Social Media Blues, Pt 1: Back On Twitter

Twithulu, destroyer of worlds and 141st characters. Mug can be purchased through Warren Ellis' CafePress store, and was brought to my attention by the always-delightful Freshwater Mermaid.

If you haven't subscribed to this blog and aren't looking at it through your favorite reader - and really, why haven't you? Protagitron delivered right to your screen! - then you might have noticed a few changed. First, a few status bars have been ditched from my beleaguered blog side bar. And second, something has been added - a Twitter feed.

Some you may remember my first Tweet incarnation, as simply Protagitron. I tried it, dutifuly shortened links, tried to understand hash tags... and then Twitter began to annoy me, so I killed it. And now I'm back, as MsProtagitron.

Yeah, it's a second-wave shoutout. I have my reasons for coming back, but mostly it's just to see where this thing is going. I'm tired of certain media outlets telling me it's the future. I don't think it is. Perhaps it's a sign of my Luddite cred, but I find it only really works if you're a celebrity or a news source, or a friend. I care about the 140-character thoughts of the first because they're famous, the second because they're infamous, and the third because I know them. Otherwise, I find that the character limit is not enough to form a coherent thought, much less a personal connection. I would rather read a blog post.

Wow, just typing that made me feel old, which is something I never thought I would say about a sentence with "blog" in it.

What it is good for, though, is the constant posting of links to other, longer articles. Sometimes my own, but usually something from a real newspaper or dedicated blog. And I've noticed that the Twitter feeds I appreciate most generally function the same way. As long as I think of Twitter as the conduit and not the destination, then I think we can have a working relationship.

More Monty Adventures

Pictured: DAMN YOU, JEFF KOONS.

Right after my stomach had recovered from the grape-cream-ham-chicken shock and awe I visited upon it last Monday, m BFF4Life Katie came up to visit. She was my roommate for 2 1/2 years, so we basically share the same likes, dislikes and sense of humour as one another. Basically, there's one shared brain between us, which is why it's so unfortunate that she's been living in the States for the past 18 or so months. Before she returned, I had been reduced to aimlessly circling my apartment and repeating the same inside jokes we shared to the cat.

But then - she arrived! She came, we saw local attractions, we conquered. Highlights of the past 10 days include:

1. Eating cupcakes at the nut-free bakery, Cho'cola, aka the one baked goods hut that won't kill her.
2. Screening Ip Man 2 at the Fantasia film festival and applauding every fight scene
3. Following that up with dumplings from Qing-Hua equally deserving of applause
4. Being so tired that watching back-to-back episodes of Can-Con-Cop drama Flashpoint ended up being AWESOME
5. Going to Ottawa
6. Getting a personalized tour of Parliament from a friend and avoiding the roving tours of eager cadets
7. Seeing the Pop Life exhibit at the National Art Gallery, then concluding that I despise Jeff Koons
8. Eating burgers at The Works
9. Going to the Dollar Cinema and sweating profusely while watching the Crazies
10. Finding a great used bookstore in NDG, Encore Books
11. Touring the low-budget museum masterpiece that is the Georges Cartier house. They ran out of money to pay real interpreters so now you get recordings. Admission is a low, low $3.00.
12. Seeing the insanely decorated interiors of the Chateau Dufresne. And getting to see it again for 3-odd bucks because half of the house is closed.
13. Discovering that, on Mondays, every store adorable and whimsical in Montreal is CLOSED.
14. Having a mimosa at night. Annoying Katie by singing "I Drink My Mimosas At Night" to the tune of the Cory Hart classic. "So I can... SO I CAN... Get drunk in a classy-like WAY!"
15. In short, spending way, way too much money and having even more fun.

Unfortunately, I did not do the following things in the past 1o days:
1. Laundry
2. Sweep floors
3. Clean living room
So maybe this return to real life is needed.

It Came From 1962: Chicken Breasts With Seedless Grapes and Marie's Crusty Peach Dessert

As promised, I made a whole meal. Well, I skipped the salad, because I think I had reached my monthly, if not annual, jello intake. However, making a main course and a dessert is a meal by my standards, which are the standards of an unemployed 22-year-old who hates to wash up.

So appreciate what you get, damn it.


