Category Archives: Pop Cult-ure

Hippity Hoppity

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Last night my husband and I went on a DATE to (belatedly) celebrate our tenth anniversary and I got a new dress and shoes!

It was exactly a year and a week since I had my varicose vein surgery, and so I thought I would celebrate by wearing shoes and stockings, rather than my usual boots.

It was fabulous going on an actual date – my husband and I go on about four dates a year, so when we do go out it’s an event.  Last night was also an event in that, as we were driving to the restaurant, we came across a squished roadkill rabbit!  Ew!  Gross!  Even in all its grotesqueness, I couldn’t stop giggling, thinking of all the disappointed children who would be doomed to spend the holiday without chocolate eggs.

It reminded me of the story I was told once by a guy who worked out in Rimbey, Alberta, who hit – but did not kill – a deer with his car on Christmas Eve, and ended up, in order to be humane, having to shoot it, his children looking on from the backseat of the car.  His children who thought their dad had just shot one of Santa’s reindeer.  I wonder if those kids are still in therapy.

We did have a lovely Easter weekend, complete with colouring eggs and then – as we traditionally, if unorthodoxly do – having the children hide them for us to find, in the backyard.  We did that this afternoon, once the sun came out, although the kids took to hiding some of them in the snow that’s still there.  For those of you who live in milder climates, I envy you.  You probably don’t know the joys of digging a hardboiled egg out of a snowdrift.

This morning the boys had an Easter treasure hunt, complete with complicated clues such as “Where do wet clothes go after they have been washed?” and “What do Mini-Wheats and pizza sauce have in common?” (answer to the latter question: they are kept in the same cupboard).

That is my new favourite picture of the boys, reading their clues.  It sums up their personalities perfectly.
Speaking of a-little-bit-evil, right this second the boys are watching The Phantom Menace, which I saw in the theatre but not since – and for good reason, because it’s terrible.  It turns out that I actually have very little knowledge about anything Star Wars-related, to my children’s grave disappointment.  In fact, due to the combination of Lego Star Wars Wii and a number of Early Reader Star Wars books, my children know much, much more than I do.
Did anyone watch the Master’s this weekend?  I watched it by osmosis, which means I know who won and I know that the runner-up (is he called a runner-up?  I don’t know.) had a double eagle, which is only the fourth time in the history of the Master’s that such a thing has happened.  It was, my husband said, a very exciting Master’s.  Maybe the most exciting Master’s ever!  Which…well…is not really that exciting. 

So, that was my weekend.  Colouring eggs, a date, some roadkill, a treasure hunt, lots of golf commentary, and the lamest and most totally confusing movie ever.  How was your weekend?     

Love Sandwich

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I was so excited to open up this month’s O Magazine, and not just because it contained Adam Glassman’s spring fashion look book – which turned out to be a disappointment, anyway.  Sorry, Adam, a silky pajama top is NOT work appropriate even when paired with a pencil skirt; and let’s not even get started on orange and/or yellow pants.  No, I was excited because it was the First! Ever! Food Issue! and on the cover – right on the folded over part – was….STEDMAN!  And inside was an interview with him talking about what Oprah cooks for him – including, but not limited to, something that is called a Love Sandwich.  The recipe was not at all what came to mind when I heard the words Love Sandwich, it wasn’t anything even remotely slutty or Kama Sutra-ish.  The Love Sandwich, anticlimatically enough, involves a panini press, basil, tomatoes and avocado, among other things.  It does not involve anything bedroom- or Gayle-related.  Actually, minus the turkey and scallions (shudder), it looks pretty yummy.  I wouldn’t mind a Love Sandwich.

I was so excited to see Stedman on the cover that I was vibrating a little; I leaned over on the couch to show my husband, who responded in a puzzled way.  Why, he wondered, did I look like that?  Baby, it’s not every day one gets to see a narwhal.

Sometimes it is like he doesn’t understand me at all.  For example, I discovered that this weekend – yes, THIS WEEKEND – is the start of Daylight Savings Time and, as usual, I started to go off the rails.  My husband responded in an irritated sort of way, saying that I was being a) overly dramatic, and b) irrational, which made me respond in a “No, YOU’RE overly dramatic and irrational” kind of way, complete with hanging up the phone. 

