As with most of my vacations, food has been a big part of this trip. I've done my best to avoid Western cuisine, since a friend who lived in Malaysia informed me that they can't really cook that here. He was right.
What has been good, other than the stuff already documented here, has been local food. Or rather, Asian food of various sorts. Fresh, lots of taste, cheap. Good combination.
The breakfast buffet at the hotel is also good. Cooks in hats and aprons so white it hurts your teeth that make your eggs just the way you want them. And pancakes and waffles, for that matter. Excellent service at the table, almost too frequent, and a fantastic table of fresh fruits.
However, I have been longing for a more authentic Malaysia. Jalan Bukit Bintang, the street my hotel and several of the shopping malls are on, could be the Strip in Vegas, if you threw some dilapitated buildings in the mix and had a bunch of mopeds and piece of shit taxis driving down the street. I've wanted dirty back streets with hole in the wall restaurants, and admittedly I haven't really looked for it.
Today when I walked out of Plaza Low Yat I ended up on just such a street. Throngs of locals and tourists drinking beer or eating noodles, while a band played Smokie's "Living Next Door to Alice", standing on the sidewalk, amps and all. It was like something out of an Asian Twin Peaks, including the midget who was wearing red but didn't talk backwards. That I heard.
I'm going back there tomorrow night, to take pictures, eat and socialize with the locals.
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Maybe it was because you were too busy eating twice your bodyweight in chocolate
Last night I walked a bit further from the hotel, in a sort of loop out and over towards Petronas Towers. Insane traffic was braved (how come there are so few crosswalks here?), pictures of skyscrapers snapped, Swedish hardcore (as in hardcore punk, not porn) discussed.
I had two beers and a sandwich in Rum Jungle, where sharks swam in a tank above the bar, the staff practised their Cocktail bottle flipping skills and what sounded like a 45 rpm recording of a DJ talking being played at 78 rpm (yes, children, that is a vinyl record reference) over various 60s and 70s hits. Hell, the guy even sang along to most of it, through the mic. So weird. Also, the staff were wearing six pieces of flair each. They just weren't expressing themselves enough.
Kept walking and passed a karaoke place. Nothing to get you smiling like drunk sarari men belting out a truly horrific version of The Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations". The security guard at the door stopped me from taking pictures, pointing to a no photos sign. Oh well.
By the way. The Wikipedia entry for sarari man links, amongst other things (ege. Your word is amongst. Amongst), to here. Sad and interesting at the same time. Did you know that Japanese rail companies will charge the families of those who commit suicide in front of a train a fee depending on the severity of disrupted traffic?
Right now I'm in MOF, a Japanese café. I ordered a milkshake and a small pastry. My order unleashed a flurry of activity behind the counter. One guy did the shake, with the kind of meticulous attention to detail that characterizes most things Japanese. The result was not so much a milkshake as the idea of what a milkshake should look like. In the 50s, in an American Diner. Say, Jack Rabbit Slims.
The work that went into the shake was nothing compared to the pastry, though. When I ordered it I thought they only had the one, since there was only one in the glass top counter. I should have noticed that there was only one of every single pastry. So two guys in crisp white uniforms made my pastry. From scratch. It was sort of a waffle thingie, with chocolate filling. Mmm...filling...
The café is in Pavilion, a fairly upscale shopping mall. I managed to score a couple of sneakers for 200 kronor and some gifts for various people. I walked around and gawked in a very touristy fashion at ridiculously expensive art and furniture and home decor. You know, in the kind of store where the staff ignore you unless you walk in wearing a Saville Row suit, waving a big wad of cash around.
Interestingly enough, one of the most swanky art stores was playing Richard Cheese over their speakers. I wonder if it was ironic or if they really didn't have a clue.
I had two beers and a sandwich in Rum Jungle, where sharks swam in a tank above the bar, the staff practised their Cocktail bottle flipping skills and what sounded like a 45 rpm recording of a DJ talking being played at 78 rpm (yes, children, that is a vinyl record reference) over various 60s and 70s hits. Hell, the guy even sang along to most of it, through the mic. So weird. Also, the staff were wearing six pieces of flair each. They just weren't expressing themselves enough.
Kept walking and passed a karaoke place. Nothing to get you smiling like drunk sarari men belting out a truly horrific version of The Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations". The security guard at the door stopped me from taking pictures, pointing to a no photos sign. Oh well.
By the way. The Wikipedia entry for sarari man links, amongst other things (ege. Your word is amongst. Amongst), to here. Sad and interesting at the same time. Did you know that Japanese rail companies will charge the families of those who commit suicide in front of a train a fee depending on the severity of disrupted traffic?
Right now I'm in MOF, a Japanese café. I ordered a milkshake and a small pastry. My order unleashed a flurry of activity behind the counter. One guy did the shake, with the kind of meticulous attention to detail that characterizes most things Japanese. The result was not so much a milkshake as the idea of what a milkshake should look like. In the 50s, in an American Diner. Say, Jack Rabbit Slims.
The work that went into the shake was nothing compared to the pastry, though. When I ordered it I thought they only had the one, since there was only one in the glass top counter. I should have noticed that there was only one of every single pastry. So two guys in crisp white uniforms made my pastry. From scratch. It was sort of a waffle thingie, with chocolate filling. Mmm...filling...
The café is in Pavilion, a fairly upscale shopping mall. I managed to score a couple of sneakers for 200 kronor and some gifts for various people. I walked around and gawked in a very touristy fashion at ridiculously expensive art and furniture and home decor. You know, in the kind of store where the staff ignore you unless you walk in wearing a Saville Row suit, waving a big wad of cash around.
