How To: Warm up a sandwich

If you’re like me, you can’t turn down a free lunch. If you’re exactly like me, you work at Starbucks and take home the extra sandwiches at night, and eat them the next day for lunch.

Here’s how.

You’ll need:

A Starbucks Sandwich (I am using Turkey and Cheddar on Sunflower bread) and a toaster oven.

First, open the sandwich.  I like to remove the lettuce because it’s a day old, and warmed up lettuce is weird.

Next, place in the toaster oven.

Turn it on.

Wait.

While I waited, I put away the dishes in the dish rack.  PRODUCTIVITY!

Select a plate to store your sandwich on while you eat it.

Pour yourself a drink.  I’m using root beer.

When the cheese is melty, and the bread is toasty, remove from oven.

Place on plate.

Devour.

Repeat if necessary.

The Dating ‘Game’

I find myself in the current employ of a major Vancouver-based dating agency.

This affords me a priveleged vantage point indeed and there are things I observe that could rightly turn a girl (or guy) off the opposite sex (or same sex, depending on which side your bread is buttered) and have her/him running for the hills.

It does not however, afford me the dating wisdom you would think.

I am still a clueless and confused individual.  I still don’t understand a word blokes are saying and I wonder what the fuck fuels their tiny minds, aside from boobs and… puppy dog’s tails?

There are some things I do know however, that would save time and heartache all-round if only we would practise them every once in a while.

Wanna know?  Alrighty…

Facebollocked

Apparently, there are rules in this life.  Rules we are supposed to adhere to in order to lead a full and fluffy existence.

We’re not supposed to eat the yellow snow, for instance, for fear of contaminating our temple-like bodies with something icky.

Thank you notes are important after you have been gifted, particularly by a family member you see but once a year and who presents you with the worst fucking tat known to man.  Not sure if this is a rule but it sort of is, so go with it.

There are relationship rules, friendship rules, work rules – boundaries, processes, bundles and bundles of scratchy red tape to get caught up in.

Life is peppered with so many ‘oooh don’t’s that it is sometimes possible to forget what living is actually all about: flipping the bird at convention and leaping before you look.

Anyway.  I digress.

We’re back!

Well, well, well.

Good day to you.  And a very Happy New Year, too.

Happy belated Valentine’s day and a soon-to-be very Merry Easter.

It’s been a while. 

Kicking my feet, I won’t lie to you, has been kind of cool.

Not writing a word for this joint venture has felt good in the sense that we’ve been out there, forming real-life relationships, fucking them up, building them back up again - essentially just being alive.

Ahhhhh, can you smell that?  That’s life, that is.

So what have I learned in the short time I’ve been wandering aimlessly away from my blogging responsibilities?

Martin’s Infinite Movie List

What a year of cinematic delicacies!

What a patchwork quilt of variety – from the several, actually-quite-good-for-a-change Superhero movies, through to the low budget, underdog-done-good love stories – and everything in between.

It’s been a rollercoaster and there are still a few fine specimans to go before 2008 officially peaces out.  But still, every man and his tiny dog seems to be doing it, so…

If you want my humble opinion on the best flicks of the past year, read ‘em and weep:

Bangkok Haunting

So.  Something incredible happened this week.

Lightle sent me possibly the most heart-warming email of our times.

It simply said “All our prayers have been answered”.

Yes folks, Bangkok Dangerous was still showing at Hollywood on Broadway and we hadn’t missed it at all.

All for the change purse-friendly price of five bucks!

(I know.)

Well.  Words can’t describe how much I was looking forward to ripping this thing apart.  Nic Cage in extensions, packing two handguns at the same time, taking out ‘very bad men’ whilst taking in the sights of a glamourised Bangkok.

What’s not to tear apart?

Country Roads, Take Me Home

Recently, my presence was requested in the great vast land of Saskatchewan. While I was indeed born there, I was in fact raised in Alberta, but have always harbored a strong loyalty to the hardest to spell, but easiest to draw, province in this country.

Perhaps, most logically, and simply, it’s because a large portion of my family (on my mother’s side) calls Saskatchewan home. They inhabit the bustling metropolis of Saskatoon, the charming hamlet of Outlook, and all manner of farmland in between.

Now, Sasktchamewan is not without its advantages. Removed almost completely from the civilised world, one can spend a weekend there, and feel as though they’ve been on a cruise, or perhaps a deserted island for weeks. Months even. And by that I mean, you’re stuck somewhere with virtually no contact to the outside world.

I jest.

