FOOD BASICS: POOR MANS FORTINOS

Recently Girlspit and I went to the supermarket where everything is a deal, but nothing is any good. As we pushed our 25 cent deposit cart, I noticed the stock boy (well he isn't a boy he is in his mid thirties) jump from the ground, onto a shelf, jump from the shelf unto his cart and then jump from his cart unto a higher shelf. Here is the conversation the wife and I enjoyed with the stock boy


Me: Nice move
Stock boy: DO YOU KNOW TONY HAWK
Me: well yes actually my friend's youngest son..

the much excited stock boy interrupted here

Stock boy: Well I'm an extreme skateboarder like him, only I don't use a helmet or pads. Pads are for girls

Girlspit: well thank you

Stock boy: err sissy's I mean sissies. I have 20 cousins and we all skateboard and we don't use pads.

We started to walk away when stock boy jumped down on the ground to follow us

Stock boy: We don't use helmets either, none of us, we just don't believe in them.

Girlspit: thats nice

ME: man that guy is fucked

Girlspit: He will hear you

Me: So what that guy is always talking crazy

Girlspit: oh yeah do you remember last winter?

Me: why is it that bullshiters are always bringing 20 cousins into their stories

Girlspit: it’s because that sort of person has trouble making friends, so they leach onto family members who accept them and are less likely to reject them.

Me: Well I have some of the craziest cousins alive.

Girlspit: Your cousins make the stock boy look like the picture of normality

On losses big and small.

It has been several weeks since I sat down to Blog. I've had a lot of great ideas for posts in that time. I guess they are gone now. It isn't that maintaining an audience with myself isn't important, I'm always doing things like this. For the 2002 tax year I underpaid about 16 dollars, its now become about 23 and for the 2003 tax year I didn't file at all that mistake cost me about $550. I meant to do the taxes but I put it off. I had all of my t4s and receipts in a nice pile that slowly got buried under piles of paper over the last year.

It is not my fault, truly it is not. I'm allergic to throwing out a piece of paper. I have no idea why I keep them, because I show them no regard while they are in my negligent custody.

Any document, CD, DVD etc. I touch basically becomes abandoned property. After they offend my sight for long enough they are jammed into a drawer somewhere They are swept away with absolutely no regard for their condition or their placement. Somehow I let myself pretend that my sloth is a filing system unto itself.

I thought about this today while I took in the sights and sounds of the new government of Canada building. Its is across the street from the arena that will forever only be an NHL bridesmaid. Hamilton is all about never realized potential. Although I love the romance of what it might have been, I mourn this city- My smelly home.

There was a time when Government buildings looked like they were a part of the empire. Come to think of it they were part of the empire. They had granite staircases with brass rails. Stone, oak, Leather chairs and ashtrays were everywhere. The initials ER and her portrait were placed in places of prominence.

Government buildings looked like government buildings. Now they look dubiously modern, expensive, and shoddy. They look as if the Government took in a lot of money, didn't know what to do with it and threw it around in all the wrong places. I could not help but to laugh at the parallel of my treatment of documents and their treatment of the public purse. Of course I stopped laughing when I paid my back taxes

Universal rhythm

Tick-tock tick-tock incessantly tick-toc

Tick-tock racing my heart

chasing and spinning tick-tock tick-tock

to the next

to the next

again to the next tick-tock

forever spinning forward tick-tock tick-tock

Rising from tick-tock and returning to dust tick-tock

falling tick- tock

falling tick-tock

falling breathlessly upon one and other tick-tock tick-tock

grey dust upon grey dust tick-tock tick-tock.

building a mound tick-tock

building a mound tick-tock

in the bottom of an hour glass tick-tock tick-tock

others rising from and returning to the same dust tick-tock tick-tock

Rising with the same ambition tick-tock tick-tock

falling with the same dismay tick- tock

Tick-tock tick-tock incessantly tick-tock.

adjusting content to change perspective

This is my waffle
There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My waffle is my best friend.
It is my life.
I must master it as I must master my life.
My waffle, without me, is useless.
Without my waffle, I am useless.
I must toast my waffle true.
I must chew straighter than my clogged artery,
who is trying to kill me.
I must chew him before he chews me.
I will.
My waffle and myself know that what counts in breakfast,
is not the rounds of toast,
the noise of bacon frying,
nor the smoke we make.
We know it is the syrups that count.
We will syrup.
My waffle is human, even as I, because it is my life.
Thus, I will learn it as a brother.
I will learn its weaknesses,
its strengths,
its parts,
its accessories,
its ridges and its indentations.
I will ever guard it against
the ravages of weather and damage.
I will keep my waffle clean and ready,
even as I am clean and ready.
We will become part of each other.
We will.
Before God I swear this creed.
My waffle and myself are the defenders of my country.
We are the masters of our clogged artery.
We are the saviors of my life.
So be it, until there is no clogged artery,
butt Peace.

A few changes

As always, I'm finding difficulty sleeping so I decided to watch TV. I came upon a cooking show which featured a woman with impeccable breasts cooking. Actually she wasn't cooking, I'm sure she thought she was. She started off by dumping several cans of Swanson beef stock into a soup pot. She explained that she uses the low sodium kind because she 'likes to control exactly how much salt is in the food'. I wondered if she would have even more control over the ingredients if she actually made the soup, but hey I don't have a TV show or impeccable breasts.

While pondering her good fortune I watched her cut two packages of tortelleni open and dump them in the now boiling canned soup. To finish her creation off she added fresh ground pepper to the factory tortelleni. I'm positive she will taste the nuances of fresh ground pepper after it has been boiled in industrial soup.

I look at cooking as an expression or interpertaion of being a good host. My wife looks at it as an expression of personal creativity. My mother uses her Serbian kitchen to love and to be generous, to remeber the good things of the old country, to remember raising a family, to teach anyone who asks and to continualy develop her skill. Perhaps to other people it is an expression of something else. Regardless of what it can be an expression of, it should be expressive of something.

I'm sure this tv show person can cook, her credentials can not be limited to her breasts, but she isn't cooking and she isn't teaching people to. I'm afraid she is telling people that the yummie ends justify the thoughtless means.

yours breathlessly,
mt2

So I want a blog

First post : A statement of intent, a general introduction of myself, to myself, for myself?

After deciding that I could benefit from an audience with myself, and because I need new success In my life I have decided to start a blog.

I have a good life that I am often disappointed with because of its many difficulties.

My greatest, perhaps only, success In life has been my consistent ability to surround myself with the best people. The people in my life are a reflection of the values that were instilled in me by my parents.

I have a wonderful wife that I love madly. I have a great relationship with my parents. My brother and his family are incredibly dear to me. I have a few very good friends, some since my childhood.

like the rest of the world, I have a lot of problems. Like the rest of the world, I want to be a better person. I believe that some improvement will be found in being a better friend to myself. This blog will give me the opportunity to listen to myself.

Maybe I will write something that I didn't know, or at least something that I didn't know I knew.