Interestingly enough, one of the most swanky art stores was playing Richard Cheese over their speakers. I wonder if it was ironic or if they really didn't have a clue.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Photography is the recording of strangeness and beauty with beguiling precision
Go mopeds go!
Larry thought being out of focus was a pain in the ass
Average snack counter in Kuala Lumpur
No one was going to miss Daniel's cook colleague. Slice and dice
Blog owner photographed by Japanese geek.Who looked at blog owner's camera with disdain
Optimus was outnumbered two to one
Dylan was pleased with how the Lego house took shapeTwo quick things.
1. Skyscrapers rule
2. I sat down and spoke with some skateboarders today, after snapping some pictures of them. Turned out one of them was a huge fan of Refused, Millencolin and Breach. Good man. He wasn't on FaceBook though, so a pox on him.
1. Skyscrapers rule
2. I sat down and spoke with some skateboarders today, after snapping some pictures of them. Turned out one of them was a huge fan of Refused, Millencolin and Breach. Good man. He wasn't on FaceBook though, so a pox on him.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The history of man is a series of conspiracies to win from nature some advantage without paying for it
Today I spent a few hours at Waitangi, the grounds where the Declaration of Independence of New Zealand was signed, as well as the Treaty of Waitangi, the treaty between the English and the Maori tribes. For the Maori, this is basically sacred ground, and it is the birthplace of the New Zealand nation as we know it.
Waitangi is situated by the Bay of Islands, four hours north of Auckland, on the North Island, next to Paihia, where I'm staying. All the little towns along the bay are ridiculously focused on tourism, and I have never seen so many hotels, resorts and bed n breakfast places in one place as there are in Paihia. Five, six, seven in a row on some streets. There is basically no other industry here except tourism.
To my eyes, Allegra House takes the cake. Along with a few other places its on the top of a massive hill overlooking the bay, and the rooms are excellent. Better than most of the hotels I've stayed in over the years, except for the insulation which, like the rest of New Zealand, is really bad. If you ever go here you could definitely do worse than staying here.
Allegra House on the right
I took a tour at Waitangi, which basically consisted of listening to a Maori guide speaking about the history of his people and the details of the treaty. We were seated in Te Whare Runanga, which is the only meeting house in New Zealand dedicated to all the Maori tribes. Usually they belong to one tribe or even one chief. Te Whare Runanga was finished on February 6th, 1940, exactly 100 years after the treaty was signed.
Lawrence's face paint session at McDonalds had gone horribly wrong
He also spoke of the history of the Maori, who arrived in New Zealand or Aotearoa (the land of the long white cloud) around 1000 years ago in large, ocean-going catamaran canoes. They had left their Polynesian islands with the express purpose of finding new land that could sustain enough people to found a new culture. Once they found Aotearoa they started calling themselves Maori and brought over more of their kinsmen. The south island was deemed too cold, and all the tribes except one chose the north island to settle on. The guide said "We tried convincing them it was too cold, but it didn't work".
I poked around the area a bit more, had kick-ass French toast for lunch and then walked back to Paihia, which was a fairly long walk along the beach and then up the hill where Allegra House sits. Now I'm looking forward to a quiet night in, with my laptop and my book and the TV. Tomorrow, depending on the weather, might be more of the same or another walk.
Waitangi is situated by the Bay of Islands, four hours north of Auckland, on the North Island, next to Paihia, where I'm staying. All the little towns along the bay are ridiculously focused on tourism, and I have never seen so many hotels, resorts and bed n breakfast places in one place as there are in Paihia. Five, six, seven in a row on some streets. There is basically no other industry here except tourism.
To my eyes, Allegra House takes the cake. Along with a few other places its on the top of a massive hill overlooking the bay, and the rooms are excellent. Better than most of the hotels I've stayed in over the years, except for the insulation which, like the rest of New Zealand, is really bad. If you ever go here you could definitely do worse than staying here.
Allegra House on the rightI took a tour at Waitangi, which basically consisted of listening to a Maori guide speaking about the history of his people and the details of the treaty. We were seated in Te Whare Runanga, which is the only meeting house in New Zealand dedicated to all the Maori tribes. Usually they belong to one tribe or even one chief. Te Whare Runanga was finished on February 6th, 1940, exactly 100 years after the treaty was signed.
Lawrence's face paint session at McDonalds had gone horribly wrongHe also spoke of the history of the Maori, who arrived in New Zealand or Aotearoa (the land of the long white cloud) around 1000 years ago in large, ocean-going catamaran canoes. They had left their Polynesian islands with the express purpose of finding new land that could sustain enough people to found a new culture. Once they found Aotearoa they started calling themselves Maori and brought over more of their kinsmen. The south island was deemed too cold, and all the tribes except one chose the north island to settle on. The guide said "We tried convincing them it was too cold, but it didn't work".
I poked around the area a bit more, had kick-ass French toast for lunch and then walked back to Paihia, which was a fairly long walk along the beach and then up the hill where Allegra House sits. Now I'm looking forward to a quiet night in, with my laptop and my book and the TV. Tomorrow, depending on the weather, might be more of the same or another walk.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Because first impressions...last
Day one in New Zealand, because yesterday didn't really count.
My initial thought was "its like the US". This was mostly based on the sidewalks, which are made of the same sort of concrete slabs here as there. I think this was the jetlag infecting my brain, yesterday.
Her mortal soul is leagues behind her, being reeled in on some ghostly umbilical down the vanished wake of the plane that brought her here, hundreds of thousands of feet above the Atlantic. Souls can't move that quickly, and are left behind, and must be awaited, upon arrival, like lost luggage.
