Igloofest II and Other Antics

Week One of the Black-Choptiany Pan-Provincial Bi-weekly Culinary Throwdown: Success!

I meant to lovingly and creatively document my progress with the "gourmet" function on my camera (not food function, as I had originally identified it, because gourmet sounds so much more artistic and evocative, right?) but I started feeling a little crunch for time. So no photos of the finished product, which I managed to polish off in two days (it made an excellent breakfast and dinner on Sunday), but here, revel in the glory...

 

So I did make some modifications to the original recipe. For one thing, I halved it - I was only cooking for me (though I did have a friend come over in time to polish one off as they came out of the over, and a couple were sacrificed as post-bar treats at 3:00 am). Also, because I acquired some odd affinity for them lately, and many of the comments recommended the switch, I used black beans instead of kidney beans. I also didn't add water - I don't think I drained my beans very well (cleaning my mesh colander is the bane of my culinary existence) and so there was, as you can see in the fairly repulsive photo, a good amount of liquid in there already. I would, in future, perhaps add stock though, instead of water. Chopper told me that he added hot sauce to his, which inspired me to make a similar move, adding 50/50 hot mustard and regular mustard. Other than that, my only recommendation, which I received from Chopper and completely concur with is that, in building the burritos, the ratio should be more along the lines of 60/40 beans to sweet potatoes. 

Another thing Chopper and I agreed was obnoxious about the recipe was that the ingredient list calls for "mashed sweet potatoes" and therefore does not account for the hour or so it takes to make them (if you bake them in the oven like I do). You really need to do that first, and set the mashed sweet potato aside before you start the beans.

All in all though, I think Round One was a whopping success. Anyone else try them?

Right after burritos, I went out for the final night of Igloofest with my brother, Claire, Yule and a new acquaintance of mine, Brielan. It was crazy fun. Though someone stole my toque off my head (again)! You gotta roll with the punches. No more partying for me for a long time though. I can tide myself over with the fond reminiscences, the goading of all the friends I called, and some of these lovely photos.

Online Overload

An ironic title? I mean, there have been no posts! What the fuck, right?

My apologies. As they so often are, my energies have been divided. I have been exploring other internet exploits.

Namely, the hilarious, if not alarming, world of plentyoffish.com.

I admit it to you, because you must know all.

It was a move motivated more by curiosity more than anything else. What can I say – those “meet sexy singles NOW!” ads that have been popping up alongside my illicit Law & Order episodes finally piqued my interest. And I know people who have used the site, so I figured I would see what it was all about.

This was something which I clearly did not think through in any sort of detail, of course. Do I want to ever actually meet up with strangers from the internet? Absolutely not. Do I even really want to talk to people from the internet who are going to hit on me without knowing me? That one turns out to be especially disheartening.  I had someone message me saying "You seem like a smart, funny girl, who shares my values." His values? "only interested in white women who only date white men. Those are just my values." Nice of you to use a display picture without your white hood in it - it really wouldn't show off those pretty blue eyes to your best advantage, I guess.

Ugh.

It is a sort of creepy world (read: my first contact was with a 44-year-old management professor, who I hope to God I never meet), one which I am not the least bit suited for. Because, despite what you may know about me, I try to be a nice person. Or, perhaps the more significant factor here is, I was never hit on a lot growing up. I only had two boyfriends in high school, and not a whole lot in between. I have never known how to handle myself under male attention. Especially unwanted attention. Usually, in bars, for instance, I just ignore people. But, on pletnyoffish, I mean, that’s the point, right? So how do you tell someone that they sound nice and all, but you really don’t want to meet lonely 30-year-old gingers in the real world?

But it does provide a nice ego boost. It’s horrible. I simultaneously feel awesome, receiving all these messages from strangers saying how awesome I seem (my word portrait was exquisite, to be fair) and yet so intensely superficial: “Ha, what were you thinking, 40-year-old finance guy?” “No picture? NO WAY!” “Come on, be serious now my unibrowed friend.” Yes, my inner dialogue is that inauthentic at times. But only when the internet is making me into a bad person.

