Gifts from the Internet (PM)

A driving dog! Now I've seen everything!

Gifts from the Internet (AM)

I have to write a report for work this week. It's a slow and painful process and sometimes it makes me want to smack my head against the keyboard, sometimes cry, sometimes throw up. Mostly, it just makes me want to look at stuff on the internet, and then feel guilty for looking up stuff on the internet.
To make me feel less guilty for all the things I've been looking at on the internet, I am going to show you guys some of the things I have been looking at on the internet. Don't worry, this will only take a minute.

I like this thing.  I find the way the dog looks at the camera at 15 seconds extremely hilarious, and then the kiwi guy towards the end. But it's the suave canine that really speaks to me.

I also found this kind of interesting. Efficient. Takes the awkwardness out of it.

This I find hilarious because I spook easily and can totally relate, but also find people falling over extremely funny, even when they are not people but raccoons.

But this Tasmanian Devil is currently my favourite thing on the internet.

Honestly, have you ever seen anything so lovely? Certainly nothing that is both as whiskery and as lovely as this guy. I hope he doesn't get the facial tumours.
Anyway. that's all I'm doing today. Hope you guys have it better than me.

People are relying on you! (PM)

This morning's post is about google and how it's not very trustworthy and how it doesn't make much effort anymore, which is a serious topic and one that deserves our attention. But the thing that blows my mind about what I read this morning is that if he had lived, Freddie Mercury would be sixty-six years old right now. That's practically my parents age. That blows my mind. Why? I have no idea why. When I think about it, it makes sense that he would be in his late sixties. But for some reason it seems incredibly weird to me that Freddie Mercury could be my parents age.

It makes more sense when I see this, and yet I still struggle.
PS: Hey mate. you should get a shirt like this for LB. 

People are relying on you! (AM)

Last night I was watching a documentary on Freddie Mercury. It's pretty much my favourite thing to do. And because you never learn enough from an hour long doco I turned to Google. I had questions, you know. How long was he with his partner Jim Hutton? (Six years according to Wikipedia*)  How awesome was he? (Very!)

Now, guys, I have to tell you something, often, when I write about stuff here that doesn't just come from my brain it comes from the Internet. Lots of the time it comes from Wikipedia, which is a source I usually think I can trust because I know that when Russeth adds stuff to it about Moby's nonexistent appearance on Happy Days, his lies are taken down in days. So I feel its a trustworthy source. Then again, those lies are up there for days. What if I'm the victim of some alternative Russeth?

How will I ever know?

But at least I know that Wikipedia are trying to do the right thing. What are you trying to do, Google? Fuck all apparently. Do you know what came up on that right-hand panel of the Google page when I asked about Freddie? You know the panel that gives you pictures and basic information?

What's wrong with this picture? Just something is a bit jarring? What is it? Um, what is it? What is it? Oh! I know! THAT GIANT PICTURE OF KURT COBAIN ABOVE FREDDIE'S NAME! You can't fool us, Google! You think you can put any picture of a dead rock star there over a name and we'll buy it? You can't do that Google.

Freddie and Kurt are beautiful and unique snowflakes whose only common ground is the fact that they are both beautiful and unique snowflakes. Get some quality control, Google! People think you have the answers, God damn it.

Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go and donate to Wikipedia so that they never try and pass off Kurt as Freddie, like some lesser Internet-based businesses.

*I don't know what to believe anymore. But I guess I'll believe this.

Apollo Thirteens (PM)

You know, I’ve said it before and I will say it again. The recipes David Lebovitz posts on his blog could be a little more informative. Like warning people it will appear things are going wrong when they aren’t. That is very useful information. Don’t get me wrong. His blog is great and his ice-cream book The Perfect Scoop is my go to book for ice cream.  But geez Lebovitz, a person can freak out when cooking, how about a little support?!

You know what never went wrong? My breakfast! It was my special muesli brew (oats, almonds, walnuts, sesame seeds, shaved coconut) with a little Greek yoghurt, a little vanilla yoghurt and fresh raspberries and blueberries. Holy motherflippinng moly you guys. It was delicious. Everything in it PLUS fresh raspberries. Those guys are the best. THE BEST! Let’s hear it for summer berries. If I hadn’t eaten it so damn quickly I would have a photo to show you guys. I don’t though but I think this is a pretty reasonable visual depiction of the experience of eating it.

Apollo Thirteens (AM)

This post was going to be about baking these biscuits as christmas gifts for Chambo, Lil and AB, who I am having dinner with tonight.

They look so good on the interwebsite of David Lebovitz...

They're called Baci di dama. Should their fancy name have served as a warning to me? Maybe. 