Even if it's this. Again, this is supposed to be "Chicken Breasts With Seedless Grapes." Now, I spy plenty of seedless grapes (green instead of the white ones called for - apologies, Zada), but where's the chicken breast? Let's go to an oh-so-appetizing closeup to find out.

Hint: It's to the left.

Yes, it's there in the middle, gasping for air under a wine-infused cream sauce, ham, mushrooms and bushels of grapes. They should have just called this recipe "Sauce For Closeted Alcoholics" and let all the desperate housewives finish off the rest of the "dry white wine." It would have made more sense. Then again, there's a lot about the sixties that doesn't make sense to me, but I'll just drink up, be merry and learn to love the cigarette smoke.

In spite of its alarming colour scheme, which reminds me of '80s prom dresses, it's surprisingly edible. Or maybe that's just the wine talking. And here's dessert:


Fortunately, Crusty Peach Dessert is just another name for a peach crumble or crisp or whatever, so it is DELICIOUS. However, I do think the name would make for one hell of an STD euphemism.

To Montreal I Return!

Somehow, I couldn't quite convince my parents that finding goose liver sausages, mashing them up, spreading them on saltines and calling it delicious was a viable dinner option. I guess they actually suffered through the '60s, so cooking from 1962 was not an option. So, you'll be getting a special DECADE MEAL on Sunday, where I make two recipes just to get caught up, and then you'll probably also get a special LIVE HOSPITAL BLOG Monday morning when I go to get my stomach pumped.

Toronto was a ton of fun, even if it culminated with an embarrassing faceplant on a concrete sidewalk. I met up with all the friends I missed, including a crew who can outdrink me. The Ukrainian side of my genes was ever so ashamed of my performance. However, since I packed a week's worth of festivities into a day and half, most of which was spent carrying around my weight in clothes and sundries in a suitcase, I was pretty much dead when I returned to Guelph. So three quiet days with Smitty The Wonder Dog, my master chef dad and my mom were much appreciated. Even if they included conversations like this:

*Scene: debating dinner options with my family, with a cookbook's odd take on tuna sandwiches coming out ahead*
Mom: Since when did you start eating tuna?
Protagitron: Since I started being broke. I ate tuna noodle casseroles all the time for a while there.
Mom: But Protagitron, these are sandwiches and not casseroles, you know.
*I stare at the cookbook page facing me with "Tuna Sandwiches" in large letters. And a photo of a filling nestled between two slices of bread. As sandwiches so often are.*
Protagitron: I... was... aware of that, mother.
Mom: Oh, shut up.

Now I'm back in Montreal, celebrating a Netherlands win and poking my lazy, sleeping cat to make sure he's still alive. All is right in my world.

To Toronto I Go!

I'll be in Toronto and Guelph for most of this week, so my online access might be spotty at best. I'll try and do a 1962 recipe at some point though, and maybe an explanation of why Twitter has returned to my life, as you can see in the toolbar to the side. However, if I don't, it's because I'm too busy being two days too late to the G20 protests.

Actually, there's another reason for my visit but, depending on circumstances, I'll have to get into that later. Until then though, wish me luck in the land of English speakers!

American Splendor, Soccer-Style

I went out to watch the Ghana/USA match today. Bros were very much in evidence at the bar. Polo shirts, two USA jerseys... and a whole lot of hilarity. Seriously, I don't understand why the rest of the world has such a hate on for American fans. They're brash, loud and amazing. If I wanted a classy kind of fan, I would watch more polo.

Anyway, even though I was cheering for Ghana, I found these following drunken bon mots so frigging priceless, I had to record them in this here blog. Please imagine them slurred, it's essential to the effect:

3. "Sliiiiiiide, you dumb prick!"
2. In response to the British announcer giving the 2-1 score: "We knoooow, you British fuck!"
And my personal favorite, keeping in mind that the Ghanian jerseys were red:
1. "Kill the redcoats!"
It's funny because it's historical.

It Came From 1962: Alice's Ginger-Citrus Mold

I decided to wade bravely back into the jiggly fields of Jello-dom this week. And I'm glad I did, because this gelatinous mass is DELICIOUS. Sure, it might look like some kind of deep sea dweller, but it's good.

Probably because it doesn't have any meat, cheese, or other foodstuffs that belong out of my gelatin.