I am going to have to part ways with it immediately.  Sorry world of internet dating – I am truly not ready for you.

Joe Jeans | Cigarette Cut | Lauren Wash | $174.00 CAD

On the less free and self-confidence boosting side of things, I did make my first ever internet clothing purchase! This world is probably more dangerous in the, my parents are going to get a 350.00$ bill for jeans I never tried on, but it feels all so much more satisfying. I am excited. Two pairs of Joe Jeans, cigarette cut, in both the Lauren and Tessa washes. Expensive? Yes. Worth it to avoid the excruciating experience of jean shopping? God I hope so. 

These babies are internet strangers I cannot wait to welcome into my home.

Maybe a real shopping trip soon though...

"Your cats will be your boyfriends" (Reprise)

Some shots of She Ra from the Christmas break (and one of Ben, stealing her fun)

Throwdown Round 1: Sweet Potato Burritos

So this is the first week of Chopper and I's Culinary Throwdown, and I took it upon myself to choose the recipe. Chopper is, of course, a vegetarian, so I turned to the collection of vegetarian recipes on allrecipes.com. After skipping past all the very highly rated salads, I came across a recipe which piqued my interest: Addictive Sweet Potato Burritos.

Chopper suggested I open up the challenge to my reader base, which I must have given him the impression was vaster and more dedicated than I assume it actually is, so that you can throwdown with us. Who doesn't love a little throwdown? Weak people and pacifists, probably.

The link to the recipe is up there, and if you want to join - awesome! The plan is to wait until both the Chop and I have cooked the recipe, which we are welcome to alter however we see fit, then post the findings (plus lovely photos courtesy of the, I don't lie, "Food" function on my camera).

Happy cooking.

Back at Productivity- Commence Throwdown

So I think, after an extended battle with my immune system, with various innovative and unorthodox strategems employed by the defending armies, the antagonistic rhinovirus is retreating.

AKA, after spending all day sleeping yesterday - I mean, quite seriously, sleeping in until 10:00, and then falling back asleep from 1:00 until 5:00, I saw about 3 hours of sunlight - I am finally back to normal productive capacities.

With this newly re-found productivity, I have ample projects on my plate. In addition to a class presentation on Friday and getting back on top of my thesis research, I am engaged in a fun new challenge with Mr. J. Moustachioed Choptiany (see: An End to Movember). I call it:

I think I am likely imbuing this new camaraderie building experiment with more competition than Chopper. Which means
I WIN.

The idea is simple. Every other Sunday, one of us will choose a recipe that each of us will have to prepare within the week. We both prepare, take notes, compare findings. The idea is to keep us expanding our culinary horizons, trying new foods and keeping us from reverting to endless pizza dinners in Chopper's case and pasta with soy sauce in mine (my ultimate don't-give-a-fuck dinner, recipe courtesy of Mama Black).

You will all be kept abreast of how this experiment transpires. Ladies and gentlemen - to your crockery!

Girl Regressing in Light of Impending Dental Horrors

Am I still allowed to call myself a girl? Young-lady? Ugh.

Anyhow, tomorrow I have a dental appointment which I fear will result in a root canal. My dentist back Calgary told me he was worried I would need one, and that he wouldn't have the time to do one before I left, which is why I didn't have it dealt with then. Now I'm going to a dentist I don't know.  And not even the dentist I didn't know but who nonetheless was recommended to me by Dr Sheppard, and who the internet had confirmed is the tops. No, instead I have his 28-year-old baby-faced "associate." Seriously, there is nothing about the practice's website that puts my mind at ease, least of all the classical music and photos of people giving awkward open mouthed "smiles" (which really prove why you're not supposed to smile at monkeys - the people in these photos look like they thirst for my blood).

