Please Pray
Before Reading
About Sexuality
2007/12/21
2007/11/29
Realisings
My initials backwards spell MSG
Frites sauce at Nouveau Systeme are $3.14
1/8 of University is almost over
I got $6.66 back in change when all I bought was eggs, which I ate over-easy instead
Tax rates vary from Subway to Subway
White pants are awesome
No one in the world can spell or pronounce McLeod
Zen is not a word in scrabble, but 'et' (the past tense of eat) is
Yodelling is harder than it sounds
'One Night Band' is a play on words based on the expression 'One night stand'
Sometimes hats serve a purpose
Frites sauce at Nouveau Systeme are $3.14
1/8 of University is almost over
I got $6.66 back in change when all I bought was eggs, which I ate over-easy instead
Tax rates vary from Subway to Subway
White pants are awesome
No one in the world can spell or pronounce McLeod
Zen is not a word in scrabble, but 'et' (the past tense of eat) is
Yodelling is harder than it sounds
'One Night Band' is a play on words based on the expression 'One night stand'
Sometimes hats serve a purpose
2007/10/27
Carrot Cake
I probably should have wrote this as soon as it happened, but one thing led to another and the writing about Carrot Cake was postponed. As a result, my emotions and impressions of said cake are dulled; who knows what fantastic truths about the intrinsic nature of cake I might have discovered if I had written at the time of the Event. Because that's what it was, not simply some gastronomical enterprise gone horribly, terrifyingly wrong, but a... oh wait. That's what it was. Never mind.
So I decided to make carrot cake one evening, and found a recipe which made 'The Best Carrot Cake in the World'; how could I go wrong? It called for three eggs, and since the only empty and unlocked apartment on my floor only had two, I was doomed to some serious mental math. A 2/3s batch, indeed. Well, the only pan available to me was a meatloaf-style glass thing, so after carefully mixing the ingredients I spooned the gooey mess into loaf-form. Put it in the oven, and after the 45 minutes that the recipe claimed would cook the cake had elapsed, it was clearly not done.
I turned the heat up, and 15 minutes later I carefully set the carrot-based loaf on top of the oven. The edges were starting to blacken, and the top was crusty. Excellent, time to put the icing on; I spooned it into the middle of the cake and turned away to get a knife to spread it. When I turned back, the cake was eating the icing. More accurately, the icing was sinking like a tiny Titanic, with an even tinier Leonardo diCaprio nowhere to be seen.
So the cake was definitely not done. I put it back in for 20 minutes or so, hoping that maybe the icing would bake itself into the cake, and maybe this new kind of cake would make me rich. Apparently not, though, it just congealed and blackened, or bubbled up through the top. After another hour, the cake still would not cook.
So I stabbed it with a fork until it was dead, and then ate as much as I could before feeling sick. Which wasn't a whole lot. Ah well.
So I decided to make carrot cake one evening, and found a recipe which made 'The Best Carrot Cake in the World'; how could I go wrong? It called for three eggs, and since the only empty and unlocked apartment on my floor only had two, I was doomed to some serious mental math. A 2/3s batch, indeed. Well, the only pan available to me was a meatloaf-style glass thing, so after carefully mixing the ingredients I spooned the gooey mess into loaf-form. Put it in the oven, and after the 45 minutes that the recipe claimed would cook the cake had elapsed, it was clearly not done.
I turned the heat up, and 15 minutes later I carefully set the carrot-based loaf on top of the oven. The edges were starting to blacken, and the top was crusty. Excellent, time to put the icing on; I spooned it into the middle of the cake and turned away to get a knife to spread it. When I turned back, the cake was eating the icing. More accurately, the icing was sinking like a tiny Titanic, with an even tinier Leonardo diCaprio nowhere to be seen.
So the cake was definitely not done. I put it back in for 20 minutes or so, hoping that maybe the icing would bake itself into the cake, and maybe this new kind of cake would make me rich. Apparently not, though, it just congealed and blackened, or bubbled up through the top. After another hour, the cake still would not cook.
