5 posts tagged “dirty”
(My Russian friend Marina tells me that Kasparov's joke after the smackdown was something like "I am glad to see that Putin and Medvedev are willing to raise their level of political discourse!")
Back in this hemisphere, I hit the Indigo first-aid kit for the first time this weekend. The cause? A customer's fingernail. I don't know what the hell is in the water here, but some woman at cash who took her bags from me in a rather abrupt manner managed to split my finger open from knuckle to knuckle in the process. There was blood everywhere, and my manager still doesn't believe my story. Let's blame it on the full moon, shall we?
Also: If you're going to live in Toronto, never google your own address. I found out all kinds of neat things, and I now know which of the area's kajillion Indian restaurants are worth my time, but I now also know that I live about half a block away from a suspected terrorist cell where they arrested a mail-bomber last year. Goddamn.
My goodness, the GTA was a blast this weekend. Lunch with Sonia was a wonderful little gossipfest once we escaped the frightening arctic winds, and crashing at Laura's place was a symphony of junk food and Grammy-heckling (my goodness, Amy Winehouse has an amazing voice, but no stage presence). Then it was off to Toronto proper to go hang out with the Random House people and score some free books. The swag pile was a bit lean on stuff I'd read, but I still got some nifty books, and a few more coming in the mail (new Chuck! YES).
Sadly, my trivia team's lose-by-one-point curse seems to be holding steady. Curse our inferior knowledge of 80's power ballads and college basketball.
Also, here's an awesome street sign I saw on a hardware store on the side of the Hamilton mountain: "Need a good screw? We've got you covered."
I come to you live from behind the cash desk at the bookstore. Today, for the first time in a while, I'm balanced. Sleeping right, eating right, caught up on my homework: life is good.
This is always an interesting time of year to be working. I had a great chat yesterday with a war vet who just about had a fit when he recognized his old battleship on the cover of one of the books we had on display. Damn, did he ever have some crazy stories.
We've also just put up the store Christmas holiday tree up. While it looks lovely, it feels way the hell too early to have that thing looming over our heads. My usual marker for the Holiday season is the American Thanksgiving, and that's still weeks away. For comic value, though, I've heard no less than ten people say that the tree topper Head Office sent us looks like a giant silver buttplug. There's a certain metaphorical value there.
Ah, Canada Day weekend.
They've come up with some new fireworks since the last time I saw a show. Those spirally ones are really neat, as are the ones that unleash a flaming swarm of bees. Also, there is no better recipe for terrible innuendo than late-night patriotic picnicking, especially when the best food around consists of disturbingly phallic spring rolls and pantomime ice cream.
In other news, thank goodness echolocation is difficult in this neighbourhood. I don't even want to know who is watching porn that loudly. At least it's not the real thing, as things sound a bit painful out there. Never before have I been so comforted by saxophone and wah pedal.
Either the Thais are completely ignorant of the subtleties of Western obscenity, or they're marketing geniuses. I needed some nước mắm (fish sauce; I know the accents are gratuitous in an anglophone blog, but they look damn cool) for a curry recipe, and the only brand on sale at the local chain grocery store loudly proclaimed itself as Cock Brand. Either they like the symbolism of the rooster (virile, dependable, colourful), or they realized that Asian-food-loving, puerile tyros such as myself wouldn't be able to resist buying their fermented salted-anchovy slurry in a bottle with a slang term for "penis" emblazoned right above the stylized painting of the fish within.
I should add: the grocery store only sells it in giant bottles the size of a magnum of wine. You should see the size of my Cock.
Life is otherwise quite good. This weekend was mostly made up of shifts at the bookstore, with a brief break for a tipsy birthday celebration for one of the Starbucks girls. Dr. Marcone stopped by again for an event promoting his new book, and of course had another few pounds (i.e. a few thousand dollars' worth) of Kopi Luwak to serve to the crowd. Coffee should not taste like beer and peanuts, I've decided, but consider what it's been through.
And I got Muse tickets! KJ and I are going to see them play Arrow Hall (which I hear isn't the best venue, but neither was the Docks, and it was still a good show) on August 1. If they don't play "Citizen Erased" or "City of Delusion" this time, I might have to go up there and kick Matt Bellamy's puny, bright-red-girl-pant-wearing ass. Threats on the great musician's well-being aside, I'm very excited for this show, and I should definitely stop finding good concerts to go to this summer, or my wallet might never forgive me.
For the rest of today: catch up on my Critical Thinking homework (premises and conclusions and fallacies, oh my!), continue to master the Cyrillic alphabet (Отъебись!), and cook up a batch of Thai curry with plenty of Cock (as if I need to run that joke any farther into the ground).
Oh, and just to join in the fandom bukkake over this latest announcement: *splooge*