McLobster, which is a real thing and not made up by Doug Coupland.
I honor English majors. It’s a dumb thing to major in. It leads nowhere. It’s good to be dumb, it allows us to love something for no reason.
And be brave. Let some of the good writing go. Don’t worry. There’ll be lots of it over time. You can’t use all of it. Be generous and allow some of it to lie fallow. What a relief! We can write well and let it go. That’s as good as writing poorly and letting it go. Just let it go.
I promise, I was going to make spaghetti and meatballs for my first meal in my new apartment. But then my favourite cereal was on sale at the grocery store.
Cute food! We just ate it with a green apple.
When I was a kid, I thought all television came from the United States. We didn’t have cable, then, only five channels. One of them actually was from the United States: KVOS, out of Bellingham, Washington, about twenty minutes away, and across the border. CBC was government mandated to air Canadian content and did, with the exception of an afterschool block of The Simpsons and The Fresh Prince of Bel Air (I know, right?), as well as Coronation Street, which is still on the schedule, between news and hockey. All the other channels regularly aired the shows I knew were not Canadian: Gummi Bears, Saved by the Bell, Star Trek: The Next Generation. Because the shows were American, I assumed the commercials were, too.
I know better now, yet I’m still surprised that Canada has things America does not. It’s usually the other way around.
I haven’t been watching White Collar this season. It lost a lot of its charm for me in the last handful of episodes. Maybe the pilot was too good–the centre could not hold–because every episode since has been worse than the one that came before.
I figured I’d just watch the preview clips. They’ve always got the best stuff anyway.
Except for this one, with Mozzie’s blatantly last minute ADR’d excuse for why the Nazi-stolen artwork storyline isn’t that bad. It is, and the latest, saddest, example of what poor planning can do to what was going to be a very good TV show.
There’s nothing like seeing what your book could be to get you to write the fucking ending already.
Ohhh the sewing machine, the sewing machine
A friend in need
If I didn’t having my sewing machine
A wicked life I’d lead
But a bobbin a bobbin and peddle a peddle
And dream about romance
So by night I feel so weary that I never get out to dance
One free range large egg from the farmers market and a splash of water because you finished the milk.
Whisk in a cereal bowl or the biggest bowl you can find.
Just enough flour to cover the liquid, whole wheat, if that’s all you can find in the communal pantry, and the last of a bag of white to lighten.
Sprinkle of baking powder, sprinkle of sea salt because someone bought the expensive stuff and left it behind.
Whisk it all together, then drop soup spoonfuls into an ancient pan greased with the last rasher of locally raised thick cut bacon.
Eat with supermarket pancake syrup because everyone takes the Canadian maple syrup home.
I’ve always said that you know you’re a poet when you type an emdash and you hit the delete button, and you type a colon and you hit the delete button, and you type an emdash and you hit the delete button, and you type a colon and you hit the delete button. If you can do that for about three hours straight trying to figure out which one is the best one, if you can do that for three hours and call that a good time then you’re probably a poet.