting challenge and will therefore expand my range as an artist. It will also motivate me to stick to my embryonic fitness regime.
Failing that, I can just ask the makeup department to add a bit of contouring...
After all, as my brother (who is far more fit than I am ) says "Jews just don't have 6 packs".
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Only in New York, part 2
Last night I took my cousin Anna to the Met. Placido Domingo was singing Orestes in a new production of Iphegenie en Tauride by Gluck, and it was sublime. However, experiencing the actual opera is only half the reason to go to the Met. Really, you go to the Met to get dressed up and drink champagne on the grand tier and look over and see Renee Fleming.
Anna had never been to the Met, and she enjoyed every minute - especially since she herself had played Iphegenia in one of her acting classes. However, the air was thin at the top of Olympus and rather than retire to an elegant lounge across the street, we decided to go downtown and see what interesting things we could find....
And what did we find? Lesbian burlesque (OH MY GOD...she's making a vulva out of balloons)...bisexual soldiers on leave (is he flirting with you or with me? If we're drinking the same drink and he bought only one, who is it for?) ...a blues bar where the musicians wore French maid outfits and sang in German... the best 2 dollar cheese pizza ever(okay...we're only getting one more slice, but we have to share) .... limousines parked in front of mountains of garbage.... and, last but not least, a situation where a police officer stopped the car and pointed a gun at us...well, really they pointed the gun at the hoodlums BEHIND us, but I digress.
Anna had never been to the Met, and she enjoyed every minute - especially since she herself had played Iphegenia in one of her acting classes. However, the air was thin at the top of Olympus and rather than retire to an elegant lounge across the street, we decided to go downtown and see what interesting things we could find....
And what did we find? Lesbian burlesque (OH MY GOD...she's making a vulva out of balloons)...bisexual soldiers on leave (is he flirting with you or with me? If we're drinking the same drink and he bought only one, who is it for?) ...a blues bar where the musicians wore French maid outfits and sang in German... the best 2 dollar cheese pizza ever(okay...we're only getting one more slice, but we have to share) .... limousines parked in front of mountains of garbage.... and, last but not least, a situation where a police officer stopped the car and pointed a gun at us...well, really they pointed the gun at the hoodlums BEHIND us, but I digress.
Overheard on Madison Avenue
Woman 1: "Oh! I love your dog...how much does she weigh?"
Woman 2: "About 15 pounds....why do you ask?"
Woman 1: "Well, we're looking for a dog - one that can handle the rigours of constant international travel on our jet. I think the limit is 15 pounds, actually."
Woman 2: "Really? I thought it was 20...well, I guess we'll have to start monitoring Bridget's diet. Thanks for the tip."
Woman 1: "Oh, no problem at all. Lovely to meet you... (in a cutesy voice): Bye Bridget!"
Woman 2: "About 15 pounds....why do you ask?"
Woman 1: "Well, we're looking for a dog - one that can handle the rigours of constant international travel on our jet. I think the limit is 15 pounds, actually."
Woman 2: "Really? I thought it was 20...well, I guess we'll have to start monitoring Bridget's diet. Thanks for the tip."
Woman 1: "Oh, no problem at all. Lovely to meet you... (in a cutesy voice): Bye Bridget!"
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Food, Glorious Food!
Here is an email that I sent to my friend Rebecca - gustatory goddess and foodie extraordinaire....
Oh my God. New York is just, well,aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh... I don't know where to start, so I will start with food. This is what I have eaten:
bruschetta with gorgonzola cream sauce - served piping hot...
Linguini with oven dried tomatoes, chicken, garlic oil, spinich, pine nuts and goat cheese - this was at an Italian place near Lincoln Centre - and guess who was sitting at the next table? Kramer from Seinfeld!
