Tuesday, June 1, 2010

It Came From 1962: The Beginning


Last weekend, there was a $1.00 Used Book Sale at one of my favorite bookstores in the city – S.W. Welch. Actually, I didn’t care all that much that it was at one of my favorite places. The fact that somewhere books could be had for $1.00 was enough. I would have probably shown up if it was run by the Church of Latter Day Saints.

Among the 10 prizes scored that day was this little cookbook. It looks unassuming enough on the outside, but inside this book shares pages with the Necronomicon. Alright, I’ve never read the latter, but I’m sure it would have just as many recipes for gelatin and canned crap salad as this.

The brain trust behind this book is comprised of Zada Taylor, “well known among California librarians” and Betty Herman, “the daughter of the late, beloved Lloyd C. Douglas.” I’m not sure about Mr. Douglas, but I think Ms. Taylor was more well feared than well known, since she starts off the book with a salvo like “A time for cooking is cooking when it is convenient” (But what are your thoughts on fucking, Zada?) and later follows it up with “A good cook never takes the chance of upsetting the balance by subtracting from or adding to the required amounts.”

The shaggy-haired Beats and their bongos may have already started to turn her California topsy turvy by 1962, but by God, their rebellious ilk would be kept out of the kitchen.

Anyway, I’m in love with and terrified by this thing, from the “Idiot’s Delight” on page 14 involving dry onion soup mix, goose liver sausage and sour cream to the “Steamed Salmon Loaf” on page 132. Basically, it’s as if Mary Worth had written a cookbook. And, since I’m about to be bored and unemployed, what better way to pass the time than attempting to cook from it? So, for the next 52 weeks – or until my death from gelatin overdose, whichever comes first – prepare yourself for It Came From 1962.

Tomorrow: I tell you what it’s like to spend three days eating Molded Feminine Fare (page 58.) Here’s a hint: I’m off to my Ladies Bridge Club meeting.

Monday, May 31, 2010

Sex And The City 2: This Time, With Even More Shiny Stuff!

From left to right: Bossy Miranda, Yelpy Carrie, Sexaholic Samantha and Optimistic Charlotte.
Off screen: The shattered remains of my soul.

I wasn’t going to see the new Sex and The City movie, but after the ferocious critical response – and then the furious aggregating of that response on women-focused blogs – intrigued me. I thought I would see it, write about it myself and see if I couldn’t illuminate a corner of Carrie’s shriveled soul that someone hadn’t before.

Well, I can’t. The critics have covered everything. The movie is long, dull and hideous to look at, with gaudy clothes and even more hideous interiors. There’s no more plot here than in a catalog, which makes sense since this is a movie about stuff, from cars to rings to watches, instead of characters. It offends gay men, Muslims and women, even though they’re the ones who are expected to strap on their highest heels and go in costume, like so many Star Wars nerds, to watch it.

So, since all the best points have already been made so frequently and humorously, I’ll take my mom’s advice and say something nice. Or else I won’t be able to say anything at all.

Five Good Things I Could Say About The Sex And The City Sequel:

1. Boy, they cast Miranda and Steve’s son well. He freakishly has David Eigenberg’s face, but Cynthia Nixon’s hair and eyes. Was he grown in a lab?
2. There are two fine male asses to be seen in this movie.
3. At one point, Charlotte wears a rather cute red and white striped dress.
4. Craning my neck to see the whole screen from only the third row was still less nauseating than watching Avatar in Imax 3D.
5. I regret seeing it less than I regret paying 99 cents to download Casper’s Cha Cha Slide (Part Two.)

Friday, May 28, 2010

Dispatches From the Job Hunt

Looking for jobs, applying for jobs and going for interviews are three of the things I dislike most in life. Sure, I probably hate Glenn Beck and ebola more, but I don't have to actually encounter those things in my daily life. Yet. Job hunting, on the other hand, has become my new hobby, now that the weather's cooled down enough that I can't say "sweating."

Sadly, however, I'm an English-speaking Cultural Studies major in a bilingual city where all the job postings seem to be ridiculously qualified. Today, I've found postings for a plant assistant, an assistant hockey coach, and a "science and innovation officer." Come and gaze with me, if you will, into my cover letter for the first position:

"Although I may not have the expected qualifications of a degree in horticulture, I do have a degree in Cultural Studies. As you can see, both degrees involve culture of some kind. I know it's not much, but it's a start. And as Dorothy Parker once said, you can lead a whore to culture, but you can't make her think. I am no whore. Please hire me."

I am expecting a call back at any moment.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Two Bits Of News

Sorry Bangles, but your Manic Mondays have nothing on my ... Torrid... Tuesdays. Somebody get on finding a better alliteration than that. Anyhow, yesterday two big things happened in the life of Marty.

1. My brother got engaged!
2. And I quit my job!

Now, this isn't necessarily quite the yin/yang of life events it seems. Although my brother's engagement is certainly on the crest of things, my quitting isn't all bad. Sure, it seems likely that I'll never find another job in this city. But on the other hand, I had been unhappy for a while and needed to stop bitching and do something about it.

So, whether I end up back in Toronto, or turning tricks on the street in a few months, at least I can always think back on this week and remember that I was happy. And flush with tax refunds.

Monday, May 24, 2010

On Watching Your Team Lose

Today, I did something I had spent the past couple of weeks bitching people out for doing. I walked out of a hockey game early, just because my team was losing, and I knew they were going to lose the game entirely, and I just couldn't watch it happen.

So, I'm a hypocrite. However, I'm a sympathetic hypocrite. Getting into hockey over the past few weeks has been a lesson in transference. Once you start caring about the sport, the guys on the screen aren't just a random collection of guys with skills and high salaries. They're a representative of you! They play well, and you have hope for your future. They play poorly, and suddenly your streak of bad luck stretches all the way to the TV screen and you have to turn it off.

