The 29th
An email response to Shannon when Cascading Style Sheets were making me more than cranky and her company’s webmaster/website was making her cranky:
YOU hate the web?! You can’t hate the web as much as I do until you’ve sat at your computer until 6am trying to figure out why every browser displays your shiny CSS layout perfectly fine except for Internet Explorer 7 which apparently has its own rules on how math works (100+200+300+200 apparently equals 796 according to Microsoft). So after futzing and messing with code for the better part of four days you’re in an even worse predicament than you were when you began and it’s too late to go back and fix everything so you just start from scratch and essentially triple your quoted production hours (which you won’t be getting triple pay for, of course…not in this universe). So why be so fussy over IE7’s little quirk that ruins your layout and forces your content to the bottom of the screen? It’s just one browser after all, right? Who cares? Well, as of July 2008, that one browser is still being used by roughly 26.4% of the worldwide Internet users and we certainly can’t keep a quarter of the online community from seeing all of those photos of the client’s installed pools, patios and driveways now can we? No, sir. No, we cannot.
In other non-CSS-hating news, I saw a giant turnip today and was told it was tiny compared to a 20 lb. turnip behind the store, and Nathan sent me a story about a cat with wings.
The 28th
Culprits caught in the act: Evidence surfaces of Farrington & Friends planting pyrotechnics.
The 25th
I came across a recipe in a free magazine from Sobeys for Honey Rice Pudding with Spiced Blueberries a while back that literally made me drool looking at the photo. I’ve been in the dessert-making mind-set lately so I bought the ingredients and finally whipped up a batch tonight. I was surprised at how close it ended up looking to the photo in the magazine, and the handful of fresh blueberries I used to top it actually made it look better than just frozen ones if you ask me. This wasn’t the typical “comfort-food” rice pudding I’m accustomed to making either, and it couldn’t be any further from the gluey pudding cup variety if it tried. No, it was a whole new rice pudding experience; one full of rich, smooth pudding made with arborio rice thickened in soy beverage and honey, and blended with plain yogurt before being topped with sweetened blueberries spiced with cinnamon and cardamom.
It was different and good, the sweetness and spices of the blueberries blending with the creamy rice with its touch of tartness from the yogurt. Yes, it was one of the best desserts I think I’ve made in a while. I brought some to my parents but I don’t think it’s something you can leave for a while or it will turn to glop. I also don’t think the recipe should call for as much cardamom as it did so next time I’ll cut that in half to see if it’s any better that way.
Now that I’ve tried this exotic version of rice pudding, who knows how many other rice pudding variations exist out there? Maybe this is only the tip of the rice pudding iceberg! A vast wealth of rice pudding recipes could exist out there in cookbooks, branded grocery store promotional magazines, and on a plethora of recipe websites just waiting for me to discover them.
So many desserts, so little time…
The 24th
When I got up to go to breakfast today, rows of little, spent air bombs were found planted on either side of the walkway which explains what the drunk dude from the night before was doing on his knees in the front yard. And to further explain the 5 a.m. cacophonous light show, there was conspicuously more fireworks in the backyard than were in the collection I had lit last night. In fact, there were a lot of the mystery fireworks, and quite a few that hadn’t even been set off. Fireworks littered the yard, jutting at random from the dirt and grass or embedded in the bucket of sand by the fire pit. Some were massive. With the remaining evidence of such an arsenal it became apparent that a lone drunkard could not be responsible for the early morning chaos. No single individual could have accomplished the coordinated attack that raised such a racket; this was a group effort.
Sources out of Halifax revealed that the group responsible for the covert attack, though not claiming it, was a bunch of Nathan’s friends from The Metric System who were over here playing a wedding downtown. A telltale sign of Mike Farrington’s involvement was an empty Schooner’s bottle amid the other out-of-place empties found amongst the fireworks. The mischievous musicians slipped out in the middle of the night under cover of darkness with the aim of scaring the shit out of those inside the house by filling the yard with as much light, smoke and noise as possible. Mission accomplished but intelligence reports that at least one of their troops was apprehended by police after retreating from the spectacular strike. It is said he was held captive in the drunk tank overnight for his actions. Good enough, if you ask me, and hopefully it was the one who stopped my heart when he pounded on the door.
