The Missing Ingredient

Crimes Against Food: #1 EGGS

2006-05-17T19:42:00.000+10:00

Hey! That guy's poaching those chicken's eggs!

Now don’t get me wrong I’m not against eggs as a whole. JUST THE MASSACRING OF EGGS – breakfast style – AT VARIOUS CAFES.

I enjoy slipping down to various breakfast joints and drinking coffee and eating, well, eggs. Personally I prefer them poached, although I’ve been known to do scrambled – in a magical way.

Generally I have had good luck with my egg pads, but I have been known to stumble across the odd place that still is able to fuck shit up. Hot tip: go here for somewhere that couldn't fuck shit up if it tried.

The problem area for many appears to lay with the yolk, the delicious creamy bit with all the fatty, cholesteroliness in it, i.e. the bit that you don't really want to make taste like a mushy, tastless, paste. In fact, it’s only deliciously creamy when THE YOLK IS NOT COOKED ‘TIL IT’S ROCK FUCKING HARD.

Why does this still happen? It’s a matter of timing and surely that is an essential element in the Chefing industry. Surely it's not hard to find a chef that is able to put eggs into hot water and take them out when the middles are still oozey?! Perhaps I'm asking too much.

Even I, a mere cook, am able to recognise the importance of the poached egg timing. I shall share with you all my secret. EGGS IN TOAST DOWN. That’s it. Once the toast is done so are your eggs. I imagine if I tried to explain to you the chemistry behind the denaturation of the protein in the albumen, thus resulting in a congelled irreversible process, you’d glaze over a little and quite frankly, I wouldn’t blame you. But I don’t need to do that because all you need to know is: EGGS IN TOAST DOWN DAMMIT!

Go forth in pursuit of eggsalence.

xx

New Digs

2006-04-02T13:38:00.000+10:00

Since I moved to Melbourne in 2000 I’ve mostly spent all my time in Richmond. I knew that stich of town like the back of my hand. I knew where to get the best breakfast and coffee. I knew where to get the best take-away. I knew where to drink and was part of the local barfly crew.

I’ve recently moved to Northcote.

I’m a little lost. Can you help me out? I’m just off High St. and I’m not quite au fait with the local gems.

Can you throw a few delights my way?

So far this is what I’ve covered:

NSC – for good bar swell and some good ol’ fasion ‘rock’.
Wesley Anne – Pretty good food. Bad wine list. Good for a Sunday session.
Sigiri – Sri Lankan food is good.
Meine Leibe Pizza – haven’t been, but I hear it’s great. Who doesn’t love a this based pizza.
Wild Yak – good for some steamed buns and this wacky fungi added to their dishes. I like.

Perhaps you’ll notice A LACK OF COFFEE PLACES. Locals, I need some help here! I know where some of you live. Surely there’s a joint ‘round these parts that can brew a strong cup-a-Joe.

I’m also open to other insights round these parts. Let’s face it I love some grub.

It's so hip not to blog since November

2006-03-10T16:23:00.000+11:00

Well hi!

i've been in the depths of controlled internet and no home computer. NOT ANYMORE! I just updated me some technology.

... So you might just catch me round these parts again. x

Loco pro-MO-tion

2005-11-29T09:08:00.000+11:00

Hotman!

Better get on board quick with the sponsoring internerds! This mo’s hangin’ on by a whisker. Only 2 more days until Movember officially mo-ssies off into the sunset!

Check all details here

Bless.

Excuse me, Waiter

2005-11-15T16:33:00.000+11:00

Dear Waiter at my Favourite Café,

I’ve been going to this café on a regular basis for the last 5+ years. I take pleasure in being there. During my years at University I liked to just come in with a book and hang around sipping my 'sophistimicated' latte, or wonder down with friends to read the paper and gossip. These days I work far away from the café and I don’t get to go as often. However, I do try and get there most weekends to sip and eat and enjoy. I don't want to presume myself "Royalty" here... but, if the shoe fits?

You ruined the simple pleasure of enjoying my Cafe time on Sunday. And now I don’t like you.

On Sunday I went to meet a friend for a late breakfast. Sarah, is one of my oldest chums and we’ve been going to the café together before you thought anything ending in “chino” started with the word “baby”.

The first thing you did to light the fire of rage in my belly was to kick me off my table. Now, it’s ok that I was put in my place for jumping the que and I'm sorry the people waiting thought I was a rude bastard. it’s NOT ok for you to tell me that I need to wait outside and to NOT OFFER the next available table.

