Category: life

Topics concerning that thing known as ‘real life’ and not virtual worlds.

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My craving for quality Dutch hash

As I sit here over a bowl of oatmeal, a thought strikes me. Actually, I’m not so much over the bowl of oatmeal as I am in front of it. Or am I behind it? That’s a difficult preposition.

Anyway, I was thinking, why am I eating this? And then I thought, why am I writing about this in my blog? Then I paused for a moment and pressed Enter a couple of times to start a new paragraph.

Unlike my health-conscious brother, who’s getting a little behind in his bloggings, I can’t stand oatmeal. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the texture, in part. It’s kind of like that paste mix that used to be a part of every art project in elementary school. The kid next to me ate some of it, which was truly repulsive. I bet he was all blogged up for days.

And in part, it’s the lack of any identifiable flavour. Unless you add cinnamon, sugar, apples, or raisins (which, in oatmeal, can be easily mistaken for boiled bugs), it’s like eating a whole bunch of pasty nothing. How can anyone make this stuff a regular part of their day?

Sausage McEvilI should hardly criticize, I suppose… lately, my regular breakfast has become the grease-soaked “number 4 meal”: the dreaded Sausage McMuffin, a puck-like object that they call “a hash brown”, and black coffee. No kidding, it is just oozing with grease (as am I after I eat it). By the time I get to my cubicle, the bag has a large spreading stain, and the napkins are almost as tasty as the greasy puck they were wrapped around.

And if I can go off on another tangent, how can they call those pucks “hashbrowns”? Real hashbrowns are a flavourful pile of deliciously fried potato chunks. Not a deepfried potato-matter puck!

And now we get to the real reason why I’m blathering on about breakfasts. I finished my bowl of oatmeal, and I still feel like I haven’t eaten breakfast. If only I lived next to the Dutch Wooden Shoe on Cambie. Some smoked salmon hash-n-eggs would truly hit the spot right now.

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You came back…

I tried to get you out of my life, but you came back again. How long have I been without you? Fifty-four days? Yes. Fifty-four days.

Yesterday you came back of your own accord, expecting to resume our relationship where we left off. But no. It’s all changed now, hasn’t it? How can I ever look at you in the same way? How can I find the same comfort in your gentle glow and melodic voice? I’ve changed too. I learned to live without you, because I had to.

And yet there you are again, waiting oh-so-quietly in your familiar spot in the corner of my livingroom. I know you. You want me to pick up the remote. You want me to turn you on.

I know, I know, I used to watch you for hours. But I got over it. I don’t need Buffy. I don’t need Enterprise. I don’t need the dozens of pointless sitcoms that flicker across your face. Now I’ll watch those things only if I choose to do so. You have no more sway over me. If you want to sit there, fine. But know this: I’m beyond you.

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Dear Fox Entertainment,

Are you out of you freakin’ minds? What’s this I hear about The Simpsons being extended until 2005? The show is a tired, lifeless husk that you should put to rest already. The world doesn’t need 360 episodes of The Simpsons. People already say “Doh” and “Mmm, doughnuts” far too much.

But no, you can’t let it go, can you? You money-grubbing bastards have to squeeze a few more dollars out of the show. Just sell a few more books, t-shirts, stuffed dolls, and miscellaneous garbage with the Simpsons family printed on it. If you’re really serious about the Simpsons memorabilia, you could go the route of Hello Kitty, and get into the adult toy market. Marge’s hair does look a little suggestive, if you know what I mean.

And hey, why not arrange an appearance by Dubya? That’ll boost the ratings. He’s the only serving US president who hasn’t appeared on the show (and besides… I hear that he can be paid in bananas).

Please don’t misunderstand, I am a Simpsons fan. I used to watch The Simpsons avidly — more often than I used to watch Star Trek, if only for the fact that The Simpsons shows three or four times a day on several different channels. Now I’d rather chew my leg off while plummeting from a great height into a pit full of rabid lemurs than have to see Homer become buddies with another Hollywood celeb. I’m serious. I’m making arrangements for the lemurs at this moment.

Sincerely,

Cubicle Dweller

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Q

Have you ever noticed the amazing redundancy of the word “queue”? I’m fascinated by that word.You’d think it could be spelled with fewer vowels. Like none, for example. Just the letter Q.

But no, it cleverly starts off with a Q then sneaks in a U-E combination. And it doesn’t stop there either. It repeats the U-E again… and quite frivolously, in my opinion.

Q.

U-E.

U-E.

It’s like the second U-E is just tacked onto the end in case the reader isn’t fully convinced of its Q-ness.

Queue. Queue. Queue. Queue. It’s fun to type too.

I think I’ll try to use it several times in conversation today. Maybe I’ll talk about it with the next person in the bank machine Q.