Anyway, this is Alice's Ginger-Citrus Mold. Yes, it's still from the salad section, but since it has two -TWO - different kind of fruits in it, I'm prepared to accept it as the fruit variety. And because the addition of grated candied ginger makes it delicious, I'm feeling a little generous. I ate this thing for breakfast. Willingly.

If I might digress though, the fact that both the grapefruit segments and the mandarin oranges have to be canned is such a sign of the times. This cookbook is proud to boast its "California flavor", but they'll eagerly bypass citrus trees that were probably growing in their backyward to grab a can opener. And I, for one, don't blame them. Little Todd has Scouts tonight and my 60s husband (Art McKenzie, FYI) has to go to the lodge. So I can't be assed to peel a grapefruit's worth of segments.

I'm A Winner!

Well.

Absences happen.

I'm beginning to get a little cabin feverish. I try to go outside and accomplish some task each day (on top of the constant, constant job applications) just so I don't get squirrelly, and so that I have an excuse to shower, but it hasn't stopped me from going a little funny. For example, as I told some friends, I recently had a weird dream. I was watching a play of some kind, a very serious kind, because there was no set but a black curtain and two chairs. It was about Robert Kennedy and Teddy Kennedy having a fight after the assassination of JFK.

Who portrayed the brothers? Veterans of stage and scene? Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt hoping to get some stage cred? No, it was two soccer players. Two shirtless, shirtless soccer players.

I won a contest! Go me!

So maybe the next step is to start watching less World Cup action. Fortunately, I got something in the mail the other day to help me out with that: A free book! And not just any free book, but a young adult novel courtesy of YA Bookshelf. So now I'll just curl up with this one and remember a blissful childhood spent with Catherine, Called Birdy and Half Magic, but sadly also a childhood free from super fit athletes.

Music, Movies and Zombies

I've been obsessed with this song, Mes Bottes De Sept Lieues by Le Husky for the past week, so I'm linking to it here as a soundtrack for the following links. Have fun and learn something.

1. Ugh, Canada: The saplings around the site of the G20 conference might be torn up. Why? Because "The trees could be ripped out of the ground by demonstrators 'and then you’ve got a huge bar,' said Constable Wendy Drummond, a spokeswoman for the Integrated Security Unit." Yes, a scrawny, vegan anti-globalization protestor will tear one up from the ground and start flinging it around like a bo staff, roots and all. Because such protesters fucking hate tress. And have the strength of the Hulk.

2. Remember how, a week ago, I wrote about The Small Back Room and its wacky alky scene? Well, it seems that The Onion's AV Club is more positively inclined. You can watch the whole thing there and judge for yourself.

3. Should we kill the label of America's Sweetheart? Alyssa Rosenberg thinks so. I'm not totally convinced, except by her argument that Ms Congeniality 2 sucks. Seems like this is almost a case of hating the player and not the game to me.

4. From Tiger Beatdown: Is splicing horror elements into classic literature remixing or just a ripoff? And what are the gender politics of all this? I think Garland Grey comes on a little strong, but at first I thought at least the fact that all the works getting injected with zombies, sea monsters, vampires and the like are written by women was a point worth investigating. Then I found this: Android Karenina. Well then.

It Came From 1962: Old Family Beef And Noodles

Since I needed something in my diet that would provide me with more nutrition that the goodness of gelatin, I turned to the casserole portion of the book. There's no more painful sign of the fact that this book dates to 1962 than the fact that there is no "Main Course" section. Only Casseroles. Even wraps are somehow casseroles. And pork chops. And stuffed zucchini.

Since I was still recovering from the green-tinged madness of last week, I landed on a recipe that was pointedly unadventurous. There's mostly ground beef and noodles in this thing, along with canned tomatoes and mushrooms. That led to this conversation with my Mom:
Me: At least this one has honest-to-god vegetables in it. Even if they are canned.
Mom: Well, couldn't you use fresh mushrooms instead?
Me: Pardon me? St. Zada accepts NO SUBSTITUTIONS. Nutrition be damned!

However, a scant 1/8 of a teaspoon of basil and 1/4 a teaspoon of pepper are all the flavorings you'll get in a large-sized casserole. Even by 1962 standards, when having more than two spices was to be suspiciously continental and perhaps a little light in the loafers, that's sad. So, I played the rebel and - hold on to your pillbox hats, ladies - doubled the amounts! Just don't tell Zada, or her vengeful spirit.

Verdict: Edible.