yesterday, after posting poetry and politics, i was determined to lighten up. i wrote a light witty post about ugly things for sale, featuring penguin lamps and hawaiian shirts. the post got lost when my laptop suffered a severe bout of existential angst. i then rewrote the post, determined as always to entertain and inform. blogger, apparently under the influence of some serious weltschmerz, ate the second post. i have given up - you will be given neither penguin lamps, nor hawaiian shirts. deal.
last night we went out for dinner to boston pizza with a bunch of mr.m's co-workers. boston pizza, to my non-canadian friends, is a canadian chain of sports lounges with mediocre food. it has nothing to do with boston, and really should not advertise its pizza either. also, calling something "gourmet" does not make it so: gourmet spaghetti and meatballs is still spaghetti and meatballs*.
its menu was the least vegetarian-friendly menu i have seen outside of bob's barbecue bacon shack or uncle larry's chitlin' hut. their salad menu boasted a fine selection of salads, none of which was meatless, which i found rather funny. "i'll have the salami and ham salad with a dressing of bacon fat, garnished with deep-fried chicken feet. oh, and hold the parsley, it gives me gas."
the side salad i finally ordered comprised (roughly) 52% iceberg lettuce (which, i suspect, is not really a vegetable at all), 2% "others" (red cabbage, soggy tomatoes, an inexplicable sprinkling of crisp chow mein noodles) and an unfortunate 46% onion. now i know that you are used to me exaggerating slightly, but in this case i speak the truth. i began to remove the onion slices ( i usually hate it when people do that - if you hate olives, order without, for crying out loud, but who knew my garden salad came from the onion patch?) and soon enough i had a plate full of onions and a teeny tiny little salad. who eats that much onion? who? i demand to know!
i consumed two glasses of a south african red which i suspect was full of sulphates because all day today i have nursed a headache that suggested a whole bottle of cheap vodka was sloshing around in my system instead. i also proceded to do my usual drunk routine also known as "can anyone, for the love of the little baby jebus, shut this woman up, in the name of all that is good, holy and pink?!?!?"
[the good thing about mister monkey is that he never tells me how awful i was drunk. even if he has to carry/pull me upstairs and put me to bed way before midnight.]
i like to think that i was articulate and engaging, but i fear i might have just been loud.
hey all! ckua is having their spring fundraising campaign and i highly recommend that you give them some money because they rock**. if you want to know that somewhere out there is a radio staffed by articulate, intelligent and well-informed people who play almost entirely non-repeating music that you are unlikely to hear anywhere else, and who will not talk down to you in the manner of commercial radio stations, do your part and give them some money. i do.
*unless perhaps you dollop some foie gras on top.
**rock in the non-musical sense, although they do that as well sometimes.