William Gibson, Pattern Recognition
Parts of my soul luggage has arrived today, though frayed and disorganised. Some pants missing. Or maybe someone else's pants mixed in with mine.
Those similarities I saw were only surface, attributes that are the only ones visible if you go by in a car, quickly. Or walk around jetlagged. Today I noticed differences instead.
Door locks turn the other way to lock the door. Away from the lock mechanism. Weird. People seem generally friendly, unlike the US where its mostly a frontand unlike Sweden where everybody hides behind walls of quiet politeness. Beer and wine is sold at the supermarket. Beer is about as expensive as in Sweden, which was a surprise. The tap water tastes of chlorine to me, so I have to buy the bottled stuff. And supposedely the water in the sink and the toilet twirls the wrong way, as Bart Simpson once found out. Haven't really checked that out yet.
Tonight was spent at Munday Mussel Madness at a local restaurant, where you get a kilo of mussels for 10 dollars, roughly equal to 50 Swedish kronor. A good deal. I had never had mussels before, so it was interesting. Not an awesome culinary experience by any means, but good food. Could have used more garlic.
The madness is a bit more evident than the mussels.
Tomorrow, exploring Auckland's downtown area, and going to the museum to see a haka. I'm planning on doing some reading and writing at a café or two. Vacationing at its best.
Oh. My brother and his girl recently got engaged. Apparently my mother screamed out loud when she heard the news. But no pressure on me, no no.
My initial thought was "its like the US". This was mostly based on the sidewalks, which are made of the same sort of concrete slabs here as there. I think this was the jetlag infecting my brain, yesterday.
Her mortal soul is leagues behind her, being reeled in on some ghostly umbilical down the vanished wake of the plane that brought her here, hundreds of thousands of feet above the Atlantic. Souls can't move that quickly, and are left behind, and must be awaited, upon arrival, like lost luggage.
William Gibson, Pattern Recognition
Parts of my soul luggage has arrived today, though frayed and disorganised. Some pants missing. Or maybe someone else's pants mixed in with mine.
Those similarities I saw were only surface, attributes that are the only ones visible if you go by in a car, quickly. Or walk around jetlagged. Today I noticed differences instead.
Door locks turn the other way to lock the door. Away from the lock mechanism. Weird. People seem generally friendly, unlike the US where its mostly a frontand unlike Sweden where everybody hides behind walls of quiet politeness. Beer and wine is sold at the supermarket. Beer is about as expensive as in Sweden, which was a surprise. The tap water tastes of chlorine to me, so I have to buy the bottled stuff. And supposedely the water in the sink and the toilet twirls the wrong way, as Bart Simpson once found out. Haven't really checked that out yet.
Tonight was spent at Munday Mussel Madness at a local restaurant, where you get a kilo of mussels for 10 dollars, roughly equal to 50 Swedish kronor. A good deal. I had never had mussels before, so it was interesting. Not an awesome culinary experience by any means, but good food. Could have used more garlic.
The madness is a bit more evident than the mussels.Tomorrow, exploring Auckland's downtown area, and going to the museum to see a haka. I'm planning on doing some reading and writing at a café or two. Vacationing at its best.
Oh. My brother and his girl recently got engaged. Apparently my mother screamed out loud when she heard the news. But no pressure on me, no no.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The hardest job kids face today is learning good manners without seeing any
Oh. I forgot. I talked about good manners, and forgot all about the bad. That's very much out of character for me. So here goes.
On Saturday I spent time with very good and very nerdy friends. Having finished the game we were playing, we went to the local pizza/pasta place to grab some food. As we sat there, outside, Triangles, Ribbed For Her Pleasure and I, waiting for our food, Triangles said: “That kid is peeing in the street”.
And he was. Peeing. In the street. While his father stood beside him, watching. For all I know urging him on. The thing is, this is a residential street with an assortment of stores and restaurants, and slopes down towards a bigger road. Sloping down = pee running down.
We ignored this. Tore into our food. Ten minutes passed. Then Triangles says: “That kid is peeing in the street, too”.
I turned around. Again, he was. Peeing. In the street. Another kid. Father by his side. What. The. Hell. Seems like the street in question was a urinal. Very nice.
Is there something I'm missing here? Is it something that parents do, allow their kids to pee in the street? Please tell me. If yes, then I have yet another reason to never have children. That would be reason 138, I think. If no, then I might need to go all The Locker on that street and figure out if it's something that happens there a lot, and investigate further. Then again, we're talking about children peeing in the street, so maybe I should just let it go...
On Saturday I spent time with very good and very nerdy friends. Having finished the game we were playing, we went to the local pizza/pasta place to grab some food. As we sat there, outside, Triangles, Ribbed For Her Pleasure and I, waiting for our food, Triangles said: “That kid is peeing in the street”.
And he was. Peeing. In the street. While his father stood beside him, watching. For all I know urging him on. The thing is, this is a residential street with an assortment of stores and restaurants, and slopes down towards a bigger road. Sloping down = pee running down.
We ignored this. Tore into our food. Ten minutes passed. Then Triangles says: “That kid is peeing in the street, too”.
I turned around. Again, he was. Peeing. In the street. Another kid. Father by his side. What. The. Hell. Seems like the street in question was a urinal. Very nice.
Is there something I'm missing here? Is it something that parents do, allow their kids to pee in the street? Please tell me. If yes, then I have yet another reason to never have children. That would be reason 138, I think. If no, then I might need to go all The Locker on that street and figure out if it's something that happens there a lot, and investigate further. Then again, we're talking about children peeing in the street, so maybe I should just let it go...
