Truer Words

I have to poach a line from another blog, and I hope they don't mind.

Satan's Little Jackhammer

Yes. It is apparently woodpecker mating season in this area, and the House of Chaos is apparently the hottest fucking nightclub in town.

Four and twenty woodpeckers...pie...hm.

When You Know You're Loved

I got home from Seattle this morning and pretty much all day Peabo has been coming up from whatever angle is possible and hugging me. At one point she was on the couch and I was sitting on the floor in front of her - she reached around and monkey-hugged my neck and then...started rubbing my back.

Witness: Puddle of Heather.

Fantasy Foodie League

One of the blogs I read had a contest for a hefty sum of a gift certificate at Williams-Sonoma, and the question was basically this: What would be your ideal/last meal? Reading through the myriad answers was exceedingly interesting, not to mention entertaining, and it really got me thinking how much you can actually tell about a person by what they choose, and how they choose to word it. It also dawned on me that, at least for me, it's a really tough question. I really like food. Which is why I'm on a diet right now, but I digress. It's an interesting thought experiment though, to create an 'ideal' meal and then think about why you chose that. So that's my challenge to people - what would you say, and how would you say it? Only caveat: none of that cheesy morally superior "anything with loved one XYZ". A) That's probably a given and b) this is a bit about self indulgence and a bit about self reflection and your tastes. Be selfish!

I'm going to double post this on Livejournal too because the whole idea of food and personality intrigues me. And I'm on a diet, so I'm hungry.

PS. Oh yeah. What would my perfect meal be? Well, since you asked...

Soup. Lots of bisquey soups - tomato, squash, broccoli, your whole complement. With buttery croutons and a smattering of grated cheese. Lashings of bread, but only of the crusty, dense, nutty variety. Good rich European or otherwise artisan butter. Roasted fingerling potatoes with sea salt. Panzanella. Since we're dreaming, an excellent charcuterie plate. Steamed artichokes with the aforementioned butter, melted. God, I love artichokes. A well chosen cheese plate with comb honey and walnuts, dates, and crostini from the aforementioned crusty breads. A lemon tart with a smidge of boozed up whipped cream, or a slice of the Meyer lemon cake with lavender cream honey I made for Easter dinner. A dish of my great-grandmother's treacle sponge, made by my grandmother. My other grandmother's potato rolls with some sweet tea. BBQ from Gary's in China Grove, NC with loads of the vinegary coleslaw.

I recognize this is a massive amount of food, but remember - it's all about self indulgence and reflection, yeah?

Martini-and-Polo-Helix

Apparently the WASP genome is a strong one. Took Peabo to the local community center/rec area today to fool around on the playstructure, and we happened to be on the one next to the tennis courts, all of which were full (and in passing, I was duly impressed that most of them were populated by people comfortably over 50. Rock on with your old athletic selves). Peabo was utterly entranced. She also loves seeing the horses at Bean's riding therapy. So help me God, Gene is not allowed to show her a sailboat, or we might just have to start calling her Muffy, or Tippy. Or Peeky. Hee. Peeky.

On a less New Englandy note, I made a new mom friend there today; I think we both quickly noted the presence of semi-alternatively placed facial piercings in the other and thought "hm. Possibly a kindred spirit in the midst of Juicy Couture wearing suburban breeders."

Duplicate Query

Duplicate for anyone who happens to know my Livejournal handle, at any rate:

Query
At the end of the month I'm embarking on a 'girl's trip' to Seattle with my best friend from university (she lives in Vancouver, easiest halfway point, etc). Now, I've been to Seattle a few times, but always with at least one child in tow and often with a bit of a mission (deal with boat, take boat out of Seattle, meet up with family, etc). We will both have two days and three nights with no small children and no husbands in hand. I have a couple of ideas of things to do and places to go/see/shop/eat, but on the off chance anyone ever reads my effing boring ass posts, I humbly beg you to send me some good ideas. We're not super interested in the tourist thing, as this is more about indulging our approximately 54 hours of freedom.

Halp!

Today's Cerebral Teh Funny

From ICHC

Allez, 'Ehdair!

That's what I sort of imagine my junior high French teacher, M. Ferron saying to me after my heartening experience last night at Fringale up in San Francisco. In passing, M. Ferron put up with so much shit from my class - it was his first year teaching, his English was still a little shaky, and if he were ten years older than us little bastards, I would be amazed. The greatest thing is, he stuck it out, and is *still* teaching at the same school and gets bonus ratings on Rate My Teacher. So, allez, M. Ferron! I apologize en masse for the whole graduating class of 1989.

Anyway, Fringale is a delight of a restaurant, with the exception of their speed in bringing water to the table; they do appear to hire honest to God French (or French Canadian) staff, which is of course charming as all hell. Our particular waiter was chatty and teasing and lovely, all very nice. Most of the menu offerings are completely translated into English, but when dessert rolled around, I noticed that the cheese plate was in fact labeled as "plateau de fromages", so that's how I ordered it. And I'll be damned if the waiter didn't look at me in surprise and say "you speak French! Why didn't you tell me?". Except of course he said "Pourquoi ne m'avez-vous pas dit?" so.freaking.fast I must have looked at him goggle eyed. At which point he graciously asked me in English. I think I said something lame like "well, I grew up in Toronto, but it's been a long time - and I learned Quebecois French of course!". He laughed and told me one of the other waiters was from Quebec, bonhomie all around, etc.

At any rate, it was bizarrely gratifying to think that my accent was still decent enough to cause a waiter to do a double take. Unless of course he was completely angling for an even better tip than we gave him. But I like my first version better, so that's what I'm sticking with. I generally don't try to speak French in restaurants or whatnot even if the other person's origins are pretty obvious - it just seems so completely douchey, like one of those godawful Yuppies who spend two weeks in Italy and then try to establish a rapport in "Italian" with any waiter they come across. That, and for all that I was immured in French classes for eleven years, I can read it a whole lot better than I can speak or understand it, especially after living down here for nearly as long.

I think M. Ferron would still be pleased, though.

And This Is Why I Carry A US Passport

Freedom of speech is an American concept, so I don't give it any value.

-- Dean Steacy, Canadian Human Rights Commission.

Well, Mr Steacy, I'm happily calling myself an American who happened to be born in Canada so....

FUCK.

YOU.

Help

I've been trying to figure out how this can be described as a "Toronto pullover".

None of my thoughts can be described as charitable.