Word has it that top secret retaliation tactics are being planned by Wiley in direct response to the assault that unduly led to our condemnation in the eyes of the neighbours. I’m anxious to see how well the retribution plot will work out, and even if it doesn’t and their attack goes unanswered at least I got some free fireworks out of the whole thing.
The 23rd
My rinky-dink charcoal grill saw the light of day today when people were invited over for a backyard barbecue and bonfire. I think I’ve used the thing maybe four times since I got it six years ago and I really should use it more because lighting charcoal and grilling meats is my idea of a good time. Sharon, Luke, Nathan and I cooked our meals over a grill that threw off some wicked heat but I had to go inside to eat because the mosquitoes were having a meal of their own at my expense. Once the bonfire got going though it made for a good summer evening spent in the backyard. Neil F. showed up and Sharon introduced us to a Brownies cook-out trick called Spider Dogs where both ends of a hot dog get sliced down in quarters so that the result from bonfire cooking is a spider-like transformation. Unfortunately, in the dark it was tough for me to gauge how far along my Spider Dog was before I realize it was burnt to a crisp. Oh, well. I don’t like hot dogs anyway, this was more for the experience of warping flayed mystery meat than than for consuming it.
One of the neighbours on the street behind us was having a party in their backyard that was rising in volume as the night wore on. It was fine but we out-louded them from time to time by lighting a bunch of fireworks to the delight of both parties. Greg and a friend of his showed up later on, and because they missed out on fireworks I lit a few more despite my better judgement of doing so past eleven o’clock. Who knew that all of the fireworks fun would turn into ill-fated irony several hours later?
As I’m prone to do, I stayed up pretty late and decided to have a shower before bed to wash the campfire stink off of me. In a freshly-cleaned state I went to get the cat from my office to take him into my room for the night. As soon as the room went dark behind me I heard a rapping at my window which startled me and the cat, who gave me a look as if to say, “What the fuck was THAT?!”
What the fuck was that, indeed. The idea of someone hanging out in the yard by my window in the middle of the night was creepy to say the least. I peeked out the front door’s window and saw a dude stumbling from around the side of the house, plenty drunk by the looks of it, doing some pretty fancy wandering in the front yard. He fell to his knees at one point on the walkway with his back to me doing who knows what before disappearing around the other side of the house. I gave it a minute and peeked out again to see what the drunk was up to but he was nowhere to be seen. I opened the inside door into the front porch to get a better look when suddenly he raced out from the bushes by the driveway straight towards the porch door.
I swiftly ducked inside and slammed the inside door shut, cautiously looking out the window to see the guy on the step where he proceeded to pound both his fists against the porch door repeatedly, effectively scaring the shit out of both me and the cat. At this point I had had enough. I didn’t know what this lunatic was up to and decided it was time to call the cops. Suddenly the windows flashed with light and a barrage of explosions shook the neighbourhood at five in the morning. Someone had managed to light a LOT of fireworks in the yard, and as I looked for the non-emergency police number Nathan was at the top of the stairs asking what the hell was going on. I hadn’t the faintest clue, other than someone was doing a good job of making a shitload of noise, and all I could think about was that the neighbours were going to blame us for this, thinking it was us lighting MORE fireworks.
The cops showed up pretty much immediately, I don’t think my pulse had even slowed by the time a cruiser sailed down the street. Needless to say, I was pretty unimpressed by the whole thing even though, I must admit, it was a damn good prank. But holy shit that dude charging up and pounding on the door nearly made my heart stop. I thought he was going to come through the door into the porch, break down the inside door, and give me a fancy beating for no apparent reason.