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Garlic bread? Garlic bread? Garlic? Bread? Am I hearin' you right? Garlic bread?
I like cooking. I'm not a ninja in the kitchen, on any level, but I like cooking. I've also done some baking over the years. My grand mother's chocolate cake, the kick-ass bread Mah Girl's mom has taught us, and the occassional muffin.
Yesterday Mah Girl turned 30 - hip hip hurrah! - and I had to bake a cake. Why? She made me one for my thirtieth. With the little bearded smiley I sign with on top, in chocolate Smarties. I was pleasantly surprised, and I've felt the pressure for three and half years.
I didn't really bake one. I made one. From pre-fab cake stuff. With chocolate pudding, vanilla custard and cream. It turned out very nicely. Especially today, with all the ingredients having spent 24 hours slowly melding together. Yummy yummy, I've got love in my tummy. Harry is a happy camper today.
Tonight we will celebrate Mah Girl properly, with a visit to Garlic & Shots with some friends, and then off for drinks at Lilla Hotellbaren. Come by Lilla after eight or nine, if you wanna join!
Yesterday Mah Girl turned 30 - hip hip hurrah! - and I had to bake a cake. Why? She made me one for my thirtieth. With the little bearded smiley I sign with on top, in chocolate Smarties. I was pleasantly surprised, and I've felt the pressure for three and half years.
I didn't really bake one. I made one. From pre-fab cake stuff. With chocolate pudding, vanilla custard and cream. It turned out very nicely. Especially today, with all the ingredients having spent 24 hours slowly melding together. Yummy yummy, I've got love in my tummy. Harry is a happy camper today.
Tonight we will celebrate Mah Girl properly, with a visit to Garlic & Shots with some friends, and then off for drinks at Lilla Hotellbaren. Come by Lilla after eight or nine, if you wanna join!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
How lies have fed your legend, Harry!
I was supposed to have the aftertaste of pecan pie in my mouth now. And my stomach full of steak. And pecan pie on top of the steak. But no. Harry had to give me attitude.
Harry, you ask? My stomach. Hairy Harry. Who is gay.
And before you even go there, it's the only part of my body I have named. Because he talks. Because he has a personality. And because he can hold a grudge. I have taught him well.
He has a partner too. Tommy. Tommy the Tummy. They speak to each other. We're pretty sure they run around the apartment at night and do all sorts of mischief. That they have wild monkey sex on the couch. That's what the stains are from, yes of course.
Usually I like Harry. We've been friends for a long time. Today, though, I'm holding the grudge. He'd better get his act together by tomorrow.
Harry, you ask? My stomach. Hairy Harry. Who is gay.
And before you even go there, it's the only part of my body I have named. Because he talks. Because he has a personality. And because he can hold a grudge. I have taught him well.
He has a partner too. Tommy. Tommy the Tummy. They speak to each other. We're pretty sure they run around the apartment at night and do all sorts of mischief. That they have wild monkey sex on the couch. That's what the stains are from, yes of course.
Usually I like Harry. We've been friends for a long time. Today, though, I'm holding the grudge. He'd better get his act together by tomorrow.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Windows are made in your mind
It's been a good weekend. Good people. Good food. Good stuff.
Had meaningful conversations with some people. Talked about letting your guard down, which circumstances can trick you into doing and it turns out to be a good thing. Talked about not having children, ever, and the things you can do to live by that. Made lasagna. Ate lasagna. Marveled at how good a lasagna we make. Played some Lego Batman. Felt like a child again, which is a good thing. Which I should do more often. Listened to new Bat For Lashes songs. And Kongh. Lots and lots of Kongh. Read the 20th anniversary issue of Empire, which is guest edited by Stephen Spielberg. Realized, once again, that there are too many movies and not enough time. Worked on monster Kongh interview, soon up here. Hugged the girl. Watched lots and lots of TV. Hugged some more.
Now, sleep and dream. Tomorrow, off into the City of Masks. More on that tomorrow.
Had meaningful conversations with some people. Talked about letting your guard down, which circumstances can trick you into doing and it turns out to be a good thing. Talked about not having children, ever, and the things you can do to live by that. Made lasagna. Ate lasagna. Marveled at how good a lasagna we make. Played some Lego Batman. Felt like a child again, which is a good thing. Which I should do more often. Listened to new Bat For Lashes songs. And Kongh. Lots and lots of Kongh. Read the 20th anniversary issue of Empire, which is guest edited by Stephen Spielberg. Realized, once again, that there are too many movies and not enough time. Worked on monster Kongh interview, soon up here. Hugged the girl. Watched lots and lots of TV. Hugged some more.
Now, sleep and dream. Tomorrow, off into the City of Masks. More on that tomorrow.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
I'm gonna be sore tomorrow
Today a full-length day with the team I work in. Talk of strategy, product development, the future. Fairly interesting and thought provoking. Afterwards, we played curling. Curling! Boule on ice. Or maybe chess on ice. Whatever. It was fun, and more exhausting than I thought. Now, chili and beer. Sweet. Oh, the pic is good beer, bad beer.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
But I'd trade it all for just a little bit of piece of mind
So here I am, Thursday night, watching Criminal Minds, a semla in my stomach and a smile on my lips. A shitload of things to say, but no real peace of mind to say it.
It's not that I am in a bad place, I'm actually feeling pretty good, but I can't seem to be able to structure what I want to say. There are some things that I feel I need to get out, but they will just have to wait.
For now, a short list of wohoos!
- Faith No More is reuniting. One of my all-time fave bands is playing in Europe again this summer, after a ten year hiatus. Apart from dead bands and The Tea Party, they're the band I thought least likely I would ever get to see again. Wohoo!