BRUNCH AT PASTIS! We saw Curtis Stone - that cute chef from from Australia who has a show on the Food Network.....we started out with Champagne cocktails that were bright pink and flavoured with rosewater...than a basket of baked goods that included:
raisin cardamom sticky buns
brioche with orange zest
VALROHNA CHOCOLATE BREAD - eaten with bitter orange marmalade
dense fruit-nut bread with dried cherries and walnuts....
then I had "eggs hussard" which were poached eggs over toast with ham and mushrooms and hollandaise, covered in SAUCE BORDELAISE (brown sauce with wine and shallots)...SO GOOD
wild mushroom ravioli with truffle oil
frangelico chocolate mousse
skirt steak served with arugula and shaved Parmesan
hot chocolate with ancho chillies and cinnamon!!!!!
the best cheese pizza...ever....
BAGELS.... with like a foot of cream cheese.
and I have only been here for 2 days.
I also went to this gourmet food market that had artisanal butter from france and more kinds of fish then I could ever imagine...and a black transsexual hooker buying fillet mignon???? And women in fur coats buying lobsters and
oozing brie and cherries in December and I went to Williams Sonoma where they have copper fish kettles and a candy floss attachment for a kitchen aid....and a demonstration kitchen where you can watch them make marshmallows.
Tomorrow I will slow down in the food department. Jackie O used to subsist on broth and fruit after she had overindulged. That seems sensible...and one should emulate Jackie O while in New York.
Anyway, lots to tell.... I have seen a lot, and experienced a lot... I had a lesson the morning after I got here at 2 in the morning! AAAAH...it was very cool, though....New Yorkers are very friendly and direct and they talk to you on the subway...about a great many things. My cousin is wearing a mini dress and stiletto boots and a vintage fur coat and is going out for tea at midnight ...she is very Sarah Jessica Parker. I think I am going to a concert of Medieval Christmas music tomorrow.... and then maybe to see some paintings by Klimt? Or my cousin and I may stay in bed and watch Annie Hall..... who knows!
love to you...
-b
Oh my God. New York is just, well,aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh... I don't know where to start, so I will start with food. This is what I have eaten:
bruschetta with gorgonzola cream sauce - served piping hot...
Linguini with oven dried tomatoes, chicken, garlic oil, spinich, pine nuts and goat cheese - this was at an Italian place near Lincoln Centre - and guess who was sitting at the next table? Kramer from Seinfeld!
BRUNCH AT PASTIS! We saw Curtis Stone - that cute chef from from Australia who has a show on the Food Network.....we started out with Champagne cocktails that were bright pink and flavoured with rosewater...than a basket of baked goods that included:
raisin cardamom sticky buns
brioche with orange zest
VALROHNA CHOCOLATE BREAD - eaten with bitter orange marmalade
dense fruit-nut bread with dried cherries and walnuts....
then I had "eggs hussard" which were poached eggs over toast with ham and mushrooms and hollandaise, covered in SAUCE BORDELAISE (brown sauce with wine and shallots)...SO GOOD
wild mushroom ravioli with truffle oil
frangelico chocolate mousse
skirt steak served with arugula and shaved Parmesan
hot chocolate with ancho chillies and cinnamon!!!!!
the best cheese pizza...ever....
BAGELS.... with like a foot of cream cheese.
and I have only been here for 2 days.
I also went to this gourmet food market that had artisanal butter from france and more kinds of fish then I could ever imagine...and a black transsexual hooker buying fillet mignon???? And women in fur coats buying lobsters and
oozing brie and cherries in December and I went to Williams Sonoma where they have copper fish kettles and a candy floss attachment for a kitchen aid....and a demonstration kitchen where you can watch them make marshmallows.
Tomorrow I will slow down in the food department. Jackie O used to subsist on broth and fruit after she had overindulged. That seems sensible...and one should emulate Jackie O while in New York.
Anyway, lots to tell.... I have seen a lot, and experienced a lot... I had a lesson the morning after I got here at 2 in the morning! AAAAH...it was very cool, though....New Yorkers are very friendly and direct and they talk to you on the subway...about a great many things. My cousin is wearing a mini dress and stiletto boots and a vintage fur coat and is going out for tea at midnight ...she is very Sarah Jessica Parker. I think I am going to a concert of Medieval Christmas music tomorrow.... and then maybe to see some paintings by Klimt? Or my cousin and I may stay in bed and watch Annie Hall..... who knows!
love to you...
-b
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Only in New York?
