Sunday, September 16, 2007

Protagi-green: Parts 1 and 2

Just try and make me care about global warming, you bastards.


Sometime, between July and August, my social conscience came out of hibernation. Thus, I present to you
Protagi-green: Slowly Greening Marty, or How to Get that Self-Righteous Glow (In Many Steps). Each week I'll try to make at least one change that will reduce my impact on the environment, and the wee cuddly beasties that live there.

Change 1: Ditching the Plastic Bags.

Plastic bags are the devil. There's really no way of getting around it, plastic bags choke the environment, take forever to degrade, and are just plain ugly. However, those bastards are useful. They're light but strong, you don't have to remember to pack enough when you go grocery shopping, and they can be used again as disposable lunch bags and as cat poo disposal units. And everyone is keen to give you some. If I don't have your hands on an item and are desperately stuffing it in your reusable bag, the eager bag jockeys will put it in a plastic bag. Even if the only thing you couldn't fit in your cloth bag... was a bag of milk. Which comes with its own bag. But I don't blame them. They get paid dick all, they have to impress the boss, and they could be made redundant at any time if my local Provigo decides to follow the discount route and cut the amenity of the bagger. And dropping a snotty "Thanks, but I prefer *sniff* that you use my re-usable bag instead, it's better for our precious environment." is not an option, because that makes you a dick. So, my solution is to eagerly toss them a bag, with a friendly "Here's some bags! Thanks!" and help put some of the stuff in. They seem cool with that, it doesn't make me sound like an enviro-dick, and I've really cute down on my plastic bag use. I even backpacked my liquor home from the SAQ.

So, what bags have I been using? I had my eye on these, but they don't deliver to Canada, and it seemed wasteful when I already had a bunch of perfect grocery bags kicking around anyway. So, I use one of my flowery totes made from some wacky plasticized floral print fabric, or that President's Choice bag obnoxious Galen Weston wanted me to buy, all good choices for grocery shopping. The benefit to having reusable bags is that they offer the shoulder-slinging option that plastic bags so sorely. I also have that Everlasting Bagstopper waiting for straps so that it can be stuffed in my backpack for those impromptu purchases. Unfortunately, I'm having some cash flow issues, and I think I'll just have to steal parts from the old clothes that weren't good enough to make it to Value Village. Thrifty and ecologically responsible... yes. But hardly pretty.

Part 2: Green Mah Kitteh!

See that beast of a cat up there? That's what Pistache looks like. Pistache probably takes up a small country's worth of carbon emissions on his own. Because Herr Chubfat needs a special food, I can't really green his meals. He drinks tap water like the rest of us. What else am I supposed to do? Buy him locally-made, artisan-crafted, ecologically-sound ceramic food bowls? A bamboo litter box? Sometimes, things just go too far. So, my admission is that his litter box is a plastic behemoth from the local pet store, probably made in China. And his food bowls were from the Dollar Store, probably the product of some crazy lead-spewing Chinese factory. Because he's just crapping in the litter box, and any kind of nice bowls would be destroyed by my clumsiness. So, I can only green his litter. And thus we started to use Swheat Scoop. It isn't strip-mined from the earth, it still clumps, and it won't cause lung problems for my kitty. And Pistache surely doesn't need any more problems. Now, would looking into holistic pet dandruff fall under "taking it too far?" Pistache loves Kaffe Fasset socks.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Ouch.

The cat has dropped. Actually, more like thudded. This cat is huge. Pictures with household objects for scale (pens, Heinz ketchup bottle, medium pizza from 2 pour 1) to follow tomorrow.

What else dropped? My left leg, onto the ground, after my right ankle did a funky twist move in front of James McGill's tomb. Sure, I walked it off, and thought at most I had a pair of grass-stained pants and a mildly bruised ego. Instead, the mild pain in my right ankle became an intense pain, and now it's slightly discoloured and swollen. I think I tempted the Great Lever of Fate in my last post, when I mentioned my klutziness. Now, I can't even put weight on it, and have resorted to crawling around my apartment on all fours, or undignified hopping. Pray for a miraculous recovery tomorrow, so that I can attend my Film Studies class, taught by Nedward, and bake a cake.

At least Pistache is absolutely adorable. He's already out and socializing, and even managed to heave his girth up onto the couch for some TV-watching with Protagitron the Invalid. I'm also hoping that, if I can't walk, then this will be my excuse to get some much-needed knitting time in.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Tomorrow isn't Thursday!

It's Catday! Yep, tomorrow the roommate and I are off to pick up our new foster kitty, Pistache. He's apparently so large that he wouldn't be able to move around in a normal cage, and has to go to a foster home. We'll see if he can give Beast Cat Champ '07, Oliver, a run for his money. He also has FIV. Which means he'll fit in well with our household, where asthma, deadly peanut allergies and terminal klutziness run rampant. If he can survive the falling glass, that is.