- I've bought a new laptop. A Lenovo Ideapad 10-inch. A pretty sweet little machine. Wohoo!
- Tomorrow I'm hopefully getting a load of DVDs from Amazon in the mail, to go with the package already waiting at the post office. We're mostly looking forward to seeing The Escapist. Wohoo!
- I'm currently reading Starbucked, about the rise of Starbucks. Excellent stuff. Wohoo!
- Tomorrow night a bunch of people from work are going out to down ridiculous drinks and get Jakob, who is leaving to go to a small web development company, drunk beyond relief. Wohoo!
What are your wohoos right now?
It's not that I am in a bad place, I'm actually feeling pretty good, but I can't seem to be able to structure what I want to say. There are some things that I feel I need to get out, but they will just have to wait.
For now, a short list of wohoos!
- Faith No More is reuniting. One of my all-time fave bands is playing in Europe again this summer, after a ten year hiatus. Apart from dead bands and The Tea Party, they're the band I thought least likely I would ever get to see again. Wohoo!
- I've bought a new laptop. A Lenovo Ideapad 10-inch. A pretty sweet little machine. Wohoo!
- Tomorrow I'm hopefully getting a load of DVDs from Amazon in the mail, to go with the package already waiting at the post office. We're mostly looking forward to seeing The Escapist. Wohoo!
- I'm currently reading Starbucked, about the rise of Starbucks. Excellent stuff. Wohoo!
- Tomorrow night a bunch of people from work are going out to down ridiculous drinks and get Jakob, who is leaving to go to a small web development company, drunk beyond relief. Wohoo!
What are your wohoos right now?
Saturday, February 14, 2009
My heart, which is so full to overflowing, has often been solaced and refreshed by music when sick and weary
Today is spent on the couch, hungover, from a formidable evening out yesterday. We started with Eritrean food, with a couple of beers to wash it down. My hands still smell of sauce and injera. Then off to Strand for drinks. Then off to Mosebacke for more drinks. Spoke about beards and music and life. Watched two bands play, one was great, the other...not so much. Though I didn't really pay attention at that point.
Recently I haven't been paying much attention to music at all, save for one band. I bought an armful of CDs a few weeks back, and even though I was efficient enough to transfer them to my iPod right away, I haven't listened to two of them at all.
I've been too occupied with Wintersleep's third release, “Welcome to the Night Sky”. It's...I can't really describe it. Rock? Indie? I reserve a particular loathing for that last word, but it might be the only one that applies. I can hear traces of The Cure, QOTSA and Pearl Jam in what Wintersleep does, but without them actually sounding like those bands at all.
Some of their songs bring tears to my eyes if I'm in the wrong mood. Some of their songs plaster a big stupid grin across my face. Some of their songs should be five minutes longer than they are, so they could just keep going.
I don't think I've been this fascinated by a band since the mid 90s...
I have a list of bands I haven't seen but want to see. It's fairly short now, since I've managed to see most of my fave bands over the years. A part of that list is dedicated to bands that I won't ever get to see. They might be dead, they might have just quit, or, as is the case with Wintersleep, they never play anywhere closer than the UK.
So I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn't get to see them live, ever. March 7th they're playing in Stockholm. I will be there when they open, hanging on the door handle. All fan boy, all the time.
Recently I haven't been paying much attention to music at all, save for one band. I bought an armful of CDs a few weeks back, and even though I was efficient enough to transfer them to my iPod right away, I haven't listened to two of them at all.
I've been too occupied with Wintersleep's third release, “Welcome to the Night Sky”. It's...I can't really describe it. Rock? Indie? I reserve a particular loathing for that last word, but it might be the only one that applies. I can hear traces of The Cure, QOTSA and Pearl Jam in what Wintersleep does, but without them actually sounding like those bands at all.
Some of their songs bring tears to my eyes if I'm in the wrong mood. Some of their songs plaster a big stupid grin across my face. Some of their songs should be five minutes longer than they are, so they could just keep going.
I don't think I've been this fascinated by a band since the mid 90s...
I have a list of bands I haven't seen but want to see. It's fairly short now, since I've managed to see most of my fave bands over the years. A part of that list is dedicated to bands that I won't ever get to see. They might be dead, they might have just quit, or, as is the case with Wintersleep, they never play anywhere closer than the UK.
So I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn't get to see them live, ever. March 7th they're playing in Stockholm. I will be there when they open, hanging on the door handle. All fan boy, all the time.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Not eating meat is a decision, eating meat is an instinct
“Super Bowl Sunday. My place. On the projector. Chili will be served. Chocolate cake will be made. A possibility to kill terrorists before the game. Welcome.”
Now that there is how a text message is supposed to read.
Now that there is how a text message is supposed to read.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
I hate television. I hate it as much as peanuts. But I can't stop eating peanuts
A list of things introduced to my digestive system, mental or physical, today, in fairly chronological order:
- One and a half (1.5) slices of my mother's Christmas bread, which is really just French bread, with ham and cucumber.
- Two (2) Digestive biscuits, with cheese.
- Two (2) vitamin pills.
- One (1) apple.
- One half (0.5) cup of Rooibos tee.
- One and one half (1.5) glass of milk.
- Two (2) cinnamon rolls.
- One (1) chocolate chip cookie from Pepperidge Farms.
- Two (2) summaries of the past weeks of the NFL, in which I got to see the Arizona Cardinals disgrace themselves by handing the New England Patriots a free spot in the play-offs (ege, not dissing the Patriots here, but the Cardinals didn't even put up a fight and it was pathetic).