It’s true, as my husband pointed out, that my children did adjust fairly quickly to a three hour time difference in Maui and again at home, but it is also true that the week following the “Spring Forward” is a crabby one, given that children are unable to sleep at their regularly scheduled time and then must be woken up at their regularly scheduled time, contributing to a sleep deficit which leads to HELL.  ASK ANY TEACHER OR CHILD CARE PROFESSIONAL.  Even if my children do adjust to the time difference, I shall still rally against it, in solidarity with mothers everywhere.  It is antiquated, it is unnecessary, and the first person to say “but it’s so nice to have light in the evening” I shall stab.  Or, if I don’t physically stab them, I shall stab them in my mind and then give them the furry eyebrow.  Where I live, in a couple months it will be light until TEN O’CLOCK.  I think that is more than sufficient.  I wake up at 4:45 am, I do not care about light in the evenings, thank you very much.   

Now I’ve got myself all worked up again.  I need to go out and buy myself a panini press; I think a Love Sandwich may be the ticket to happiness.  There is pepper jack cheese!  And avocado!  Mmm.  Baby.  Love Sandwich.

It’s the least relevant day…of the year.

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It’s Groundhog Day, or, as I like to call it, the least relevant day of the year if you live where I do. I don’t care what’s happening in the rest of the world – six more weeks of winter would be an early spring; we’ve been having unseasonably mild weather which makes me a bit superstitious that it is going to be ALL WINTRY BLASTS ALL THE TIME come April and May.

But Groundhog Day – you will be happy to know – is not just a weird, made-up holiday like you may have assumed. It actually has roots in pagan European weather lore! Good times. Despite my previous feelings that Groundhog Day is the stupidest day of the year, which was largely based on weather bitterness which I am trying to overcome by finding within me an invincible summer, I now say hooray for the groundhog! The lowly groundhog, elevated to the status of having its very own day. It’s not everyday we celebrate a rodent. We should all be happy for the groundhog.

Today is also the day Sid Vicious died, which seems a bit of a “who-gives-a-shit” piece of information, but since he overdosed on heroin to be with his beloved crazy-ass Nancy, maybe he was somehow confusing Groundhog Day with Valentine’s Day. I mean, you do that much smack in your lifetime you probably have a hard time keeping up with the calendar, you know?

Many, many of our special days have roots in pagan rituals, but not – as you likely already know – St. Valentine’s Day. St. Valentine was a Christian martyr, and I’m a little fuzzy on the details as to how his day became synonymous with love and chocolates and those cheap incarcerated teddy bears that proclaim they are prisoners of love. In any event, I am very much looking forward to Valentine’s Day this year because my kids are at the hilarious stage when talking about anything romance related has them shrieking with disgust.  It’s quite amusing.  Their teacher started a heart-themed calendar for the month of February and it’s the Worst! Calendar! Ever!  The boys have taken to bringing home Geronimo Stilton books from the library, and we have been reading them at bedtime.  There was a chapter where a female mouse VERY CREEPILY goes after Geronimo in a romantic way, and the boys were actually screaming with horror.  It was kind of horrible, come to think of it.  If there had been a gender reversal – a male character going after a female one in the same manner – there would have certainly been an uproar about it.

But alas!  This is the way of the world, it seems.  Being a mother of boys makes one acutely aware of gender bias.  Take, for example, what used to be Boy Scouts but is now just Scouts, versus Girl Guides.  It’s okay for girls to be with only girls, but not okay for boys to be with only boys, is the take-away message I am receiving.

We’ve all heard about the uproar over the new Lego line that is aimed at girls.  Personally, I looked at that line and immediately coveted all the sets for myself.  They are CUTE.  I also covet one of those Maplelea dolls – I really like Taryn.  But anyway, I think we’re all aware of the uproar about Lego, how Lego is supposed to be gender neutral, etc., etc.  I do not agree.  I think that Lego is generally marketed to boys.  Girls do play with Lego, of course, just as boys play with dolls, but predominantly those items are gender-marketed.  Is this a bad thing?  I don’t know.  We don’t live in a gender neutral world, people.  I am not saying this is right or wrong, I am saying that this is reality.

But I digress.  I am simply amused that my boys have reached the stage where little hearts cause them to make retching noises, whereas I have reached the stage where Valentine’s Day evokes feelings of the craving variety, as in chocolate and wine.  Come to think of it, perhaps chocolate and wine should be the new way to celebrate Groundhog Day!  Yes!  Let’s celebrate the groundhog with a nice glass of Shiraz and a pile of frozen York patties, shall we?