I actually find the wide open spaces to be soothing. One can feel claustrophobic when constantly surrounded by mountains and ocean. It’s tiring, really. A change in scenery is a welcome shift to my overly urban existence.

While there, I had the great fortune to see the cinematic treat, Body of Lies, starring everyone’s favorite resurrected heart throb, Leo DiCaprio. Although, I’m sorry to have to report, it was nothing to write home about. Sort of plods along as well as you can expect. Not badly made, just not mind-blowing in any way.

I also dusted off my Scrabble skills and managed to wipe the floor with my opponents. Boo-yah-shuckaluckah.

So, movies, as Martin eloquently pointed out, are becoming “good” again. It is, after all, that time of the year I affectionately refer to as “Oscar Bait Season”.

Examples: The Soloist, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Australia, Miracle at St. Anna, Defiance, etc.

I believe The Duchess was an early entry, but I fear it will merely be awarded for costumes. Perhaps only nominated.

In other news, I am going to spend the month of November attempting to write a novel. My favorite film critic, Filthy, does it every year, and this is my year, I’ve decided.

You can track my progress at http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/418915 and please, don’t hesitate to sign up yourself. It’s a wonderful challenge, and one I hope to achieve. Scratch that, WILL achieve.

Happy Writing!

Righteous Kill in Bangkok Dangerous Ghost Town

Of late I have truly neglected one area of my life that brings more joy that I can ever express, in words or even via the medium of Dance.

Going to watch shit movies and slagging them off loudly to whoever has the pleasure of sitting next to me throughout.

Not since Death Race have I had so much fun of this nature.

And believe me, there have been many missed opportunities of late.

Sure, Ghost Town served in an crap-movie emergency, but it feels wrong to criticise Ricky Gervais when he’s so bloody English (read: funny) in an otherwise white-washed American (read: politically correct) movie.

And there are flashes of that gimpish little smile he does, right before he cracks up in some scenes, which make me love him every time – so I can’t be mad at him and thus can’t conceive of sitting there shouting at the screen, which is what I like to do.

What I should of done is got to the cinema when I intended to see Bangkok Dangerous, whose title alone suggests many opportunities to get smart-arsed at the sheer cheek of it.

But, alas, Nicholas Cage was destined to plod on (as a ‘deadly assassin’ with bad hair, in Bangkok, funnily enough) without my input and genuine feedback on his performance, which leads me to think, going off on a tangent slightly: If there’s nobody around to see a Nicholas Cage movie, does he still overact?

In other words, if there’s a Nic Cage picture showing to an empty theatre do you think he keeps going, or does he just give up on-screen and go sit in an armchair with the paper?

(Theory also goes for Keanu Reeves, though how would you tell the difference?)

Shame-Faced and Fancy Free

It is with some shame that I admit we have neglected this blog for some time now.

Anybody would think we had each gone out and gotten a life, thus leaving little time to sit in darkened rooms, tip-tapping out sarcastic film reviews on our keyboards and dreaming of a day when we will one day see a real-life naked woman…

(That’s the stereo-type, non?)

But I guess it’s kind of true.  For Lightle anyway.

My neglect stems from a terminal disease known as Bone Bastard Idol-ness or, Procrastinatia.

I simply haven’t been bothered.

And it hasn’t just been this little embryonic blog that has suffered.  All creative projects have slipped between the cracks of inertia, and I’ve barely lifted a finger towards anything besides the remote control or a pint of beer.

No more.

I’ve been attending a writing course for the past three weeks and as a fully paid-up member of the Community College, I feel I am now more qualified to do this shit.

I’m back, fact fans, and ringing a bell.

I’m sure Lightle will join me, just as soon as she stops having so much fun out there in the real world.

Real post to follow shortly.

Honest, G’uv.

What’s In A Name: Reloaded

Would a rose by any other name, smell as sweet?

I found out recently (last night) whilst titting about at Legendary Noodle, that it took my parents three weeks to name me*.

This was news to me but it seems on a recent trip to Van, my mother told my bestfriend Fragglehump this particular anecdote – and frankly, I have mixed feelings about it.

First up, I was a little miffed that I could be so characterless for the first few weeks of my life that they couldn’t even pull something out of the hat in a temporary fashion. 

Then I figured maybe I had too much character and nothing short of miraculous would do.  Most definitely that would have to be the answer.

But, on reading the below post (see: Lightle’s masterpiece underneath) and with this new information, I have been thinking about names and nicknames all morning.

(All morning?  First thought was “I’m hungry”, second was “Did I forget to put knickers on?”, but you get the gist.)

So, what’s in a name?