My "dentist" is "Dr." Henri Leblanc. Seriously - check this guy out, because I'm pretty sure he still gets IDed in bars.

So, apparently my coping mechanism is nostalgic escapism. Last night I dreamed that I was both playing Nintendo games (wherein, I kid you not, Mario was running drugs - though, you know, with all the mushroom power ups may not be too big a jump) and hanging out on a grassy lawn with three members of N'Sync. Yeah, only three: JC, Joey and Lance. These are perhaps the three most random members of N'Sync for me personally to dream of hanging out with (boy, is that ever a fucking sentence). Really though, Justin is the only one who still has a career (being a second rate Joan Rivers doesn't count Bass) and Chris Kirkpatrick was my favourite. Yes - you read that correctly. I know I'm not alone either, because N'Sync-mania circa 2001 was such that, in an attempt to plumb the depths of available information about N'Sync members, I had my first encounter with fanfiction erotica. Yeah. Starring Justin Timberlake and Chris Kirkpatrick. You can't even make this shit up.

Now, my more grown up self is watching Psycho and falling in love with Anthony Perkins while awaiting my last final chewable meal with Claire.

Does Anthony Perkins count as a more acceptable celebrity crush?

he's kind of dreamy when he's not in elderly drag

Note: I was tired of my blog being a haven for those who wished to gaze longingly on Chris Kirkpatrick's visage. And so it is gone. Mourn quietly.

One Week: Resolution Recap

This year is only one nubile week old! 9 days, technically, but a week since I resolved how this brand spankin' new year would be different from the stale yesteryear of 2010.

additional resolution: become hip, smart and hilarious!

I promise I wont do weekly updates on how my resolutions are standing up for the whole year (though, would it be more relevant and poetic if I did? Do I have an "I am not Jack Kerouac label"? Read: Do I care? Answer: no. Convoluted parenthesis - concluded). But, I will check in every now and again, and the first week seems like a good time, should I have already negligently (or purposely...) neglected an element of the new woman I am making myeslf. I am simultaneously Freddie Prinze Jr. And Rachel Leigh Cook.


So, one week in, how do my resolutions stand?

2011 - Getting it Started...

1. Make Yoga a Priority. I have gone every day since I've been back in Montreal. That is four sweaty and increasingly exhausting classes. Not only that, but J.C., with whom I TAed last semester, has started going with me, so that should keep me honest on the days when I would rather nap.
2. You will be a Runner. Yeah. Not so much yet. BUT - I did pay the service fee for the McGill fitness centre so that I can use the treadmills AND I am going with my brother tomorrow. And he actually is, in theory, a runner. So it isn't entirely abysmal
3. Exercise Some Will Power. Again, not so much, but without the 'BUT.' At least on the "no dessert" kaibosh. I have eaten smaller, healthier meals for the most part, but I have eaten out a lot, what with catching up with friends. And my dad bought me a 72 chocolate box of Bernard Callebaut before I left. All I can say in my defence is that they are in my freezer, and I haven't eaten any today... Because I ate 6 yesterday...ugh...

4. Love Thy Skin. THIS has actually gone well. I have a new skin care regimen and even when I returned home from the bar at 3 am, I stuck to it! A future post will give you a sneak peak into this sophisticated regimen, so keep posted.
5. Regimen, regimen, regimen. Hey - regimen! I have used my agenda, and my handy-dandy moleskine notepads for more all-encompassing To Do lists. I haven't sat down yet and figured out exactly how my week is going to break down though. Tomorrow, perhaps...
6. TLC for my BFFs. I went for dinner with Yule tonight, though that doesn't really count under "an hour replying to e-mails," granted. I did, however, make a list in my agenda of people who I love and miss, and wrote the dates on which I last contacted them, and will keep this list up to date whenever I hear from them, and again when I reply. Making this list did inspire a round of catch-up e-mails with people I had been particularly neglecting. Sorry team!

7. Finish Your Thesis. Yeah...

Montreal is Better with You

Much like the music.

