13 posts tagged “food”
Possibly the best out-of-context professorial quotation of the year:
"I don't know; I can't really sex a turtle from over here."
On that lovely note, it looks like most of the skull-crushing Fall 2008 semester has come to an end. Most of my classes are done (having lived out their full natural lives, he says, with a sympathetic wince towards York), and the only remaining coursework is a few undergrad exams. The syntactics one tomorrow has me a bit spooked, but the others should be walks in Queen's Park.
Life has been hectic but predictable otherwise. Recession/depression/eschaton aside, it's been a booming holiday season at work, and the holiday season is somehow actually less stressful here than in Guelph. I suspect that a lot of it is the wonderfully drama-free staff; last Thursday, the entire night shift, even the manager (granted, one of the cooler, less ex cathedra managers) went out for post-shift pitchers and had a grand old time. I can't even fathom that happening at my old stores. I also seem to have a new gaming (or at least game-swapping) buddy in one of the new fiction girls; she's lending me Ico after having heard me rave about Shadow of the Colossus; I in turn am introducing her to Fallout.
Speaking of work-related awesomeness, my dearest colleague Vicky's birthday party was also this weekend, and that was absolutely awesome. Engineers, it seems, party like engineers wherever you go, and that pizza-, Wii-, and beer-fueled bash was no exception. My Toronto social network continues to expand, which is always heartening.
In music news, Steven Wilson is still friggin' awesome. I just got his solo album Insurgentes, and my mind is duly blown. Wilson is generally in about five wildly divergent bands at any given time, and it looks like he's taken this opportunity to say "Dude, I'm going to be Porcupine Tree and No-Man and Blackfield and Bass Communion and the Incredible Expanding Mindfuck all at once." Pretty chime-y guitars and random electronic noises and beautiful vocal harmony and horrifying industrial squelches and (hey, why not?) a friggin' koto all feature. He even gets people like Tony Levin and Jordan Rudess to guest-star, and somehow manages to get Rudess to play a reasonable amount of notes per bar (unlike, say, that live "Lazarus" debacle where everyone's favourite keyboard wizard decides to swamp the quietly pretty acoustic ballad with as many cascading arpeggios as he can manage).
Also: apparently I'm in a band again? Besides my honourary membership in the fictional Myspace-only lower-floor-of-Indigo band (every instrumentalist who works in the basement is automatically a member, and "we don't need music! We just are."), I'm now in the world's foremost twin-viola-wielding prog/electronic/alt duo with the encyclopedically-knowledgeable music savant from our store's CD/DVD section. We have between us two violas, four guitars, a banjolele, a pretty sweet synth, two soaring tenors, a small studio setup, and absolutely no idea what we're getting ourself into. We will rule the world. All we need now is a name. Current suggestions tend toward the animal kingdom; he likes Sacred Bovine, whereas I think Ungulate is an inherently funnier way of saying almost the same thing (and almost rhymes with undulate, which might be close to the desired effect of our music). Either way, it's going to be very hard to resist the temptation to give us some heavy metal diacritics. You know you'd listen to a band called Ừñģǔłäŧə.
Sometimes you report in just to say that nothing is new. I, however had a pretty fucking fantastic Guelph visit last week and have been a terrible blogger. There was couchsurfing! Nostalgic hangouts with my much-missed friends! A crushing two-pitcher victory at Jimmy Jazz trivia night! Mario Kart! Hilarity at Vinyl! A surreal visit to my old bookstore (man, does it ever feel small now!)! Hiding behind a bus shelter! I have to say, though, it's completely disorienting returning to what had been my hometown for four years and being a couchsurfing bum.
Back in TO, it's the same ol' cycle of work and downtime, though there have been occasional adventures in the names of sushi and friendship. Kudos to the sushi bar at the corner of Logan and the Danforth for somehow hitting the grail combo of cheap, delicious, and non-toxic.
Also: goddamnit, Rebecca has gone and gotten me back into Kingdom of Loathing. An adventurer is me.
A weekend for the vaults, to be sure! Rebecca and her friend Ashley were visiting from Sault Ste. Marie for the Great Big Sea concert, and darned if I wasn't going to show them a good time while they were in my city. We had a nice wander around Queen West, stormed various parks and tourist attractions, laughed at Ashley's compulsive photo-taking (two months in Toronto, and already tourists make me twitchy!), and generally goofed around. I missed Rebecca, and I enjoyed having guests at the new Bradlands. It sounds like they had a good time at their concert, too, so huzzah.