The 17th
The day of shooting I wasn’t looking forward to arrived and I found myself on the Stavert Shore, err, shore with Mark and Neil to shoot some scenes for Neil’s adaptation of Victory. We were out in the boat again, me and Mark with the combined rowboat skills of a one-armed drunk with a drink, and while I wouldn’t go so far as to say we were stranded I will just say that it was much easier for Neil to wade out and get us. The water was so shallow that he just walked out to the boat up to his knees and towed us to shore. Yup, sad.
When Neil didn’t have me pretending to retch my guts out all over the beach or have Mark rolling around in the muck and seaweed, he had the two of us getting drenched with the garden hose up in the yard. The scene will end up being hilarious in the end but it made for one cold afternoon of shooting. I guess should be thankful that we got that scene out of the way in August as opposed to sometime October or November. I can only imagine what else he has in store for us. Mud wrestling? Skydiving? Ditch digging? Who knows?
The 16th
Greg, Melissa and I were driving along the highway on our way to Tyne Valley when we happened along a giant, inflatable penis with balloons tied to it in someone’s front yard. Not exactly something one tends to see every day.
Sweetheart Jim & The Brothers Grimm were playing at The Landing, and I get a little jealous every time I go there because Tyne Valley has this great little pub yet S’side does not. Maybe I should stop complaining and just open my own damn pub. That’s got “good idea” written all over it. But if I did, I could make sure I have place mats with odd ads on them like the one that advertised a store that carries “Bears and Other Stuff”. A succinct slogan for a very select clientele, I’m guessing.
The 12th
I spent part of my evening in a rowboat with Mark and lots of mosquitoes on the calm waters of North Bedeque, wearing an eye patch and wondering if I’d end up in the drink without a life jacket while Neil videotaped another scene for a new movie of his. Thankfully, we didn’t get attacked by ducks, we three managed to stay in the boat and not drown, and we missed the rain falling from rumbling clouds by only a few minutes.
The rest of the night involved shooting scenes in my dark living room where I continued to wear an eye patch, speak in some horribly inconsistent and unconvincing bastardized British accent, and do my best to recite lines on the spot from highlighted passages in a paperback copy of Joseph Conrad’s Victory. You know, a typical evening that most people have.
The 11th
Today Nathan started tearing down the barn in the backyard with Greg’s help, and he asked me to take a few photos for posterity’s sake. As decrepit as the old thing was, it will be odd sitting on the back step enjoying a cup of coffee without it filling out the backyard landscape. And all of those sneakin’ cats and skunks won’t have a place to hang out, screw, or fight in any more. Though, it will make for one heck of a larger yard in the end, and provide lots of room for backyard-type activities. Speaking of which…
Tonight the first ever backyard fire was lit here and hopefully it won’t be the last one this summer. The weather was mild, the night was calm, the mosquitoes stayed at bay, and the old tire rim was crammed full of wood from the old barn. After Tom, Tammy, Mike, Patrick, Greg, Melissa and Crystal showed up the fire got going with some gentle coaxing, whereupon many polystyrene wieners and dozens of marshmallows were roasted. Mostly of the marshmallows were roasted by me with a special roasting stick I made from an old branch to which I affixed a lobster meat pick using a dozen or so staples. Just call me MacGuyver.
Neil showed up for a bit, too, to enjoy a fire that seemed to mark the tearing down of the barn, and both Patrick and Melissa’s end of holidays on PEI. I tried to make the fire as big and burn-y as possible so as to burn up as much barn wood as I could but when the grass started catching fire I figured piling wood over three feet high in a one-foot wide rim was probably a bad idea.
The 10th
I finally did something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time which was to go see a show at The Indian River Festival. I picked up Melissa and we headed to St. Mary’s Church to see a split show with Nathan, Tim Chaisson and Saddle River. The weather was nice for a change and made for a pleasant evening to wander around the cemetery before the show to snap some pics of the statues and tombstones.
That uniquely comforting antique “church smell” wafted out through the doors as we stood in line to pick up our tickets. The sun streamed through the church windows providing a soft light that gave the impressive architecture and amazing woodwork inside a beautiful glow. I’d seen pictures of the church’s interior when I designed a site for the festival years ago but had not seen it in person until tonight. It’s really something to see, especially as the quality of the light shifted throughout the evening into the night. You can’t appreciate it without actually being there.