However, you've already started to behave in completely irrational ways. You start bargaining. "Let them win this game and it will make up for the crappy interview and terrible day I just had. Let them lose and I'll realize that I'm cursed."However, this makes no sense. First of all, there are dozens of fans on the other side doing the exact same thing. Are you praying in Montreal? Then somebody in Philly probably did the same thing. And, judging from tonight's score, it seems like they did a better job than you.

Clearly, it's mostly up to the people on the ice, as well as people behind the bench whether your team wins or loses, no matter how much you hope, pray and wear the hell out of your jersey. So why bother? Why should I have bothered to stay for the rest of the game?

First of all, there are the standard reasons. Sports end up connecting you, just like the shoe commercials predict. Trite, but true. I watched Montreal beat Washington, eating pickled eggs in a tavern, yelling just as loudly as the rest of the people there even though I was English* and under 45 years old. It's also good conversation fodder when you're on breaks at work. And there's something heartwarming about seeing entire metro cars turned red because everyone has their Habs gear on after a win.

Then there's the other reason. It's about perseverance. No matter how much they're sucking, teams can't just go home before the final buzzer sounds. And even once it does, they'll just be back next year. It's Sisyphean - and, since we're going that far - a lesson in existentialism.

Unless, of course, someone sells your team and then they end up moving. In which case, maybe you really are cursed.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Texts From Last Period

Don't worry, there will be a Post of Substance tomorrow, but for tonight I wanted to share perhaps the most Canadian communication I have ever taken part in. My friend Jo couldn't watch Game 7 tonight (and thus missed out on its blessed result), so I was put on text duty to keep her informed of the score. Between things like "4-0. I don't even know. 4-0." and "They did it! 5-2 final score." There was this little nugget of maple-flavoured goodness:

"Don cherry's suit is purple velour [sic] with satin trim tonight."

Monday, May 10, 2010

Mumble, Grumble, Go Habs Go

Events have conspired to turn me, a person who hated all sports except for college football, into someone who's avidly watching the Montreal Canadiens' run in the NHL playoffs. I thought for sure that the charmingly gap-toothed Ovechkin would get them, but they beat the Caps. And then I thought the Penguins and Sidney Crosby's questionable facial hair would do it, but goddamn it, they sent it to game 7. Now I'll proudly suffer those maudlin Tim Horton's ads, Don Cherry's suits and the terrible new Hockey Night in Canada theme just to watch a game.

I would like to say that I have a certain sympathy for Jaroslav Halak, because I often feel like the 200th-odd pick in life, but the truth is I lack his hand/eye coordination, so I'll just say I enjoy seeing this diverse and annoyingly abrasive city come together, as one... so that it can likely destroy a small part of itself in celebration of a win.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

The Book Pile


I haven't done one of these in a while, eh? Alright, let's see what today's Diagram of Reading has in store.

1. Yes, That's A Harlequin Romance Novel: An Honorable Man, Darlene Gardner. I'm reading this as a favor to a friend. I am saddened by the lack of raised, metallic lettering and shirtless Fabio on the cover.
2. Just Finished: Riotous Assembly, Tom Sharpe. Someone from work loaned this to me and I'm indebted, because it's hilarious.
3. Non-Fiction For Edumakayshun: What's The Matter With Kansas, Thomas Frank. I read this in the (possibly doomed) hope of understanding the genesis of Tea Partiers.
4. Easy Reading, Not Listening: 33 1/3, Pet Sounds: Jim Fusilli. This book will be the reason I give Brian Wilson a hug, if I ever run into him.
5. Contemporary Classic: Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie. First, let me just say that Salman Rushdie is an extremely talented writer. But second, this book is a slog, at least personally. Anyone else might enjoy this, but it seems like Rushdie and I are simply incompatible, maybe even on the level of syntax. Sadly, I've already concluded this and I'm only 100 pages in to a 530 page book.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Tuning Out

We might be in a Golden Age of TV, but I'm missing most of it. I used to download and stream certain shows religiously, but now my TV-watching only happens when I'm drained from work and need a mindless police procedural to dull my aching brain. Anything in the CSI/Criminal Minds/ Law And Order camp works well, I find.

When it comes to decent stuff though, or at least shows that keep the punnage to normal levels, I'm way behind. Some people don't read books. I find that weird, but I shouldn't. I'm the same person. It's just that instead of putting down Anna Karenina after a few pages because it's so long and heavy to lift, I never watch the Wire because it looks complicated and takes so long to download.

In fact, I think my TV-watching has become a victim of that medium's development over the past years. Now that nearly every series has ace writing and intricate story arcs, TV has started to compete for the mental consumption I'm used to pledging to movies and books. And it can't be relied on to fulfill its old function of shoveling enjoyable, untaxing fluff into my brain. I feel like all the series have polarized into two camps: unwatchably mindless or exhaustingly engaging. And when the choice is between Two And A Half Men or another dreary series about a drug-addicted nurse or teacher or whatever, I'm taking the third path of watching neither more and more often.

But, as the husband said to his soon-to-be ex, I can change! I think this is just a matter of re-training my brain to like the delayed gratification of decent TV. Just don't expect that to be The Wire, at least any time soon.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Can You Spot the Real Trailer?

Sorry, a longer post should be in the offing, but I am dead tired. So, instead, an observation. I was checking out the schedule for the Israeli film festival Cinema du Parc is having. Nothing really caught my eye, but I decided to give them all a second chance and YouTube the trailers. That's when I noticed that this movie:

Eyes Wide Open

... is just the Hasidic version of this movie:

... but apparently in all seriousness.