Something went wrong along the way. 

Was it how I roasted the hazelnuts, then skinned them like some latter day furrier?

Hazelnuts to the left, their skins to the right.

I don't think so. 

Was it how I used my coffee grinder instead of a food processes to grind the nuts?

Probably. Whatever it was, when it came time to roll out the dough it just was not happening. It kept crumbling and seemed like it was game over. 

This was disappointing because baking failures cut so deep. Also because I wouldn't have presents for my friends. And also because I would have to tell you guys about the failure because I hadn't prepared anything else to post about today. Despite my disappointment I went ahead with the remaining steps in the recipe because I am a TROOPER. 

I put the dough in the freezer as instructed and left if there for 20 minutes.
When I took it out and started rolling it in to little balls, it seemed to be holding together quite well. Like, exactly how it was meant to.

Things had taken an unexpected turn.

Then I baked them and shit you guys, they totally worked.

These are the actual biscuits I baked. I know, right? 

I guess I shouldn't have been so hasty to dismiss them. And lucky I followed through, because I really almost didn't. And if I hadn't I wouldn't know how thoroughly effing delicious taste, truly like the kisses of a lady (which is what Baci di dama translates to), if the lady who is kissing you is made out of biscuit.

But you know, because I touched the void a little during the moments when I thought they hadn't worked, I am going to call them Apollo Thirteens after the famous failed moon landing brought to life by Tom Hanks and Gary Sinise in the movie Apollo Thirteen. Because like the Apollo Thirteen voyage which was unsuccessful because they didn't land on the moon but successful because they didn't die, I feel like these biccies both did and didn't work.
You can get the recipe here. Don't give up when the dough appears to lack integrity!

Merry Christmas Lil, AB and Chambo. 

Haiku Thursday (PM)

 I

It's twenty minutes

Between Upfields, no matter

The day or the time.

II

I loved a pen once.

It was my favourite pen.

Where is that pen now.

III

ACCIDENTAL CAPS

WHOA THERE! I THINK WE ALL NEED

TO CALM DOWN A BIT

Haiku Thursday (AM)

Haiku Thursday
Such a short sentence

Five syllables or seven

Is hard to perfect

Michael Cera
He has charm and all
But plays the same character
And talks much to fast

WTF? Wednesday (PM)

That sister hadn't heard of Molly Ringwald is upsetting. I mean what the hell are they teaching in schools these days?! But more upsetting is a thought I had moments after reading K's post this morning.

Think about it. The Breakfast Club is pretty much a movie that defined a generation. Not really, it's just a movie that people who were young at a certain time watched a lot. Right? I assumed that young people would always watch this movie. Right? Because it is awesome. In fact I wish I was watching it right now. But bra-fitting girlfriend hasn't heard of Molly Ringwald, suggesting she hasn't seen it.

You see where I am going with this? I don't know, maybe it is because the review of the Red Dawn remake is fresh in my brain or maybe it is because I am still upset about last year's remake of Footloose. But you guys if the movie moguls get wind of the fact that kids aren't watching The Breakfast Club they may think it is a good idea to make a new one. You guys, I don't want John Hughes rolling over in his grave. And even more I do not want to see a Breakfast Club remake.

WTF? Wednesday (AM)

Yesterday I went to buy a new sports bra. 

Sometimes, buying a bra is quite enjoyable, but buying a sports bra never is.  Shopping for a sports bra is on par with things like going to Medicare or calling your internet service provider to arrange for a new plan because your existing plan is shithouse. Still, it has to be done. 

I went to this special shop in the city staffed by mature women who know how to fit you properly and don't judge you for never having a clue what size bra you wear. You sometimes have to wait a while but it's worth it, for the extra special treatment.  

 

So there I was, waiting around for my turn, looking through through the racks of bras when I discovered that this:

Just the bra, not the whole lady. 

 

Now I don't know about you guys, but I look at that and I think hello Dolly magazine circa 1991, hello bike shorts, hello open chambray shirt tied at the bottom, hello fun in the sun. In a nut shell readers, this little crab liked what she saw. 

 

Straight after thinking this, my turn came up so off I went to try on my sports bra. 

 

My attendant looked like she was about 21, which did not encourage me given that I have had boobs for longer than she has been alive, but I gave her a chance. And all fairness to her, the girl knew what she was doing. Before I could say 'bounce reduction', she had found me the perfect sports bra. 

I was feeling pretty satisfied with the results. Cocky even. So I said to my girl (and i'm paraphrasing here): hey girl, hows about you get me a normal bra to try on now. Maybe that one on the third shelf with the bustier type deal that looks like something Molly Ringwald would wear.