I knew I loved New York within 5 minutes of landing at JFK. I knew I loved New York because because by the time I had collected my luggage, more people had talked to me then in my entire time in Vancouver, or so it seemed. People asked me the time, people commented on my new coat - people smiled and looked me in the eye asked me where I was from.... I told them I was from Canada, and they wondered aloud why I didn't add "eh" to all my sentences. One woman selling Hot Chocolate asked me if pot was legal back home, and told her that you could get high just walking down the street. She wants to move - but I don't see why, because New York is everything you could ever wish for. In fact, as I was walking down 5th avenue last night, arm in arm with a friend, I said to myself "this is how I always imagined life should be"...for I always imagined that life should be loud and crazy, and clothed impeccably. I always imagined that life should be full of people, and full of good things to eat. I thought that life should be direct and honest and laughing and perhaps even a bit pushy.
Most importantly, life should have windows at regularly spaced intervals: Windows full of light that illuminate the darkness - windows with beautiful things in them that cause you to dream.
Today I feel like I never want to leave New York - I know that I will have to eventually, but I will always look for the New York in every place I happen to find myself - I will seek out that which is original and causes you to stop in your tracks; that which is unconventional and beautiful -- that which is real...
I will look for these windows wherever I go.
Most importantly, life should have windows at regularly spaced intervals: Windows full of light that illuminate the darkness - windows with beautiful things in them that cause you to dream.
Today I feel like I never want to leave New York - I know that I will have to eventually, but I will always look for the New York in every place I happen to find myself - I will seek out that which is original and causes you to stop in your tracks; that which is unconventional and beautiful -- that which is real...
I will look for these windows wherever I go.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Please leave a message
Ah, the joys of being 28 and temporarily unemployed. I have found myself at a crossroads - I am at the juncture of the diverging paths of the beginning of the rest of my life! I am the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.
Actually, I have no idea what the hell I am doing. And in situations like the one I find myself in, it is best to skip town. So, I have bought at ticket to NYC, the city that never sleeps - and since I am not sleeping right now, it seems like a perfectly logical destination to me. It beats drinking warm milk.
You know, they always say that you should not call on New York - that you should wait until New York calls you. Very wise. To be perfectly honest, I think there MUST be something wrong with my phone, because I think New York has been trying to get through. I have just been out so much these days, and it is such a huge burden for a city of 9 million to leave a message after the tone. I will just have to contact information and patiently explain to them that I am expecting a call and that they should do everything in their power to ensure that ALL of my correspondence gets through.
One must take care of one's correspondence. One must take infinite care with messages of all sorts, methinks.
Let me just go and make that call.
Actually, I have no idea what the hell I am doing. And in situations like the one I find myself in, it is best to skip town. So, I have bought at ticket to NYC, the city that never sleeps - and since I am not sleeping right now, it seems like a perfectly logical destination to me. It beats drinking warm milk.
You know, they always say that you should not call on New York - that you should wait until New York calls you. Very wise. To be perfectly honest, I think there MUST be something wrong with my phone, because I think New York has been trying to get through. I have just been out so much these days, and it is such a huge burden for a city of 9 million to leave a message after the tone. I will just have to contact information and patiently explain to them that I am expecting a call and that they should do everything in their power to ensure that ALL of my correspondence gets through.
One must take care of one's correspondence. One must take infinite care with messages of all sorts, methinks.
Let me just go and make that call.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Make your own season brochure....
If you go to www.parterre.com, you can make your own "mad lib opera brochure" by filling in the blanks and submitting your responses. Here is what I came up with:
The 1944 season for Scranton Grand Opera promises an eclectic mix of Voluptuous and Dynamic works, as well as a gala Palpitations featuring the Intelligent personality Carol Channing as special bidet.
The thoughtful classic, Hindemith`s "La agilita di Poughkeepsie" boasts a new production directed by Britney Spears, with costumes by L. Ron Hubbard. This flatulent staging updates the action to turnpike in the early part of the 666th century. Soprano Leonie Rysanek stars as Lashawndra, a virginal bird bath who for most of the opera is disguised as a mysterious moped. Leonie Rysanek is perhaps best known from Wife Swap where she sang the lilting melody Sexy Back.