COME ON DOWN! You’re the next contestant…

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It’s the last day of January, which feels very strange given that, with the exception of about ten days wherein I had that feeling of doom that I would never be warm again, it has been mild.  The snow is almost melted in my backyard, which is odd.  Perhaps the apocalypse is upon us?  I can think of no other explanation. 

Other things I cannot think of an explanation for: why I thought it was a good idea to apply nailpolish five minutes before I needed to leave the house, thus ruining the nailpolish application the second I put my coat on; why I have had Pinball Wizard stuck in my head for days only to magically have it disappear and be replaced by Rasputin; why there is an audience for such shows featuring people who live in swamps, or who are crowded in their houses because they cannot stop purchasing on-sale toilet paper, or who dress their young daughters up for beauty pageants; why people take their dog-hating dogs to off-leash parks, and then become defensive when my dog-loving dog goes to greet their dogs – why not just leash your dog and walk it around the block?; and why I am insanely craving popcorn at ten in the morning and I also feel like bursting into uncontrollable tears and/or curling up in bed and wallowing in sadness?

There may be an explanation for the last one.  Rah rah Rasputin.  Lover of the Russian queen.  They put some poison into his wine.

Related: can a tsarina really be referred to as a queen?  I know that it was the Russian royal family, but is a tsarina and a queen the same thing?

Completely unrelated: when I was a kid I loved watching The Price is Right.  If I could time travel, I would totally go back to the early 80s and I would be a contestant on that show.  Ideally, I would be wearing a tube top.  I would get to play Plinko – and I would get all the chips because I would know which cost more, a case of Rice-a-Roni or an electric kettle.  I would spin the wheel – and, even if I didn’t win the $10,000, I would still be the first to choose my showcase showdown which would include: an RV, a dinette set, and a trip to lovely Myrtle Beach.  I would get inappropriately hugged by Bob Barker, and I would scream and wave my arms around a lot in excitement.  Perhaps I would even fall on the floor – I don’t know.  I haven’t gotten that far in my time-travel fantasy.

When I was a kid I used to think it would be so cool to live in the 1800’s; maybe I would work on my embroidery sampler all day, or perhaps write things on my slate with my slate pencil, and I would be excused from excessive physical activity since running or sports would put a serious strain on my corsets.  Now I just think that it seems kind of icky, living with no running water and no toilets – I don’t even like camping, at campgrounds WITH running water and toilets – and also my embroidery ability, like my ability to sew on buttons, is extremely hampered by my inability to put a piece of thread in a needle and not have it completely tangled in seconds.  Also I am unable to sew anything without crying.  So if I were to time travel, it would definitely be to be a contestant on The Price is Right.  Wouldn’t you just love a new dinette set?  Or – OR – a NEW! CAR!

While I’m at it, maybe I would time travel to be one of Barker’s Beauties!  I could walk along the stage in my super high heels with unlikely and impractical “camping wear” (i.e., Daisy Duke shorts and a plaid shirt tied at the waist) with a giant smile, showcasing the grand prize of a recreational vehicle.  Only for a day, though – I would like to blot out the whole Bob Barker creepy grossness. 

If you could time travel, where would you go?

Give your mother a kiss or I’ll kick your teeth in.

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Happy Robbie Burns Day!  I was telling the boys about Robbie Burns Day today, explaining the celebratory nature – in a modified way – and about their Scottish ancestry.  Jake was getting more and more agitated and more and more defiant about it, when he burst out “We are not in Scotland, Mom!  We are in Canada.  WE ARE CANADIAN.”

Good point.  Also I have to admit the only thing I do on Robbie Burns Day is look up YouTube videos of Mike Myers in So I Married an Axe Murderer and walk around singing Bay City Rollers songs and Do You Think I’m Sexy in a Scottish accent.  I’m probably putting my ancestors to shame.  It’s not like I’m heading over to the Legion to eat haggis, get drunk on Scotch, and get into a brawl with someone from a different clan, like a good Scottish lassie. 

Haggis.  You have to hand it to the Scots, they have cornered the market on the world’s worst cuisine.  Scottish cuisine is the absolute bottom of the global barrel.  Second is probably Norweigan – and hey, I’m Scottish-Norweigan so I can really vouch for this.  Boiled potatoes!  Fish balls!  And I’m very sorry to offend all of you haggis and/or lutefisk fans, but what the hell?  Was everyone drunk and did those dishes really seem like a good idea at the time?  Someone very kindly mentioned to me recently that if I wanted, I could get vegetarian haggis, which honestly seems like the third-most-awful food item in the world. 