On Friday night, we watched the new Hellboy movie. As with just about everything Del Toro does, the visuals were impeccable; the scenery, critters, and fight scenes were gorgeous. That was one uneven script, though. I couldn't believe how clunky the dialogue was compared to some of his earlier work. However, that little troll-baby has a hell of a one-liner.
Today was neat too. I mostly just relaxed, but also made the trek down to Kensington to see my old Guelph friend Jo for the first time in far too long. We had mighty burritos from Big Fat Burrito on Augusta, threw around the usual hilarious innuendo, got back in the Guelph gossip loop, and peoplewatched in the park. Next time, however, we won't let Jo navigate.
I used to think that the subway was the greatest thing ever, but that's only because I'd never tried biking to work. It only takes about 25 minutes (as opposed to 20 for the subway, give or take), it's great exercise, and it's a relatively safe coast straight up the Danforth and Bloor. The Bloor Viaduct, with its hideous-but-important Luminous Veil, is about as much bad mojo as I could hope for, but the view is gorgeous.
For the size of this town, the power of coincidence still amazes me. My fellow cashier and I were chatting away about scoring free food on the Harvey's Free Hamburger Day last Sunday, and a customer in a suit walked up to the tills and started asking all kinds of questions. Did you buy anything to go with your free burger? Are you now more likely to eat at Harvey's versus other burger joints? We were a bit confused with this man's deep interest in our lunch until he admitted that he was a marketing director for the chain.
The procession of interesting guests at the store (since I've started: Mark Abley, Mayor Miller, Mark Steyn, and a bevy of second-string fiction authors) continues tonight with a reading by...Cherie Blair? When President Clinton came to town two years ago, he was flanked by Secret Service; I wonder if Mrs. Blair, QC, will bring MI6.
So I nabbed the apartment. For whatever reason, I won the references war, and I now have a gorgeous little basement lair on the Gerrard streetcar line, in the heart of Little India.
Here's a number that hurts my head: by the end of this month, I'll have burned over $100 on Greyhound tickets to and from Toronto by the time all of this shit is sorted out. Friday ought to be the last trip; I've got a date with the landlord to sign the lease and cheques, and a transfer interview at the Indigo in the Eaton Centre.
Speaking of spending, I picked up the new Muse live DVD yesterday. What a friggin' entertaining show. I can't believe how much of a disparity in popularity they have between Europe and North America. Here, they play dive nightclubs and airport hangars, whereas this DVD had them doing a ridiculously fancy arena show at New Wembley. Then again, some of those poor kids in the back were half a kilometre from the band. I'll stick to my sketchy club shows.
Also: pappadums can be bought dried in the grocery store, and they come to life with just a little hot oil? Why was I not infomed? Homemade Indian food just got that much better. Yummy.
Why oh why did I not have my camera today? It's been so gorgeous outside, and I seem to keep running into all kinds of awesome photo-worthy moments. When I arrived on campus, there was a girl standing on top of the heat vent with a jar of bubble formula, blowing bubbles that were riding the thermal and floating over what must have been about a forty-foot radius. The reflections off of the midday sun were dazzling. I didn't even get a look at the girl as I whizzed by on my bike, though it's probably for the best that I didn't stop to say hi. I was so impressed with her idea, I probably would have proposed.
On a lighter note, I also really wanted a photo of the squirrel I saw outside the Bullring today. He had pilfered an entire Hospitality cookie (one of those huge ones the size of my outstretched hand) and was dragging it to his house under the dumpster. So cute.
Causes for celebration: that English paper on double negatives was voted the third-best paper in the class by the students (we lost to the groups that went for broke on presentation; one made a gorgeous graphic novel, and the other made a nifty mockup newspaper). That means bonus marks!
Also, my Monk's Soup recipe friggin' rocks, even when I can't find the right noodles. That is all.
Ah, Easter, that holiest of days, when the Easter Bunny and his Peep minions bring Jesus back from the dead so they can both hop around the world, giving delicious chocolate and gummy candies to the saved and curse the damned with those awful creme eggs. Or something.
As seems to be the trend with family occasions lately, it was a low-key one this time. My ailing grandparents didn't show up, so it was just my parents, aunt, step-uncle, and I devouring the Easter feast. After that came a very silly game of Scattergories (things that jump, starting with M: "Mid-1920s Stockbrokers").