The neglected masterpiece "Der kaputschlechtbumsen" will be revived for only 57 performances. You probably already know the famous "viper Chorus" which was used on the soundtrack of the Academy Award winning film Bring it On. Due to the length of this work, all performances will begin at dawn.
Finally, the company will present the Lagos premiere of the opera "The Life and Times of Bob Barker" in a co-production with Opera Oregon-Pacific Sacramento (oops) and Opera Sous-Sol. The libretto is by Jeb Bush, based on the play Equus, and the music is adapted from the works of Schonberg by maestro Pierre Boulez. Exciting newcomer Deborah Winger makes her operatic debut as the flaccid heroine, and the men in her life are portrayed by Rush Limbaugh, Jon Stewart and Lassie.
Generous support for Scranton Grand Opera`s excrement was provided by the Delta Burke Foundation and the National Endowment for the dildo.
The 1944 season for Scranton Grand Opera promises an eclectic mix of Voluptuous and Dynamic works, as well as a gala Palpitations featuring the Intelligent personality Carol Channing as special bidet.
The thoughtful classic, Hindemith`s "La agilita di Poughkeepsie" boasts a new production directed by Britney Spears, with costumes by L. Ron Hubbard. This flatulent staging updates the action to turnpike in the early part of the 666th century. Soprano Leonie Rysanek stars as Lashawndra, a virginal bird bath who for most of the opera is disguised as a mysterious moped. Leonie Rysanek is perhaps best known from Wife Swap where she sang the lilting melody Sexy Back.
The neglected masterpiece "Der kaputschlechtbumsen" will be revived for only 57 performances. You probably already know the famous "viper Chorus" which was used on the soundtrack of the Academy Award winning film Bring it On. Due to the length of this work, all performances will begin at dawn.
Finally, the company will present the Lagos premiere of the opera "The Life and Times of Bob Barker" in a co-production with Opera Oregon-Pacific Sacramento (oops) and Opera Sous-Sol. The libretto is by Jeb Bush, based on the play Equus, and the music is adapted from the works of Schonberg by maestro Pierre Boulez. Exciting newcomer Deborah Winger makes her operatic debut as the flaccid heroine, and the men in her life are portrayed by Rush Limbaugh, Jon Stewart and Lassie.
Generous support for Scranton Grand Opera`s excrement was provided by the Delta Burke Foundation and the National Endowment for the dildo.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
....
Blessed is he
who comes in spite of the Lord
Blessed is he who is not
ashamed.
Blessed is the exile
standing steadfast with himself,
who curses and casts scorn --
who will not compromise.
Who will not yield.
Blessed is his anger.
who comes in spite of the Lord
Blessed is he who is not
ashamed.
Blessed is the exile
standing steadfast with himself,
who curses and casts scorn --
who will not compromise.
Who will not yield.
Blessed is his anger.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Proverbs
(1)
Between the lines is a narrow space with openings.
Between the spaces are narrow lines which are openings.
Between the words there are spaces that are not openings but are between openings which lead to opening.
Between the letters are spaces which must end because we choose to do that.
Between the heart and the head there is space.
Between two hearts there is space and opening.
Between space and opening there is the heart.
Between the heart and opening there is space which is not empty.
(2)
Not empty is not full.
Not full is empty and also not empty
Empty can be quite full
which can also be empty.
(3)
Also can, also ran.
Also could, also would.
Also much also soon
also muddling, also moon.
Between the lines is a narrow space with openings.
Between the spaces are narrow lines which are openings.
Between the words there are spaces that are not openings but are between openings which lead to opening.
Between the letters are spaces which must end because we choose to do that.
Between the heart and the head there is space.
Between two hearts there is space and opening.
Between space and opening there is the heart.
Between the heart and opening there is space which is not empty.
(2)
Not empty is not full.
Not full is empty and also not empty
Empty can be quite full
which can also be empty.
(3)
Also can, also ran.
Also could, also would.
Also much also soon
also muddling, also moon.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Jealous Mistresses
A few months ago I went to the gracious apartment of a writer who agreed to talk to me about "the craft". I knew this was a dangerous proposition, because I have never considered myself to be a "writer". I know that to name yourself invites all sorts of problems... I am no fool.