I had also heard that the church’s acoustics were fantastic, too, but even though instruments like the piano and fiddle had a rich quality in the church, the sound for everyone was way too low for the entire show. Kind of a disappointment but I enjoyed the show all the same.
The 9th
With but a half hour to spare*, Melissa, Natalie and I managed to squeeze in one game of bowling (*no pun intended) before the pin monkey turned off the Great Big Sea and waited for us to return our shoes. Natalie destroyed us by getting lots of spares and a couple of strikes but that’s not saying much seeing as we’re all terrible bowlers in the first place.
After the bowling option was exhausted we were left to figure what the hell to do with the rest of our night. Chinese food was the next option we followed through on (seemingly always the default “what now” activity) before heading over to Dooly’s where we sat around chatting for a bit while pool, off-track betting, VLT gambling, and televised Olympic coverage happened all around us. I was craving chocolate and headed over to the vending machine where a Skor bar caught my fancy. I had $1.20 in my pocket, just five cents short of the ticket price, and had to borrow a shiny nickel from Melissa. Then with my $1.25 in the machine it refused to spit out the D1 selection I kept punching in until I realized it was asking for ten more cents even though all of the bars were clearly marked as $1.25. Back to Melissa for another dime and finally my D1 selection took hold only to have York Peppermint Patties fall from the shelf instead of the Skor bar I wanted in the now-obvious D2 row. I guess I’ve turned into a dumbass that can’t properly follow basic instructions on how to operate a simple vending machine. Oh well, the peppermint patties were still good.
Bored of Dooly’s and the dry air, I remembered that since we have two-liter plastic bottles of pop here now that I could finally try the Mentos and Diet Coke rocket trick I’ve seen on YouTube and the teevee. To my surprise, both Melissa and Natalie wanted to participate in this immature experiment so we hit up Needs for a couple of bottles of diet cola and a package of The Freshmaker to see if I could get the rocket to take flight. After a couple of tries I unfortunately wasn’t able to achieve liftoff or much of anything really except for some fizzing and rolling across the Three Oaks parking lot. Looks like I’ll have to do some more research into the scientific methods used for generating enough thrust to launch a plastic bottle missile using nothing but a violent stream of frothy diet cola.
The 6th
Melissa being home means one thing for sure: at some point I’ll be going to bingo. Tonight was the night and the hottest bingo going was happening on the waterfront at Bingo World, the self-proclaimed “friendly bingo”. And, you know what? They’re not making any false claims seeing as the woman seated at our table was very nice and helpful for a Bingo newb such as myself. It truly was “The Friendly Bingo” and not “The Aloof Bingo” Melissa said it could have been.
Melissa, her sister with the gammy foot, Tessa, and me did our best to keep up with the caller’s pace, our dabbers ever at the ready, but luck just wasn’t on our side this night. There were a couple of adrenaline-raising close calls for potential bingos but someone else always beat us to the punch. Chris Todd was there and I was really hoping he would win bingo. Even if he beat me by one number I’d be happy just because it’s Chris and he would get to yell out bingo.
The allure of gambling on the weak-minded such as myself was everywhere but the even greater temptation of the Michael’s pizza got the better of me so I stood in line at the very end to be the recipient of the last “piece” of pizza which actually constituted three (what I would more aptly call) pizza “fingers” or “slivers” on a paper plate. Sort of disappointing but regardless of shape it was still pizza in the end and my bingo pizza fingers were tasty all the same.
The 5th
Melissa and I had some flatzas at Pizza Delight and then decided to head out for a walk which took us down along the boardwalk. She spotted this snail moseying his way across the damp boards, and I managed to get a pretty good shot of the slimy guy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one these guys with a yellow shell but, then again, I don’t exactly see many snails to begin with.