- One (1) plate of nachos, with ground beef, cheese, salsa, lettuce and garlic sauce.
- One and a half (1.5) bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale.
- One (1) four centilitre glass of Mackmyra whiskey, "Den Första Utgåvan".
- Three (3) pieces of marshallow chocolate candy made by and given to us as a present by Eva.
- One (1) piece of Cornflakes candy, same as above.
- One (1) piece of nougat candy, same as above.
- One (1) cone of strawberry icecream.
- Two and a half (2.5) liters of water (or thereabouts).
- Fourteen (14) episodes of The West Wing.
The water and the episodes were spread out over the day and are not, as such, listed chronologically.
Not an average day, by any accounts, but a very good and relaxing day.
- One and a half (1.5) slices of my mother's Christmas bread, which is really just French bread, with ham and cucumber.
- Two (2) Digestive biscuits, with cheese.
- Two (2) vitamin pills.
- One (1) apple.
- One half (0.5) cup of Rooibos tee.
- One and one half (1.5) glass of milk.
- Two (2) cinnamon rolls.
- One (1) chocolate chip cookie from Pepperidge Farms.
- Two (2) summaries of the past weeks of the NFL, in which I got to see the Arizona Cardinals disgrace themselves by handing the New England Patriots a free spot in the play-offs (ege, not dissing the Patriots here, but the Cardinals didn't even put up a fight and it was pathetic).
- One (1) plate of nachos, with ground beef, cheese, salsa, lettuce and garlic sauce.
- One and a half (1.5) bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale.
- One (1) four centilitre glass of Mackmyra whiskey, "Den Första Utgåvan".
- Three (3) pieces of marshallow chocolate candy made by and given to us as a present by Eva.
- One (1) piece of Cornflakes candy, same as above.
- One (1) piece of nougat candy, same as above.
- One (1) cone of strawberry icecream.
- Two and a half (2.5) liters of water (or thereabouts).
- Fourteen (14) episodes of The West Wing.
The water and the episodes were spread out over the day and are not, as such, listed chronologically.
Not an average day, by any accounts, but a very good and relaxing day.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Money can't buy you happiness. But it can buy you assassins
I pondered this thought today as I stood in line at the local burger joint *points to headline*
Post-party, post-alcohol, I must have food. It is a universal truth. I must have meat. Preferably between two pieces of bread with salad and various condiments.
So after Primator (beer) and friends and The Cock and Newcastle (beer) and laughs and chocolate and Staropramen (beer), I craved food. Off to the burger joint we went.
Christmas Day is the party day (emphasis on "the") in small towns like this, the armpit of Sweden, and there is only one burger joint stupid enough to be open on a night like this. The new burger joint. The one next to the McDonalds, that actually is a serious contender. It was a fuckin' freak show.
Was I ever that annoying when I was 20 and drunk? Did I ever stand in line, screaming at the top of my lungs, that my friend is a cunt and that I need food? Did I ever lick the backpack of the guy standing in front of me (tonight, that would be me)? I don't think so. Why? Because as my girl put it, I have a higher IQ than my age. Which these complete morons do not have.
There should be a license required to have children (and I'm actually serious here, and not that drunk). With something like that in place, I wouldn't have to consider professional hitmen to clean out the gene pool.
Sometimes I understand people that climb to the top of water towers with high powered rifles, I really do.
Post-party, post-alcohol, I must have food. It is a universal truth. I must have meat. Preferably between two pieces of bread with salad and various condiments.
So after Primator (beer) and friends and The Cock and Newcastle (beer) and laughs and chocolate and Staropramen (beer), I craved food. Off to the burger joint we went.
Christmas Day is the party day (emphasis on "the") in small towns like this, the armpit of Sweden, and there is only one burger joint stupid enough to be open on a night like this. The new burger joint. The one next to the McDonalds, that actually is a serious contender. It was a fuckin' freak show.
Was I ever that annoying when I was 20 and drunk? Did I ever stand in line, screaming at the top of my lungs, that my friend is a cunt and that I need food? Did I ever lick the backpack of the guy standing in front of me (tonight, that would be me)? I don't think so. Why? Because as my girl put it, I have a higher IQ than my age. Which these complete morons do not have.
There should be a license required to have children (and I'm actually serious here, and not that drunk). With something like that in place, I wouldn't have to consider professional hitmen to clean out the gene pool.
Sometimes I understand people that climb to the top of water towers with high powered rifles, I really do.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
I have never taken any exercise except sleeping and resting
I read an article today that people that snore have the equivalent of a full workout every night while they (we) sleep.
I'm not really one for working out anymore, so maybe I should give up snoring, on principle alone.
Back when I played football, I worked out three times a week. Went to an actual gym, strapped myself into contraptions the Spanish Inquisition would gladly have used on their victims (no, not a comfy chair), and did whatever it is people do at a gym.
Now I snore. Hell, I did then too, but no working out = more body fat = more snoring. Just the way it is. I need to do something about that body fat soon, and even though that has "New Year's Resolution" written all over it, that just won't happen. We had a Resolution this year, which was to go to the movies more often. We've been about twice a month, which is pretty good. However, that's about as far as I will go with a Resolution.
I need motivation to work out. And I'm not talking about some personal trainer screaming at me. Back in the football days, working out equaled hitting people harder, moving faster. I need that kind of motivation, some sort of goal that's more tangible than "feeling better".
So maybe snoring less is motivating enough? We'll see. The plan is to begin A New Life in 2009. The jury is still out on whether or not it will actually happen, but at least the intent is there.
I'm not really one for working out anymore, so maybe I should give up snoring, on principle alone.