We sat there and nibbled on biscuits from a silver salver. We drank sherry and listened to Schubert - it was hard not to feel at peace. And then we started to talk about anxiety. Not that I was surprised. I have come to discover that a confluence of sensory distractions is a sign of hidden, gnawing fear -- happy is the person who
revels in debauchery just because they feel like it.
He (the writer) asked me about my "writing process".
I told him I just wrote.
He asked me what inspired me.
I told him I was inspired by most everything. Or nothing. Depending on the case.
He asked me how I just "did it".
I told him that I already had an artistic outlet that caused me endless amounts of
anxiety. Writing was just something I did.
At one point, it was the same with singing -- it was just something I did.
Then I started to learn about "how to sing" and the whole process became much more difficult and far less satisfying.
When I asked him what I could do to "improve" my writing, my writer friend told me that I should just go to a writing group and share my work with others. I felt an immediate twinge of angst. I thought to myself "oh shit... now I am going to have to try to understand what I do".
I prefer to live in ignorance and to embrace all the words that come out of me. There is a lot of chaff among the wheat to be sure...I can live with that.
But I cannot bear to try and understand. I vow to hold on to one thing in life that "just happens".
We sat there and nibbled on biscuits from a silver salver. We drank sherry and listened to Schubert - it was hard not to feel at peace. And then we started to talk about anxiety. Not that I was surprised. I have come to discover that a confluence of sensory distractions is a sign of hidden, gnawing fear -- happy is the person who
revels in debauchery just because they feel like it.
He (the writer) asked me about my "writing process".
I told him I just wrote.
He asked me what inspired me.
I told him I was inspired by most everything. Or nothing. Depending on the case.
He asked me how I just "did it".
I told him that I already had an artistic outlet that caused me endless amounts of
anxiety. Writing was just something I did.
At one point, it was the same with singing -- it was just something I did.
Then I started to learn about "how to sing" and the whole process became much more difficult and far less satisfying.
When I asked him what I could do to "improve" my writing, my writer friend told me that I should just go to a writing group and share my work with others. I felt an immediate twinge of angst. I thought to myself "oh shit... now I am going to have to try to understand what I do".
I prefer to live in ignorance and to embrace all the words that come out of me. There is a lot of chaff among the wheat to be sure...I can live with that.
But I cannot bear to try and understand. I vow to hold on to one thing in life that "just happens".
Saturday, September 01, 2007
All the difference
I believe it was Euripides who said that the wisest among us chooses his own path.
Now, lest you think I am profound or something, I should tell you that I read this quote on a fridge magnet. But I should also tell you that I am rather egalitarian when it comes to the acquisition of wisdom, and I don't believe that the sentiment would have been any more profound if I had read it from a dusty tome in a silent room far away.... Rather, I read it in the kitchen of a dear friend who had recently moved down the street. I remember that when I was reading it, I was laughing about something, and I was happy.
To be happy! And to laugh....and to do them both at the same time! - It was rather like rubbing your stomach and tapping your head concurrently: Very difficult to coordinate but rather amusing once achieved - something you just had to run to the mirror and see.
But there was no mirror, so I just smiled to myself and continued chopping garlic - content in the knowledge that I was surrounded by people who loved me very much, and whom I loved in return.
To love! And to be loved in return... at the same time....Very difficult to coordinate but amusing once achieved.
- Something you just have to see.
Now, lest you think I am profound or something, I should tell you that I read this quote on a fridge magnet. But I should also tell you that I am rather egalitarian when it comes to the acquisition of wisdom, and I don't believe that the sentiment would have been any more profound if I had read it from a dusty tome in a silent room far away.... Rather, I read it in the kitchen of a dear friend who had recently moved down the street. I remember that when I was reading it, I was laughing about something, and I was happy.
To be happy! And to laugh....and to do them both at the same time! - It was rather like rubbing your stomach and tapping your head concurrently: Very difficult to coordinate but rather amusing once achieved - something you just had to run to the mirror and see.