I just spent the last three days since getting back into Montreal with the Heather Blom of legend and folklore. So happy to have her here! Last night was our night out - instead of going to the Bloody Beatroots, Heather decided she would rather skip the 40$ cover charge, and we ended up at B Side, a bar conveniently located around the corner from my apartment.

I love the music, which is wildly eclectic, playing everything from the Beatles to 2002 Eminem to Biggie to 60s swing music. It's fun, and I wish I could convince people to go with me more often.

That said, I did horrifically run into someone I had hoped I would never see again.

I would have prefered this trio, hands down

I glossed over in my Yes. I am that Smell post, sent from the Montreal airport after just barely making it there, that I had been doing tequila shots with my students at 3:00 am. What exactly had been glossed over, was that the said shots had been bought for us by a threesome of Spanish guys, a grouping as eclectic as B Side's mix tapes; one 20-something boy who was in fact rather attractive, if not slightly lisping, one in his late 30s who insisted on telling the fortune of one of my students, and a third, whose age could be anywhere between mid-to-late thirties, with a paunch and shitty beard. This third amigo approached the table after the others, uninvited, pulled up chairs and had already settled in, and the following was, without elaboration, the creepy dialogue that followed:

"Hey! You play McGill Rugby."
"Uh...What?"
"Yeah, I saw you the other day and you were wearing one of those McGill Rugby sweaters."
"Excuse me?"
"You were at Place Milton. Wednesday morning. You were wearing your red McGill Rugby sweater and were waiting for a friend. You were waiting for about 45 minutes!"
"Yeah...uh...I did."

This was, as you can imagine, fairly unnerving, because it was entirely accurate. My friend and I had miscommunicated where we were meeting, and I did end up waiting for her for 45 minutes in the restaurant, during which time I played around with my camera, taking pictures of the fresh snow, the cute diner, and, oh yeah, inadvertently my soon-to-be stalker.


What nice, charming coffee cups. What a cozy little diner on such a blustery day. What a normal looking sociopath sitting by himself across from the photographer.





And though I'm sure I brought this upon myself by giving him my, albeit fake, number, I did go to pretty obvious lengths to assure him that he and I would not be seeing each other again. He tries to kiss him, and to such a maneuver I did not respond with face-saving grace, but instead shoved him and yelled at him not to do that. Too subtle - he assures me that he will kiss me in 2011, to which I respond that that is highly unlikely.

So perhaps there is a God, and he has a perfect, cruel sense of irony, because, of course, I run into this man on my first night out in Montreal since.

Is persistence a virtue, or a sign of brain damage? He missed the hint when, after trying to get my attention by creepily stroking my stomach as I walked by him, unaware I was doing so, I looked up, my face I imagine went blank with horror, and I kept walking whichever way he wasn't. He also must have figured my friends were just overly protective, when, after tapping me on the shoulder, Heather came between us, got up in his shittily bearded face, and threatened in a way only Heather can, "Oh no you don't! Turn around buddy! Go!" He finally cornered me, at which point I feigned not realizing who he was, passively allowed the kiss on the cheek and hug, which turned into beard based molestation of my neck for all of 2 seconds, and then he disaapeared.

With a lock of my hair, I'm sure.

Am I missing the really obvious warning signs that cause an audience to groan and scream at the protagonists of horror films right now? I don't know, I didn't watch Swim Fan.

"Duplexes Make This World Go Round"

I flew back to Montreal yesterday. I am not fond of flying, to be honest. I'm not scared, and I do understand and appreciate the efficiency of air travel, but it ruins my body for an entire day. My skin breaks out, my hair goes limp and my body will be swollen all day. And you just sit there, in my case, for 4 hours, upright, next to strangers who, in my case, were unabashedly farting the entire way.

However, parts of the flight were really beautiful. The ground was dark brown, spotted with cream from the snow, and the sun made the outsides of the lakes shine gold and the snow gleam champaign.