Back when I played football, I worked out three times a week. Went to an actual gym, strapped myself into contraptions the Spanish Inquisition would gladly have used on their victims (no, not a comfy chair), and did whatever it is people do at a gym.
Now I snore. Hell, I did then too, but no working out = more body fat = more snoring. Just the way it is. I need to do something about that body fat soon, and even though that has "New Year's Resolution" written all over it, that just won't happen. We had a Resolution this year, which was to go to the movies more often. We've been about twice a month, which is pretty good. However, that's about as far as I will go with a Resolution.
I need motivation to work out. And I'm not talking about some personal trainer screaming at me. Back in the football days, working out equaled hitting people harder, moving faster. I need that kind of motivation, some sort of goal that's more tangible than "feeling better".
So maybe snoring less is motivating enough? We'll see. The plan is to begin A New Life in 2009. The jury is still out on whether or not it will actually happen, but at least the intent is there.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Game over, man, game over
Today was one of those days where things move from good to bad to good again in the blink of an eye. Well, not really the blink of an eye, but a fairly short time.
It started off well enough, even though I shouldn't have been feeling that well, considering I was up too late last night and what with the stuff that's been going on lately. More on that later.
Then it all went sideways as a problem at work just grew out of proportion. It was all about a process gone horribly, horribly wrong, and about some people standing on the sideline not really noticing that it had gone wrong, and about some people on another sideline overreacting when it did. Through some well-aimed diplomacy (I have a piece of paper tacked to my cubicle wall that says “Diplomacy is the art of telling someone to 'Go to Hell' in such a way that they actually look forward to the trip”) and a lot of running around, I managed to at least partially defuse the situation, and above all sort of who had done what wrong when.
My workday continued to be less than spectacular, and I felt compelled to complain to Mah Girl. As always, she cuts straight to the point.
“Think about good food and good company later. It's going to be LEGEN...wait for it...DARY!”
Instant smile.
So I left work on time, and went downtown to meet the Almighty Steelwheels. The plan was to eat meat and speak nerd. I ate salmon, which wasn't quite right, but others ate meat. And we spoke nerd.
Quote of the night:
“Bill Paxton is the only one ever to have been killed by both an Alien and a Predator. I think about stuff like that all day...”
All is well with the world.
It started off well enough, even though I shouldn't have been feeling that well, considering I was up too late last night and what with the stuff that's been going on lately. More on that later.
Then it all went sideways as a problem at work just grew out of proportion. It was all about a process gone horribly, horribly wrong, and about some people standing on the sideline not really noticing that it had gone wrong, and about some people on another sideline overreacting when it did. Through some well-aimed diplomacy (I have a piece of paper tacked to my cubicle wall that says “Diplomacy is the art of telling someone to 'Go to Hell' in such a way that they actually look forward to the trip”) and a lot of running around, I managed to at least partially defuse the situation, and above all sort of who had done what wrong when.
My workday continued to be less than spectacular, and I felt compelled to complain to Mah Girl. As always, she cuts straight to the point.
“Think about good food and good company later. It's going to be LEGEN...wait for it...DARY!”
Instant smile.
So I left work on time, and went downtown to meet the Almighty Steelwheels. The plan was to eat meat and speak nerd. I ate salmon, which wasn't quite right, but others ate meat. And we spoke nerd.
Quote of the night:
“Bill Paxton is the only one ever to have been killed by both an Alien and a Predator. I think about stuff like that all day...”
All is well with the world.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
I would love to stand here and talk with you... but I'm not going to.
But really, I am.
We decided to fry up some shrimp and halloumi today, and build us some serious sandwiches. When we visited New Orleans in April, we bought a jar of Frank Davis Stricly N'Awlins Barbecued Shrimp Seasoning (try saying that five times in a row, really fast). We've only used it in minor quantities until now.
Tonight eighteen shrimp went in a bag, which I held while Mah Girl poured some seasoning over them. A great big gout of spices exploded into the bag. And out of the bag.
Let me put it this way. I doubt the New Orleans police department uses Mace or pepper spray to subdue criminals. Instead, they visit Frank Davis once a year, buy a truckload of his seasoning, and load up their spray cans. If someone ever tries to invade my home, I know what I'm arming myself with.
The laptop remains dead. Three geeks with oceans and oceans of PC know-how looked at it, hummed and hawed and concluded that the only thing I can do is reinstall Windows (the power of Christ compels you!).
We decided to fry up some shrimp and halloumi today, and build us some serious sandwiches. When we visited New Orleans in April, we bought a jar of Frank Davis Stricly N'Awlins Barbecued Shrimp Seasoning (try saying that five times in a row, really fast). We've only used it in minor quantities until now.
Tonight eighteen shrimp went in a bag, which I held while Mah Girl poured some seasoning over them. A great big gout of spices exploded into the bag. And out of the bag.
Let me put it this way. I doubt the New Orleans police department uses Mace or pepper spray to subdue criminals. Instead, they visit Frank Davis once a year, buy a truckload of his seasoning, and load up their spray cans. If someone ever tries to invade my home, I know what I'm arming myself with.
The laptop remains dead. Three geeks with oceans and oceans of PC know-how looked at it, hummed and hawed and concluded that the only thing I can do is reinstall Windows (the power of Christ compels you!).
It's not really this broken.
I have been a Good Boy and done backups regularly on an external harddrive, and them geeks supplied me with a bagfull of wires and gizmos so I can pull the drive and extract whichever files aren't backed up, since reinstalling Windows will wipe all of it. I tried today, but couldn't even figure out which wire goes into which part of the drive. And I'm supposed to be a technical boy (again with the microwave). For shame.