But there was no mirror, so I just smiled to myself and continued chopping garlic - content in the knowledge that I was surrounded by people who loved me very much, and whom I loved in return.
To love! And to be loved in return... at the same time....Very difficult to coordinate but amusing once achieved.
- Something you just have to see.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Wednesday's child is full of.....
There comes a time when one wants to shed one's puppy fat and be lithe and lean like a jungle cat - ready to pounce; sinewy and dangerous. Of course, there are some who are more predisposed to such a state than I, but I am careful what I ask for and have decided that I am meant to be built like a tank and perhaps it is better to just go on steadily and run things over if need be.
That being said, I have decided to make economies for the benefit of my pocket book and figure. I know that I will never look good in a Speedo (so few do), but maybe some day I shall be able to see my toes while standing upright. It is good to see where one is rooted - if only for the peace of mind it brings.
My first measure was to forgo my monthly bus pass: If I walk everywhere, I will become fit. However, it was raining this morning and my umbrella broke...and I can always walk to work tomorrow. Having no bus pass and no change, I took a cab. Strike one.
My second measure was to give up my morning coffee. Coffee disagrees with my stomach, and I put far too much cream and sugar in it ( I dare not tell you how much - suffice it to say that it is rather like melted coffee ice cream).... So, I didn't make coffee today and felt very virtuous -- until I started work at 7 AM and a woman started screaming at me because her passport wasn't ready. Realization: There are some things that just cannot be borne without caffeine. Strike two.
Then I thought that I should eat more sensibly. Always a good idea. The body is a temple, and my body feels like a debauched shrine to Bacchus after the weekend I had. So last night I made brown rice and decided to have it for dinner with some vegetables. But then I came home to find that my roommate had bought scallops,
and there is this recipe for Coquilles St. Jacques that I have always wanted to try (now mix the butter and reduced cooking juices with a goodly amount of heavy cream
and two egg yolks...)! Strike 3. Strike 3 way out in left field...strike 3 "I missed the ball and it went over the stadium wall and is rolling in a gutter somewhere 5 miles away."
I can always have brown rice tomorrow. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.
And the sun will NOT come out tomorrow, because I live in Vancouver, where there is a moratorium on the sun because it causes global warming (if this is not true, I am sure there is someone in the deeper recesses of Patchoulia who has thought it should be)...
Sigh. I think there are some more scallops in the fridge.
That being said, I have decided to make economies for the benefit of my pocket book and figure. I know that I will never look good in a Speedo (so few do), but maybe some day I shall be able to see my toes while standing upright. It is good to see where one is rooted - if only for the peace of mind it brings.
My first measure was to forgo my monthly bus pass: If I walk everywhere, I will become fit. However, it was raining this morning and my umbrella broke...and I can always walk to work tomorrow. Having no bus pass and no change, I took a cab. Strike one.
My second measure was to give up my morning coffee. Coffee disagrees with my stomach, and I put far too much cream and sugar in it ( I dare not tell you how much - suffice it to say that it is rather like melted coffee ice cream).... So, I didn't make coffee today and felt very virtuous -- until I started work at 7 AM and a woman started screaming at me because her passport wasn't ready. Realization: There are some things that just cannot be borne without caffeine. Strike two.
Then I thought that I should eat more sensibly. Always a good idea. The body is a temple, and my body feels like a debauched shrine to Bacchus after the weekend I had. So last night I made brown rice and decided to have it for dinner with some vegetables. But then I came home to find that my roommate had bought scallops,
and there is this recipe for Coquilles St. Jacques that I have always wanted to try (now mix the butter and reduced cooking juices with a goodly amount of heavy cream
and two egg yolks...)! Strike 3. Strike 3 way out in left field...strike 3 "I missed the ball and it went over the stadium wall and is rolling in a gutter somewhere 5 miles away."
I can always have brown rice tomorrow. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.
And the sun will NOT come out tomorrow, because I live in Vancouver, where there is a moratorium on the sun because it causes global warming (if this is not true, I am sure there is someone in the deeper recesses of Patchoulia who has thought it should be)...
Sigh. I think there are some more scallops in the fridge.
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