Just when P.D. wasn’t enough I grabbed some Wendy’s annnnd then some Tim’s cookies in my attempt to hit every open fast food joint on the way back home. So much for a nice walk to work off dough and cheese.
The 4th
It must be nice to have connections. The guy in the hat is a buddy of mine named Patrick who’s a movie make-up/special effects guy, and I think the other dude is a make-up buddy of his who works on SNL. When Pat was visiting here last month he showed me this photo, and told me about going to SNL and getting backstage to see his friend who then brought him onto Conan’s set. Lucky bugger. Even with the classic furniture covered over, I’d be as giddy as a schoolgirl if I was able to sit on Conan’s couch. Actually, I’d be excited to simply be standing outside of 30 Rock or in New York City for that matter. Come to think of it, I’d be excited to even be out of the country for once in my life. Hell…I’d be excited to be anywhere but Summerside for a change.
The 3rd
Today was the day for the annual Grant family reunion but due to the crappy weather they played it safe and held it indoors instead of out at Green Park. Grey skies forced everyone into the basement of the Ellerslie Anglican Church which was fine but when compared to a big park along the shore it pales in comparison. There weren’t any mosquitoes, though. At least it had that much going for it.
Being my regular anti-social self, I wandered upstairs into the church to take pictures of the only church I’ve ever really attended in my life, and that was only when I was a kid on a Sunday that happened to fall while I was staying at my grandparents’ place. When I was in my early teens I think that was when my grandmother started asking if I wanted to go with them instead of just assuming I would. I never had much of a problem going but given the choice I chose to sleep in.
Church was boring anyway and I certainly didn’t have any religious views even back then. Sitting on a hard, wooden bench for an hour and a half early on Sunday morning, sitting/standing upon command, and listening to people mumble and murmur prayers certainly had nothing on sleeping in a cozy, country bed. I couldn’t handle all of the religious stuff by that point anyway so it would be the same as going to an AA meeting as a steadfast non-drinker: pointless. Why show up to hear people talk about stuff I can’t relate to or want to relate to?
One thing I like about the church, though, is the architecture and religious trappings all over the place. The ceiling, pews and other woodwork have always been very beautiful examples of fine craftsmanship. I’ve always admired the stained glass windows and would love to have the “hymn board” on the back wall, as it’s always stood out as the most classic piece in the joint. It would be nostalgic to have it hanging on my wall but it would also have a touch of that church creepiness to it. I mostly just like the look and concept of the removable numbers, and would like to be able to rearrange them myself. The novelty would no doubt wear off pretty quickly, I’m sure.
The gatherings get smaller and smaller every year but there was still plenty of food, of which I ate my fair share. I got to see some of the family I don’t see very often, and Connie was home visiting and was able to be at the picnic so that was nice. I drove up with Dad who had the two mutts in the backseat of the truck and when things were starting to wind down they became the star attraction as everyone passed by them on their way out of the church. Even on the opposite end of the Ellerslie Road I’m sure the two of them could smell molasses cookies in the tin at my grandparents’ house. Spoiled rotten babies.
The 2nd
This morning I grabbed a couple of things at the farmer’s market and then decided to make my way out to St. Peter’s Bay where Shannon had invited a bunch of people out to her place to watch the Blueberry Festival parade and then have a barbecue. I figured I might as well do something with my Saturday and going out there to hang out, grill some meat and see her new-ish place was as good a plan as any.
I had assumed this would have been an all-afternoon type of thing with people hanging around doing the pot luck/barbecue thing (even though it turned out to be a super crappy day for one) so showing up around 2pm wouldn’t have been a problem. After driving the nearly two hours to get there and finding no extra cars in the driveway at all, I quickly realized this little trip and the pork chops I picked up in Ch’town were going to be a waste.
Well, not completely. While I did miss the barbecue and most of the people, I did thankfully get a nice cold plate from the tonne of leftover food and meekly sat to one side on the front porch eating quietly as Shannon chatted with her dad and grandmother. I felt pretty ridiculous but you’d think with the amount of times I’m late for stuff I’d be used to it by now.