Tomorrow I bring all of it to work again, and hope that The Mighty Morphin' Power Geeks can help me, hands-on. Fingers crossed, y'all.
Monday, August 25, 2008
I always say shopping is cheaper than a psychiatrist
I had a shit day today. After a shit weekend.
Don’t get me wrong. I hung out with Mah Girl, cooked some food (fake chili and the kick ass fish stew my parental units taught me), watch all of Spaced and generally kicked back. It could have been an awesome weekend. However, there was a reason for this level of inactivity.
We were supposed to go see Blade Runner: The Final Cut at the movies on Saturday. Then we were supposed to hook up with friends for dinner. All of it cancelled, because some fucking asshole decided to assault someone I really care about. I would pay good money to be able to turn back time and be on a certain street at five a.m. on Saturday morning with a baseball bat. Or a chainsaw.
This has not improved my faith in the inner goodness of mankind.
So my mood was bad enough when I went to work this morning. Then the day turned out to be one of those where things just go wrong. Horribly, inexplicably, blood spillingly wrong. I managed to wrench two small victories out of the absolute chaos that was work, and when I got home I soothed both myself and Mah Girl (who had a traumatic going-back-to-school day) with sushi and fries (yes, it’s a viable combination) and the awe-inspiring chocolate squares left over from a colleague’s party this weekend (thanks, Pretty Karl).
Mmmm....Joker....*drools*
It wasn’t enough. So, I turned to the glory that is Amazon. Now a massive package is on the way, loaded with books, movies, TV show box sets and some comics. Will list it another day. I feel better, though not good.
People who say you can’t buy happiness just don’t know where to shop.
Don’t get me wrong. I hung out with Mah Girl, cooked some food (fake chili and the kick ass fish stew my parental units taught me), watch all of Spaced and generally kicked back. It could have been an awesome weekend. However, there was a reason for this level of inactivity.
We were supposed to go see Blade Runner: The Final Cut at the movies on Saturday. Then we were supposed to hook up with friends for dinner. All of it cancelled, because some fucking asshole decided to assault someone I really care about. I would pay good money to be able to turn back time and be on a certain street at five a.m. on Saturday morning with a baseball bat. Or a chainsaw.
This has not improved my faith in the inner goodness of mankind.
So my mood was bad enough when I went to work this morning. Then the day turned out to be one of those where things just go wrong. Horribly, inexplicably, blood spillingly wrong. I managed to wrench two small victories out of the absolute chaos that was work, and when I got home I soothed both myself and Mah Girl (who had a traumatic going-back-to-school day) with sushi and fries (yes, it’s a viable combination) and the awe-inspiring chocolate squares left over from a colleague’s party this weekend (thanks, Pretty Karl).
Mmmm....Joker....*drools*It wasn’t enough. So, I turned to the glory that is Amazon. Now a massive package is on the way, loaded with books, movies, TV show box sets and some comics. Will list it another day. I feel better, though not good.
People who say you can’t buy happiness just don’t know where to shop.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Burning bridges, building bunkers
I rarely remember my dreams. When I do they’re almost always nightmares. I am a very well-adjusted young man (anyone has a problem with me using young to describe myself? No? Excellent).
Last night I dreamt I was standing on a cliff or something rock-ish, watching a long rope bridge across a gorge. Yes, I admit, I expected thugees to appear, chasing an archeologist with a lopsided smile and a wrinkled fedora. But no such luck. Instead the thing started burning, and tumbled into the gorge. Looking down I realized I held a can of gasoline in my hand. Not the gas station kind, but the honest to goodness olds-school arsonist kind, round and with a spout. Then I woke up.
Shadow: What did you do to that little girl?
Ronald: It's not fair, Shadow.
Shadow: What did you do to that little girl?
Ronald: I burned her.
Shadow: You burned her. What do you do to old ladies, Ronald?
Ronald: Burn them.
Shadow: And what about the world, Ronald? What would you like to do with the whole world?
Ronald: Burn it all.
So am I harboring arsonist fantasies? Nope. Am I thinking about burning a bridge or two? The thought has crossed my mind. Today, and other days. More on that some other time.
And some more love at home today.
We made tortillas, and as we learned this weekend, they fall apart easily, just laying there on the plate. I decided it would be a good idea to stick a fork through my first one, holding it shut.
Me: Maybe you should use a fork too?
Mah Girl: Yes. But then you would be right.
Last night I dreamt I was standing on a cliff or something rock-ish, watching a long rope bridge across a gorge. Yes, I admit, I expected thugees to appear, chasing an archeologist with a lopsided smile and a wrinkled fedora. But no such luck. Instead the thing started burning, and tumbled into the gorge. Looking down I realized I held a can of gasoline in my hand. Not the gas station kind, but the honest to goodness olds-school arsonist kind, round and with a spout. Then I woke up.
Shadow: What did you do to that little girl?
Ronald: It's not fair, Shadow.
Shadow: What did you do to that little girl?
Ronald: I burned her.
Shadow: You burned her. What do you do to old ladies, Ronald?
Ronald: Burn them.
Shadow: And what about the world, Ronald? What would you like to do with the whole world?
Ronald: Burn it all.
So am I harboring arsonist fantasies? Nope. Am I thinking about burning a bridge or two? The thought has crossed my mind. Today, and other days. More on that some other time.
And some more love at home today.
We made tortillas, and as we learned this weekend, they fall apart easily, just laying there on the plate. I decided it would be a good idea to stick a fork through my first one, holding it shut.
Me: Maybe you should use a fork too?
Mah Girl: Yes. But then you would be right.
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