So I stabbed it with a fork until it was dead, and then ate as much as I could before feeling sick. Which wasn't a whole lot. Ah well.
2007/09/29
Breaking News
Apparently <3 is supposed to be a heart! Ohhh...
The internet is so retarded.
Why isn't PH a beaver in a pirate costume, then?
The internet is so retarded.
Why isn't PH a beaver in a pirate costume, then?
Paper
Philosophical problems and philosophical writing require careful and extended reflection. Don't wait until two or three nights before the paper is due to begin. That is very stupid.
Ah, Jim Pryor, how dare you call me stupid. Though I am, I have less than two days to wite my 5-7 for Poli Theory. Which, apparently, is pretty much philosophy. I keep distracting myself, too. For example, I rearranged the furniture in my room, made omelettes, partied, slept, lined up my shoes in a row, did laundry, wrote on my blog, made a receptacle (tin can) for my pens and pencils, thought about buying a chair, made an excel spreadsheet, arranged guitar picks like flower petals, set my alarm clock for monday morning, and made a to-do list which says WRITE PAPER in big letters. Hey, I even hi-lited it. In four different colours. Now I'm looking for some popsicle sticks, and a glue gun...
Ah, Jim Pryor, how dare you call me stupid. Though I am, I have less than two days to wite my 5-7 for Poli Theory. Which, apparently, is pretty much philosophy. I keep distracting myself, too. For example, I rearranged the furniture in my room, made omelettes, partied, slept, lined up my shoes in a row, did laundry, wrote on my blog, made a receptacle (tin can) for my pens and pencils, thought about buying a chair, made an excel spreadsheet, arranged guitar picks like flower petals, set my alarm clock for monday morning, and made a to-do list which says WRITE PAPER in big letters. Hey, I even hi-lited it. In four different colours. Now I'm looking for some popsicle sticks, and a glue gun...
2007/09/18
2007/09/03
Montreal, a confessional
I'm torn, simply. On the one hand I wake up screaming at the imaginary people invading my room, on the other hand I
And that's just it.
I have no other hand that I know of. I've heard second years say, "Remember ____ at frosh? He/She was insane!" and I already know that to a certain percentage of this school, that's me. I've spent one night at my own rez in the past 6 days, but there are very few people I've met that I'd spend any time with later. While I should have been meeting people similar to myself, I was...perverting myself to some ideal that I have never ascribed to in the past, and with luck never again in the future.
(Right here, I got up and cooked myself some eggs and hashbrowns, grabbed some cereal and yogourt, and broke my fast in style)
And now I'm back, completely changed from something simple, wonderful, food. Overwhelming hope...music is so important to me, it can cheer me up in a second.
"Remember cuddles in the kitchen, yeah to get things off the ground..."
In conclusion, I have an overwhelming urge to write extremely long letters, but only so I can get extremely long replies: full of daily mundanities, petty problems, and other bullshit that is the stuff of life. The faint, confused pulse of the western world.
And that's just it.
I have no other hand that I know of. I've heard second years say, "Remember ____ at frosh? He/She was insane!" and I already know that to a certain percentage of this school, that's me. I've spent one night at my own rez in the past 6 days, but there are very few people I've met that I'd spend any time with later. While I should have been meeting people similar to myself, I was...perverting myself to some ideal that I have never ascribed to in the past, and with luck never again in the future.
(Right here, I got up and cooked myself some eggs and hashbrowns, grabbed some cereal and yogourt, and broke my fast in style)
And now I'm back, completely changed from something simple, wonderful, food. Overwhelming hope...music is so important to me, it can cheer me up in a second.
"Remember cuddles in the kitchen, yeah to get things off the ground..."
In conclusion, I have an overwhelming urge to write extremely long letters, but only so I can get extremely long replies: full of daily mundanities, petty problems, and other bullshit that is the stuff of life. The faint, confused pulse of the western world.
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