After a bit, her dad and grandmother headed back home and Charley (her dog) came out to join us on the porch. It was a pretty dreary afternoon, I was hoping to take some nice photos of the bay since her place has such a great view, but all I took a picture of really was this gross spider on the porch next to me. I didn‘t even take a picture of Charley who was sitting right in front of me.
After she gave me a bit of tour of the house and renovations we hung out chatting for a while, watching cyclists and listening to their drifting conversations as they passed by the house, until I felt like I had taken up enough of her valuable weekend time and decided to hit the road for home. Well, not quite for home since I planned to take Shannon’s advice and hit the Thai restaurant in Ch’town on my way back. Plus I also made a road-side detour somewhere between her place and Ch’town along St. Peter’s Road to take some pictures.
I spotted this teal and pink, run-down building on the way up and needed to snap some pictures on the way back. The long, strip of a building with its dilapidated overhang and weathered walls was book-ended by a similar building far off to the right in brown with the name Spoke Wheel across the front and by a creepy old house on the left that seemed fit for a Bates. At one time this was Chubby’s Roadhouse and Bud’s Diner & Ice Cream. Now it’s a ’50s-looking throwback with yellowed curtains and faded signs hanging in the windows. Pretty classic indeed. I’d love to get my hands on some of the cut-out wooden letters or even get inside to see what sort of junk might be hiding inside.
Shannon’s suggestion to get Thai for dinner was a good one. I ordered some shrimp pad thai and some dumplings, sat back in the tiny dining room taking in the wood paneling and exotic Thai decorations, photos and magazines until my perfectly spicy and delicious meal arrived, satisfying my craving for food other than Pizza Delight or China Star.
Even though my mini-roadtrip made for a bit of an awkward arrival and a missed barbecue, I still enjoyed getting out of town, going someplace different for a change, relaxing by the bay, filling my belly with spicy noodles and coming home to open the package of something I’ve been excited to get my mitts on for years.
Yes, today I bought my copy of Freakazoid! - Season One (the only copy at FutureShop, I might add) and can now ditch my crappy old VHS copies in favour of DVDs that pristinely capture the oddities and wackiness of Freakazoid with all of his merry friends and dastardly foes. Smack me with a hannnnn-dle!
The 1st
I drove up to Ch’town with Greg and Charlotte this evening, meeting up with Tracy for a bit o’ The Churchill Arms’ hearty goodness before heading over to Baba’s for the night where Nathan, with Dale and Tom, was playing a split show with Christina Martin. At the end of her set she asked for some volunteers to go up to click drumsticks together as a makeshift percussion section. Chris was there and I, sort of as a joke thinking he wouldn’t, suggested that he get up and join in with the volunteers on the dance floor. Without a moment’s hesitation he jumped up and grabbed those sticks to clickity-clack along with the song. Gotta love Chris’ enthusiasm.
Chris was all over the dance floor tonight actually. At one point during Nathan’s set this girl, who was crazy-blitzed out of her mind, was dancing up a lone storm of weirdness until Chris flanked her and initiated some close-proximity stealth moves. She was so far off in the Land of Fluffy Rainbows that she didn’t even notice him doing his Chris dance up close and personal mere inches behind her. That is, until she turned around and Chris would cover up and pretend like he wasn’t dancing next to her at all. But once she started with her wacko writhing dance again he’d jump right back in for another chance for a potential bump and grind. It was pretty classic.
Then when things settled down a bit he grabbed a chair and plunked himself down front and center with the band at his back. Chris couldn’t have been any more Chris-like tonight if he tried. Must be nice to have no inhibitions.
Kira came over to join in the fun we were having at our little booth table where Tracy and Charlotte had been enjoying some foolish jug drink called Sweet Apple or something. At one point after a trip to the men’s, Greg said he noticed a little drawing of Batman high up on the wall above the urinal, and this was immediately something I felt I needed to see and take a picture of.
I now have proof that Batman’s a pervert and likes to watch men pee.