I'm reading one crazy-ass book right now: Chris Adrian's The Children's Hospital. It's a (surprise, surprise) end-of-the-world story about a second Great Flood, with the Ark replaced by a somehow-floating pediatric hospital. The mixture makes more sense when you consider that Mr. Adrian's degrees are in children's medicine and divinity, but it's still quite the trippy read. Lock Salman Rushdie in his fatwa-proof bunker with only the first two seasons of House, M.D. and he might write something like this, except it wouldn't be quite this morbid and magical (though the angel in the elevator is starting to get on my nerves). His prose is gorgeous, too.
I'm just worried, on page 150 of 600 or so, as to how he's going to pull it all together. Don't fail me now.
The wind gods are angry today. The weather websites are clocking a 70km/h gale, and the air is cold enough that the first good gust numbs your face instantly. This is not a day to hold loose paper, folks.
Last night was pretty damn nifty. Jen and I went down to the new Japanese place downtown (Fuji, on Carden), and it turns out that it's an all-you-can-eat sushi bar. It's hella pricey (word from the wise: go at lunchtime for $6 less and the only thing you can't order is sashimi), but very, very tasty, with excellent variety. All of the standard fare was there, with the occasional surprise monster like their "Guelph Roll," a salmon-cucumber maki with...cheddar cheese? My poor arteries. I think we managed to piss off the waiter with our waffling and staggered ordering, but it was a good experience. I will return, just not at night.
After that, we went to a poetry night put on by the magazine Jen edits. I ranged from trying not to laugh at the pretense to dying of boredom to truly enjoying the wit and/or passion of some of the performers. The dude who was reading when we arrived was so painfully sure of his own genius that I wanted to throw lettuce at him, but Jen's colleague Michael was bloody hilarious (a donut-themed parody of Eliot's "The Wasteland" entitled "April is the Cruller Month"? Yes, please), and this random girl at the end of the show read poems of jilted love with a homicidal passion. May that dude never cross her path again.
Four things about last week:
1. I'm now a credited actor? My editor at the Ontarion also makes short films, and he inexplicably chose me out of all of his friends to play one Elroy "Beater" Richardson, a rather nerdy and scatterbrained drumming prodigy. Make sure you go check out Adam Donaldson's Spooky Kids when it drops next spring. The other actors are awesome, especially Mike E as our super-sleazy agent/promoter, Max ("just Max.").
2. Apparently I'm something of a natural at the drums myself. I had two songs under my belt by the end of filming, just enough to drum really badly on camera for a while (why on earth am I the only one in that movie playing an instrument on screen? And why is it the drums?).
3. When we were trying to find our movie set in Cambridge, we found the best-named Vietnamese restaurant ever: Phở Shizzle. You can't make this kind of thing up, folks.
4. I'm done my Christmas shopping! Hurrah! I'm already in the mall enough while selling books to the masses.
Ah, the Molson Amphitheatre. Concrete, fibreglass, and sweet blue sky. The only thing more absurd than the $13-dollar beer at the concession stand is that about a third of the concert-goers at this Saturday's Dream Theater show were willing to pay that price. What an amazing show, though. Those guys never tire.
Opening Band #1: Into Eternity
Canada's own Into Eternity was probably a bit of an odd choice to open for Dream Theater. They take the same athletic approach to music, but holy fuck, were they ever loud and heavy. No matter how fast their guitarists were, or how apparently octopus-like the drummer was, I don't think that DT fans were looking forward to seeing a death metal band. Combine their relentless lack of texture with comatose audio mixing (you could hardly distinguish anything beyond the vocals and the drums) and their relatively-short set felt like an act of mercy. Still, they were entertaining as hell to watch. The singer was a monitor-jumping, moonwalking machine (not to mention a gifted Cookie Monster impersonator), and I figure a guy can't go through life without witnessing at least one unironic heavy-metal hair twirl.
Opening Band #2: Redemption
Dream Theater and Fates Warning have been friends for ages, so it makes sense that a FW side project would get invited on a DT tour. Unfortunately, Ray Alder hasn't been a good singer since the late 80's, and the soundboard guy was still AWOL. I don't want to be too hard on these guys, though, because they sounded as if they could have been really interesting if only the keyboard and bass were audible over preposterous double-kick drumming and Alder braying like a particularly angst-ridden donkey. The bassist in particular did loads of sweet-looking two-handed tapping riffs, but I couldn't discern a single note of it over the other racket.
Main Event: Dream Theater
One of the first things we noticed about the stage setup was a traffic light suspended over the main microphone stand. It started shining bright red while the roadies hauled Redemption's gear off-stage, and the crowd promptly went apeshit when it switched to the amber signal. Curtains fell, the light went green, and the band coalesced out of thin air to bash out a raunchy ripoff of Also sprach Zarathustra by way of introduction. The nine songs that followed added up to two hours of awesomeness and hilarity.