Do you ever wonder how kind of bizarre cultural things got their start?  Like, for example, bagpipes.  Actually, I can probably guess how bagpipe music got its start but it’s a grim picture so I won’t go there.  Do people honestly enjoy bagpipe music or is it one of those things that you intellectually think you should enjoy because of your ancestry, but emotionally and viscerally you loathe it?  Is it like the recorder – intellectually you realize that elementary aged children are taught the recorder because of its lightweight size and inexpensiveness, but the sound of it, my god, the sound of it.  There is nothing like being next door to a classroom full of recorder-playing fifth graders.  Did I mention that I’m starting to get ready for the next book fair, which is next door to the music room?  Alcoholic donations welcome.  Also?  Ear plugs.

Because of the melting streets and the filth on my windshield causing me to be actually unable to see out my windshield, which seems like a liability somehow, I washed the car today.  That is a MAN’S job, people.  Anyway, I manned up and took my filthy minivan to the carwash, and beside it an apartment complex is being erected (heh) and there was a giant, cavernous hole dug, filled with various heavy machinery.  It made me supremely nostalgic.  There was a time when I would walk my boys in their double stroller to construction sites, and they would sit there, fascinated, for HOURS on end.  Jake was one, and he would clap his little hands and say “Diggies!  Diggies!  Jake happy!  Happy!”  We spent our days that way, our endless unscheduled days, wandering around the neighbourhood looking at buses and machinery, and playing farm and blocks and trains, and now suddenly they are gone most of the day and when they are home they are involved in their own little lives that often do not involve me at all, and one day they are going to be bringing their recorders home to practice and suddenly I am wallowing in Robbie Burns Day melancholy.  Just like a good Scottish lassie.

Are you feeling sad? It’s Blue Monday!

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My very good friend reminded me this morning that today is Blue Monday, the saddest day of the year, and yet I’m not feeling sad.  That’s a win!  I am, however, feeling cold; our mild, springlike winter has suddenly ended.  The dog keeps looking at me balefully, probably trying to telepathically communicate to me his desire for a walk.  And I keep looking back at him, telepathically communicating something along the lines of “Are you out of your furry little mind?”  We seem to be at an impasse.  Perhaps if it warms up to minus twenty, we will go out for a walk, but if not, you will be stuck in the house with me for the foreseeable future, my canine companion. 

So how many of you watched football this weekend?  I cannot say I watched it, but fortunately I have a football fan of a husband, and so I am IN THE KNOW.  The first game brought much joy and excitement, the second game extreme happiness and satisfaction, the third and fourth games semi-disappointment and disgust.  Awkwardly, the team I like and my husband’s favourite team will be playing each other next week, which does not bode well for marital harmony around here.  Truly, I don’t care enough about football to really have a stake in this particular argument; I will submit in a medieval wifely way to my husband’s will and cheer for his team.  Hey, no one wants a divorce over football for heaven’s sake.

More interestingly, how many of you watched the Golden Globes this weekend?  I did, not that I have ever heard of most of the TV shows and movies that are being celebrated; in fact I don’t know most of the celebrities.  But I do enjoy Ricky Gervais and I also do enjoy me some eye candy, i.e., Johnny Depp.  I realized, alarmingly enough, that I have had a crush on Johnny Depp for twenty-five years.  That’s distressing.  Also distressing: Angelina Jolie’s arms.  I saw her sitting at the table, thought she looked elegant and beautiful, but when she stood up…eeek!  Her arms!  Her giant arm tattoo!  Normally I shy away from mentioning that someone is “too skinny” – commenting on one’s body type is rude, no matter the body type – but HER ARMS OMG.  Have some cheesecake, Angelina.  Also – and this is controversial and will probably open a big huge can of worms, but – I tend to dislike arm tattoos, unless the tattoo is an anchor and the tattooed person is an old sailor.  That’s kind of cool.  But Angelina’s big tat really detracted from the beauty and elegance of her outfit, I think.  Feel free to disagree with me!  I’m just not an arm tattoo kind of girl. 

By far the best parts of the Golden Globes for me were Seth Rogan’s comment about concealing a massive erection, Jimmy Fallon VERY ACCURATELY imitating Mick Jagger’s dance moves, disproving forever the myth that “moves like Jagger” is a good thing, and Mark Wahlberg’s extraordinarily sullen award presentation.  Why so glum, Marky Mark?  Is it a Blue Monday preview?