 

You know what she said?

 

"Who's Molly Ringwald?".

 

Unbelievable. There are people in the world who are old enough to have jobs, but don't know who Molly Ringwald is.

Eyes = opened, friends.

I have a new mantra (PM)

Mate, did you buy Jerusalem and not tell me?! Or is that someone else's nice looking bookshelf?
Oh wait, that post is about stuff you want, not stuff you have. Right, I get it.

Ok, so it's great that you are trying to resist the urge to buy stuff during this season of loving and giving. Those of us who know you in the real world know that loving and giving is something you do freely and willingly all year round, so you don't need to worry about justifying this urge. But I support you in your efforts to resist it.

But Matey, I'm not sure it's a good idea to have the word 'hate' in your mantra. Hate is the worst.

How about:

Stuff. Who needs it?

It's a little friendlier, don't you think?

Stuff. Who needs it?

I have a new mantra (AM)

When I say I have a new mantra it is not that I really had a mantra before this. Unless you count ‘sausages’. Sausages was the mantra we, Chickpea, Russeth and I, prescribed to our parents as children because they meditated and refused to tell us their mantra. And I guess not fully understanding how things work we decided sausages was a possible word they may meditate with. I can only assume that Chickpea was the mastermind behind this and it is possible she had a better understanding than me of the whole meditation thing. Or maybe she didn't. Whatever the truth is, throughout my childhood I always used to pretend to meditate with the word sausages.

I don’t pretend to meditate anymore but I have started to use a mantra, “I hate stuff”.

You see guys, I don’t know if you know this about me, but actually, I love stuff!! And this weird thing happens at Christmas. I want to buy heaps of stuff! For me! It’s not that I don’t like giving presents to people. I do. I love buying and giving presents. But I love doing that for me too! Perhaps it’s the additional advertising and push to sell that does it. Perhaps it is the start of summer and the promise of a beautiful summer  life. I don’t know. I just know I want stuff. And so, in attempt to curb my desire for stuff, every time I feel the feeling I just think “I hate stuff!”

I hate stuff like this:



And stuff like this:





And I hate stuff like this:

I hate stuff.

I hate stuff.

I hate stuff.

I hate stuff.

Now, please excuse me. I need to go focus on my mantra.

I hate stuff.

I hate stuff.

There's this great new show (PM)

You know I haven't really watched The Sopranos before either. I watched one episode with Pickle once. But in that episode I think Tony Soprano went to the old country which makes me confuse it with The Godfather. You know, when Michael goes to the old country? Let alone the flash backs in TGFPII. Do those things even happen? I love mafia movies but i just am not across The Godfather.

Anyway, I really need a new show to watch. I can't just sit around not watching anything for the next few months until the final season of Breaking Bad starts while Aaron Paul tweets pictures of scripts that look like this:

Perhaps The Sopranos is the show for me? They say Homeland is good. It's time for me to diversify. Yeah, diversify bitch!

There's this great new show (AM)

I've just started watching The Sopranos.
I know I'm late coming to the party on this one but gee you guys, The Sopranos is a really good show.
I can't stop thinking about it.  Perhaps because it is both a family drama, and a drama about The Family.  It's got it all, except hunks, and that I think about it all the time, want to watch it all the time, and yet it doesn't have a single hunk just goes to show how great it is. Tony Soprano is particularly un-hunky. I could not want to make out with him less, but boy do I love him and want it to work out for him. Even though he is a monster. I don't want to make out with him, he is a monster, and yet I love him. Can you believe this show? It's quite incredible.
People say it's the writing that makes it so great. I guess that's it. I guess that's how it appears both domestic and operatic at the same time. It certainly isn't the hunks.
Anyway, obviously I'm writing about The Sopranos today because I can't stop thinking about it and I want an excuse to think about it. But I know some of you guys won't have seen it and I don't want to ruin it for you, so all I can do is tell you that I'm watching it and I love it and can't stop thinking about it.  And highlight that because I am watching it so much, I am seeing characters from The Sopranos wherever I go. Especially Junior Soprano.


This is Junior Soprano.

He is Tony's uncle.


And here are some people I have seen lately who look just like him.

I saw this first guy in the city on my lunch break, though it must be said that this dude is more snappily dressed than Junior.

I saw the second guy at Donatis on Lygon street when I was buying some prime rib(eye) on Saturday.

Junior is the one on the right. That other guy is the butcher's handsome son, Marcelo. 

They're both a bit of a stretch. I see what I want to see, I guess. And I want to see The Sopranos all the time.