But, with all this beauty, my last fleeting thought as we passed over Montreal upon landing (after, of course, trying to find my house - does everyone else do this?) was this weird musing about duplexes. It doesn't even make sense.

I am not Jack Kerouac.


Classes tomorrow. Bring on a new semester.

Resolve

Apparently 56% of people do not make New Year's Resolutions.

I find myself, like I so often do, in the minority.

I think through very serious resolutions almost every year since Y2K proved a bust. I consider various facets of my life, set a series of long and short term goals, draft a word document, and forget it exists by February.

So I am depending upon the internet to keep me honest. Are you up for the challenge, internet?

2011 - Get it Done, Sydney Black

1. Make Yoga a Priority. It makes me feel awesome, and yet I somehow always manage to see-saw with it. I don't want to be able to look back and think "man, remember those couple of years when I was really into yoga?" ranking up there with random remembrances like "remember when I loved Grape Crush and Ketchup chips?" and "Remember Silver bell bottom jeans?" Made Concrete: participate in two 30-day challenges this year, and go to yoga at least 300 times.

2. You will be a Runner. Even if it  kills you. And it could. I am a horrible runner, and I can't help but feel that this means, deep down, I'm not really an athlete. All of my athletic friends who I revere are runners. And running is cheap, and you can do it so long as you have running shoes. I want to be one. Made Concrete: complete a 10 k run by the end of the year.

3. Exercise Some Will Power. This is specifically in regards to food, but really it will prove to be the back bone of the success of any of these resolutions. I want to be able to get my diet back under control, which means, sadly...Made Concrete: no more dessert after meals, special occasions excepted.

4. Love Thy Skin. This break, my father, King of tact and Earl of empathy, informed me "Gosh, Syd, you have a bunch of zits around your nose. And your chin. Are you supposed to get zits at 23?" Gee Dad, you know, I don't think so. Asshole. I am desperate to get this harrowing adult acne under control and take excellent care of this skin of mine. Made Concrete: sticking to a pre-bed skin regime, even when it's late, and even when I'm tired. Also, saving money that I would otherwise spend on burgers, and think about treating myself with a facial instead.

5. Regimen, regimen, regimen. Variety is the spice of life and I am nauseated. I need routine to keep myself productive. Made Concrete: must. use. agenda.

6. TLC for my BFFs. I have been truly sub-par as a correspondant ever since I was 13 and had friends from the summers spent at the cabin and friends from the school year. I just always figured it was one of my quirky charms. But, really, that is BS, and basically I am just a shit friend. So, in an uncharacteristically non-narcissistic gesture, I am hoping to keep in touch with my lovely friends, and maybe even stir long stagnant friendships. Made Concrete: Spend an hour on Sunday responding to e-mails or letters, and call at least one friend a week to chat.

7. Finish Your Thesis. Made Concrete: finish your thesis.

Cheers

Hello Future

I have been very absent as of late. Living life / hiding in shame after failing to provide you with a 12th day of Christmas present. I'm sorry about this - New Year's Resolution: time management.

So I just returned from my cabin where I spent my New Years with my friends Adam and Kirstin. It was very low key. And retro, in fact. A tribute to the past as we move into the FUTURE.

It was spent playing Trivial Pursuit and watching Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me. No. Really.


In fact, while trying to get the Austin Powers VHS (yes, VHS) to play, we were experiencing mechanical difficulties. While Adam and Kirstin tried to sort out the wiring, I, well I could claim I was doing something useful, but I'm pretty sure I was changing into my pjs. I returned to the living room announcing:

"Well, if the VCR doesn't work, I can do a dramatic reading of either this 2001 edition of Teen magazine or R.L. Stein's Fear Street"


ALL HAIL THE FUTURE!

It was a nice weekend, and I hope it was an apt way to ring in 2011.

Thanks 2010 - you were a real doll. But,  don't call me - I'll call you.