My dog just sat on my feet and looked up at me, tail wagging.  FORGET IT, BARKLEY.  I have been outside a few times today to do dropoffs and pickups, and I am still chilled from those brief encounters with the out-of-doors.  I was wearing jeans, turtleneck, knee high socks, thick wool sweater that doubles as a fall jacket, gigantic mid-thigh down parka with hood, Joan of Arctic Sorels, gloves AND wool mittens and I was still frozen.  When I was at the doctor’s last week, he commented on the colour of my hands and feet and suggested a) I may have a mild form of Raynaud’s disease, and b) that I am not built for this climate.  Tell me about it, doctor.  Tell me about it.

Don’t throw me down, Clark! Is your house on fire, Clark? Oh. That was fun. I love riding in cars.

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It is ONE WEEK until Christmas and the mood around here is a mix of mellow and excited.  Yesterday was our open house and – although the basement looked like a Lego bomb went off and also like twenty-five children dropped crackers on the carpet and then stepped on them vigourously, which is probably exactly what happened – now I’m kind of in a weird state of not having much to do.  One week before Christmas.  It’s nice, do not get me wrong, I heard on the news that it was taking 45 minutes to exit the parking lot at the nearby shopping mall, and I’m very happy not to have to be around people who are so filled with the Christmas spirit that they may may murder you and run over their own grandma to get a parking spot. 

The kids are also in school until THURSDAY.  Their last day of school is THURSDAY.  I cannot imagine that there will be much learning this week.  I also cannot imagine how their teacher is a non-drinker, but that’s just me.  We all cope differently, I suppose.

Personally, I am going to cope with Christmas excitement – my own – by watching Christmas Vacation on the CBC tonight.  I am also now 90 years old, apparently, by using the words “on the CBC”.  I really need to buy the video of this movie, as I watch it every year and every year I become slightly annoyed at the editing of the words “We’re going to have the hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny Fucking Kaye”.  Ah, what a movie. 

Without further adieu, I will time travel back to 2007 and do a meme!  A Christmas meme!  Feel free to answer these questions in the comments or, if you are a blogger, answer them on your blog and put a link to it in the comments.  xoxo

Five Quick Christmas Questions:

1. What is your favourite Christmas beverage?
Wine is pretty much my favourite.  Red wine – it’s festive!  But on Christmas morning I do enjoy a cup of coffee with Bailey’s – the original Bailey’s.  I know they have all sorts of new flavours of Bailey’s, but because I am 90 years old (see also: referring to it as “the CBC”) I like the original.  I loathe even the idea of eggnog.  Just looking at it makes me feel all squeamy.  No amount of rum can fix that beverage.

2. What is your favourite Christmas song?
I love so many Christmas songs.  In no particular order: Last Christmas by Wham!, Santa Baby by anyone at all, Baby It’s Cold Outside – because who doesn’t like a festive song about date rape (“No, no, my answer is no!” “But what’s the sense in hurting my pride?”), White Christmas by Bing Crosby (because I am 90) and Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.  On the more religious side, I love O Holy Night and the Hallelujah song from the Messiah.  I like to sing it loudly, luckily for the people who I live with.  I also love this song, although it continues to make me sob and turn into a blotchy, red faced sentimental idiot.

3. What is your favourite Christmas movie?
Elf, followed closely by Christmas Vacation (it’s on the CBC TONIGHT) and When Harry Met Sally, which I count as a Christmas movie because it involves Christmas, New Year’s, and my husband will only watch it with me during the holidays.  He refuses to watch it more than that because I always get drunk and repeat all the dialogue.  Anyone want to come over and watch with me?  It’s super fun!

4. What is your favourite Christmas dessert?
My mom makes a chocolate Yule log with whipped cream.  It is PRETTY yummy.  I also really like to eat a lot of After Eights and call that dessert.  I need a cleanse just thinking about this.

5. How long do you leave your Christmas decorations up?
Heh.  I usually put the tree up EARLY – like before December 1st – and so by the afternoon of the 25th I want to tear everything down just so I can move through my living room without bumping into something.  I try to wait until after Boxing Day, just to be not such a grinch, but it doesn’t always happen.

If you’d like to participate in this meme, let me know – it’s fun! 

PS My gingerbread recipe is up at the cooking blog – nom nom nom.