We picked up supplies today, and this time we went right for the Jumbo-sized cat litter box. And, honestly, I think Katie was that such a purchase would be terribly damaging to any cat's psyche. It looks like the cat version of those bath fixtures designed for seniors. I also insisted on buying Swheat Scoop instead of conventional kitty litter, but more on that Saturday, when the first part of "Protagi-green: Getting that Pompous Asstwit Glow" drops.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Now With Actual Knitting Content!


Yes, Frank the Bear finally makes his belated debut on my blog, complete with Fu Manchu. I didn't intend to put any facial topiary on the little guy, but because of some row gauge issues I could either embroider his mouth above his nose and have it look weird from the side, or embroider it on his nose and have him look deformed from the front. The 'Fu does a good job of camouflaging this, and gives him that rugged, Brut-wearing, Camaro-driving, je ne sais quoi. I think he turned out pretty well, and he makes me giggle every time I look at his pictures.

Pattern: Blue Sky Alpaca's Baby Bobbi Bear
Yarn: Manos Del Uruguay Wool in Turquoise (you'll need more than 1 skein if you're subbing Manos at a dense gauge)
Needles: Clover 5.00 mm dpns
Notes: The pattern is fairly easy to follow if you have some knitting experience, but if you're a relative newbie who is comfortable with double-pointed needles, I'd suggest looking for the clarifications page Blue Sky has posted. Make sure to buy lots of stuffing, and mold as you stuff. Don't be concerned if it looks a little odd as you go along- with out ears and facial details Frank looked like a Smurf. The embroidery is the key to adding personality, and I'm glad I went with the red instead of a more staid black or brown. Gives him a bit of punch.

The Manos was gorgeous to work with, as always. It has to be one of my top 5 desert island yarns. I have a whole stash of Manos that needs to be knitted, including a really lovely, smoky lavender, which I think will become those fingerless gloves from AlterKnits.

These pictures were taken with my new cell phone on the drive back to Montreal. "Vive le Québec!", dit François l'Ours!

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Too Damn Hot.

I'm in a constant state of sweat right now. I'm convinced that, at the rate I must be losing fluids, my flesh must have the texture of freeze-dried beef. And it's even cooler than it has been for the past few days in Montreal. Too hot to knit, particularly anything mohair. Too hot to move. By Friday, my room mate and I were in a state of advanced crankiness. The RC cable for the DVD player still hadn't turned up, our house felt like a steam bath, and the fridge had reached that state of condiment-heavy emptiness, where it's either starvation or a mustard and PC Memories of Canton sauce saltine sandwich. So, we went for milkshakes at the mall, but that wasn't enough to lift our spirits. We had to pull out the big guns: the pet shop.

There were adorable puppies, and sweet little ginger kittens sleeping like little packages. And then there were the fluffy kittens. Five of the six were staring at the cooing customers all googly-eyed, looking like they had spawned from a Charmin commercial. The last one was conked out in front of the litterbox, and covered in poo. Poor choice of real estate, that. He promptly became our favourite. My roommate thought my suggestion of "HRH Krap Kitty" as a name would be damaging to his self-esteem, but she's also the one who refused to buy the "Jumbo" kitty litter box because she thought it would give Oliver body image issues. Silly Katie, cats can't understand English! Old Egyptian, maybe, but not English. We settled on Buster as a suitable name. Oh, Buster. Come live with us, and I promise fountains of shampoo, and to never, ever crap on you.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

University, or the Death of Culinary Aspirations


No knitting pictures today. The torso and left sleeve of the Greenbell sweater are finished now, but I want to wait until it's proven flattering to take pictures. My only other project is the seemingly endless lace mesh of my Everlasting Bagstopper, made from an everlasting skein of Butterfly cotton in a rich red. I know conventionally-grown cotton is the devil, but it was a cast off (ah, wordplay) from a friend, and I figure using vintage yarn would be better than going out to buy some hemp. So, instead you get a picture of the dinner I whipped up tonight, in the hour I had at home before I had to run to a class movie screening.

At the beginning of the week I bought a bag of baby spinach and some radishes in a rare fit of health-induced shopping. I preceded to make a spinach and cheddar omelette, a large spinach salad with radishes and cherry tomatoes, dressed in an easy, homemade vinaigrette, and... still had a bag of spinach and a bunch of radishes left. But I wasn't about to go shopping again, so I just grabbed ingredients in the kitchen and hoped for the best. Praise the parents for sending a box of non-perishables. It's just fettucine, sautéed radishes with some spinach thrown in to wilt, a touch of herbs and garlic... and then a generous slosh from the mysterious Pad Thai sauce jar my parents sent up. Verdict? Surprisingly tasty, considering its chimeric origins. And yet... there's still spinach left. Screw the bag- now that's everlasting.