Constant Motion: This one sounds pretty much exactly like it does on the album, but it was probably best to start off with something straightforward and loud. Portnoy has gotten a hell of a lot better at backing vocals lately, too.
Never Enough: After avoiding it at both of their Octavarium-era Toronto stops, DT finally unloaded their most cynical anthem last night. I was never a fan of this one, but it works a hell of a lot better at a brisk live tempo. It also finally proved, much to my chagrin, that the crazy-ass sweep-picking unison bit in the bridge isn't played with any sort of trickery beyond exceedingly good technique. Young guitarists around the world, abandon all hope.
Blind Faith: This was around the point where I started singing along like an idiot, and a bunch of people a few rows over started holding up lighters. The piano solo in the middle went twice as long as normal, and was gorgeous.
Surrounded: Whatever possessed them to remix this song, I'll never know, but most the changes were actually quite welcome. Swapping the grating eighties synths for warmer tones and adding a beautiful introductory guitar solo makes perfect sense, but why on earth would they swap out the beautiful and unique delay-soaked solo from the original and just shred instead? Ah, well. It's still their best slow song, and a surprise treat.
The Jordan Rudess Show: Jordan has added enough gear to his rig that it now looks like some sort of insane laboratory. Between the Continuum pad, the lap-steel, the note reader, and the gigantic foam ant, he's running out of room on the keyboard stand. There was a bizarre, unidentifiable black fin on the side of the keyboard, though, and its use didn't become apparent until he tore it off mid-solo and slung it over his shoulder: A goddamn Keytar. The ultimate in 80's cheese, and he's parading around with it like Angus Young on a bender. It should have been the corniest thing in the history of metal, but the combination of virtuosity and hilarious shock value made it all worthwhile.
Dark Eternal Night: I hated this song when I first heard it on the CD, especially the trite fantasy-themed bellows that serve as lyrics. Live, though, there are a few thousand fans shouting along, and the effect is just scary enough that it works brilliantly. Also, the instrumental section in the middle is one of those things that has to be seen to be believed. As an animated cherry on the sundae, the screens played a sequel to the Octavarium cartoon. Flame-shooting guitars and drumkit cars forever.
Lines in the Sand: The tendency is to fear anything off of the Falling Into Infinity album, but this was always one of the best tracks on that worst of DT albums, and freedom from the wicked clutches of Desmond Child has given them even more opportunity to have some fun with it (both in the musical and the pranking sense; there was a cute moment where James snuck over and tweaked Petrucci's beard).
Scarred: This was just about the last thing I was expecting them to play, but what a perfect choice, especially now that James has his full vocal power back. John does a pretty mean blues solo when he wants to, too. I think this was when Mike threw a drumstick and (does this happen at every show I go to?) it pinged off the lighting rig, coming right back to the stage.
In The Presence of Enemies: Holy shit. It takes a lot of balls to finish a set with a 26-minute song (or to write one in the first place), but this was the highlight of the show. The combination of the insane riffing, huge sing-along sections, and James' very best insane-preacher impression damn near brought the house down. I'm completely ashamed to say that I didn't like this song the first time I heard it.
Shmedley Wilcox: DT has amassed a catalogue of Rush-sized proportions, and it looks like they're stealing Rush's coping mechanism: the medley. A few minutes each of some of their most popular overlong songs (Trial of Tears, Finally Free, Learning to Live, In the Name of God, Octavarium) got mashed together surprisingly gracefully, even with the guitar switches. As compromises go, this was a damn good one. It's probably the closest I'll ever get to seeing "In The Name of God" live, and thus I am sated.
The rest of the weekend's summary will have to wait for another day, but to sate the eager masses, here's a rundown of the Top Ten Cool Things (in chronological rather than qualitative order) about the Rebecca & Brad Toronto Expedition:
- Sarah's awesome goodbye party at the Longhouse and Albion! We all miss you already!
- Having the lovely Alina as a surprise travel companion and making sure she didn't get lost in Union Station!
- Chinatown Bubble Tea!
- Jaywalking Lakeshore at rush hour!
- Dream Theater! (duh)
- Crashing at Jess' zombie-surrounded-yet-incredibly-stylish Parkdale apartment!
- Completing the Great-Restaurant Trifecta: sexy breakfast by Roncesvalles and superb sushi on Queen West!
- Convincing Rebecca that the big city ain't so bad after all!
- Storming a Chapters and finding awesome books!
- Being approached by my ex's former housemate's former squadronmate (?!) at the Bay Street Terminal!