Sunday, September 2, 2007

Curse Bell!

I arrived safely in Montreal on Saturday, to find a suspiciously clean apartment. I'm a little concerned that a single thirty year-old with a bong can keep house better than us, but no matter. All my energy is currently concentrated on wishing Bell a painful and drawn-out death. I even hope that Alexander Graham Bell is being prodded in the ass by Satan, if there's an afterlife. Heck, I'm even thinking of switching to a religion with an afterlife so that I can fervently pray for this event.

Yes, I'm having technical and billing issues... why do you ask? Is it because I've been repeatedly stabbing a stuffed beaver in effigy of the Bell mascots? And I want to dance in their entrails and make a hat out of their little beaver livers? Because I am. National animal, or no national animal, the next beaver I see industriously chewing down a sapling is getting punted into the next field.

But it hasn't been all rage blackouts and psychotic thoughts. La Roomate and I hit up the free movies downtown with friends to see Bon Cop Bad Cop, and we wandered through Lush and ended up buying a few massage bars. I also finished my Bobbi Bear, with Fu Manchu, but sent him back to Guelph. I'll post pictures once I figure out how to transfer them from my new cellphone. Until then, I'll be constructing a small ranch house out of cardboard boxes, and wondering how I ended up with 8 sticks of deodorant.

Friday, August 31, 2007

Notes from the Laminate Underground

I'm committing the working faux pas of posting from my job, but I've been switched to media centre duty, and I'm high of toner fumes. Well, no, but things are quieting down, and there usual ten person deep line up for the laminating machines is gone. One thing you must know about teachers is that they laminate EVERYTHING. I know that one day they'll flip on the lights, and a manic teacher will be feeding the students in, foot by foot, Bronte by Tirth (actual names I saw being laminated yesterday).

Which lead me to come up with a worksheet problem that they could photocopy and laminate:

Laminate Math

Ms. Maple wants to laminate her class so that they'll be durable and hard-wearing. If she has twenty pupils in her class, the average pupil is 3'6" high, and laminate costs 0.24 dollars/foot:

a) How many feet of laminate would she require? (assume that they would expand only in width when flattened)





b) How much would Protagitron's employer have to charge back the school?





c) Would her plea of insanity hold up in a court of law?






Don't forget to show all your work!


I've been posting sparsely again, what with the whirlwind of appointments and packing I've scheduled lately. This will probably continue until at least Sunday, since I'm moving back to Montreal on Saturday. Wish us luck and no auto problems.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Baking, Cooking, and Butching It Up

Here are my hordes of cupcakes, ready for the greatest moment in any young girl's life: Cupcake Day at work! I did this last year with the other summer students. I bake the cupcakes, everyone else brings in a topping, and the decorating begins. The results can be used either as a Dadaist experiment, or to illustrate to disgusting (but delicious) consumption of Western culture. Now, my parents have a few old adages, and one of their most cherished is that People who use baking mixes are morally suspect. So don't tell them that I made these from a mix, and from the cheaper brand with the strangely irradiated, glowing tulips on the box. Usually I'm militant about making everything from scratch, but I can never muster that sense of righteousness for cupcakes. The baked part is just a holding pad for an inch of toppings anyway.


This is a photo from last Thursday, of a salad I made for a Last Hurrah for Guelph Party, a dinner/murder mystery before we all went back to school. It started out as an attempt to make Marian Burros's Farro Salad with Tomatoes and Corn, after I combed the archives of The Wednesday Chef for a salad that would be quick, simple and vegan. I figured the farro, an ancient, hearty grain, would be somewhere next to the kelp and the agave nectar at the Stone Store, the local purveyor of all rations hippie, so I sent my poor Dad down- the day of the party. A few hours later, we had no farro, and burnt quinoa that was supposed to be a farro-replacement. However, we did have one bag of orzo, a pasta with pieces the size of rice grains. So, it became Orzo Salad with Tomatoes and Corn. The only almonds in our house had to be slivered by hand, and the white wine vinegar replaced with a mixture of red wine and rice vinegars, but it turned out rather tasty. I do think it missed that certain nutty element of the farro, and next time I would replace it with spelt or bulgur but it was a qualified success.

Unlike my costume. I got to the party only to find out that I was supposed to be a woman. Which meant the twenty minutes I spent drawing on a mustache were wasted.

Friday, August 17, 2007