Then, waiting by myself, you had the audacity to condescendingly ask if it would just be me eating.
“No, there’s two of us. My friend is on her way,” I replied, getting a little pissy.
“Right… Do you know how long she’ll be?”
“Ahh, no.”
I wondered how the time it would take her to get here was relevant? I was there – surely that meant my friend joining me for a breakfast was probably on her way. And if I had been there by myself would you have insisted I go elsewhere? I'd like to see you try, Cuntox!

Sarah arrives and instead of offering coffee you ask, “so are you just having coffee, or are you eating?” This, I’m sure, could have been considered a fair question, if you had have made it sound like you we’re going to set our table for a breakfast. Unfortunately you said it in a tone that sounded as if we were pissing you off by wanting a table. I am starting to dislike you more.

We ask another waiter for Sarah’s coffee, because you forgot to take the order.

Sarah and I watch a group of 3 go into the café. YOU SIT THEM DOWN AT A TABLE. YOU GIVE THEM A MENU. THEY ARE HAPPY. I AM COLD. I am moving on from dislike to loathing.

You offer us a seat at the counter. “Oh, like the counter where you’re in the way to the kitchen? We’ll wait for a table thanks.” *fumes*

Finally, praise the lord, a table! You insist on awkwardly carrying our coffee’s inside. You can’t open the door, or clear the table. We do both. You walk off without giving us a menu. Now, Sarah and I know the menu back to front, but part of the pleasure of going to our Favourite Café is to stare longingly over the menu, so we need one.

The nice tattooed girl gives us the menu and 10 minutes later takes our order. We are feeling better because you seem to have put us in someone else’s section and we don’t have to speak to you again.

A tap on the shoulder. I think that it must be the slightly crazy woman who owns the café telling me that there’s no Haloumi on the menu. No, it’s you again. You whisper in my ear. “You’re being a plumber.” You give me a wink because your little brain is assuming you’ve done me a favour.

I check my 'rear-end', my undies are peeping over my jeans! Big fucking deal! I’m not like that tiny teeny bopper in the corner who’s pants are half way down her crack! Did ya say somethin’ to her Fuckface?! No?! NO?! Well, just so it’s clear let me wipe that smile off your greasy face…

YOU’VE OFFENDED ME! YOU’VE MADE ME FEEL VERY UNCOMFORTABLE IN MY FAVOURITE CAFÉ! I DON’T CARE IF PEOPLE CAN SEE THE TOP OF MY UNDIES! WHAT I CARE ABOUT IS THAT YOU LEAVE ME ALONE AND NEVER TALK TO ME AGAIN! GO AWAY AND ANNOY SOME BIG, ANGRY MAN WHO LIKES TO PUNCH THINGS! ARGH!

Ahem.

I will be back to my Favourite Café, because we’ve been through a lot together and you make a killer breakfast and an oh-so-creamy coffee. But, my little Nimrod Waiter, never speak to me again, for I cannot control what may happen if you try.

Thanks,
Sugs

xx

Give, that they may Mo*

2005-11-08T11:29:00.000+11:00

Would ya look at this mo? Is it not the most thick and lustrous 8 day Mo you’ve ever seen? Don’t you want to just… I don’t know… THROW MONEY AT IT?! Yes?! And for a good cause? Yes? YES! Great, because now is the time to throw money at Hotman’s Mo! Let me tell you how…

As a socially conscious citizen/champion facial hair grower/all round do gooder, my handsome man (aka Hotman – he’s innocent!) is growing a Mo in aid of Movember. It’s all about growing a Mo for a month, to raise awareness and funds for prostate cancer. He can do the growing part, as he is masculine and rugged, but he needs your help in the funds department.

All donations can be made via the Movember website using Hotmans rego number: 2323. Apparently any donation over $30 gets you free entry into the Movember party. Ladies, I’m sure I do not need to tell you of the prickly pleasures that may be discovered on that particular evening!

Go on. It'll be a mo-ment you remember for the rest of your mo-ther fucking life!

*this is most definitely a poor form of advertising for Hotman and the whole Movember shtick. Whatever. It’s for a good cause… and it is already shaping out to be a healthy facial follicle fancier, so deal.

Things you've always wanted to know, but have been too afraid to ask

2005-10-25T13:34:00.000+10:00

Apparently I’m next on the blog tag for “Top 20”. I have secretly been lurking in the depths of the blogosphere for this chance, but you’d never know because I’m sly like a fox in making everyone think that the blog world is dead to me.

1. My working environment is not contusive for writing on my beloved blog anymore.

2. On the odd occasion that I do post, I get a bit of a buzz.

3. When I was young I was in to climbing tree’s, squishing spiders, riding motorbikes and playing on the monkey bars.

4. When I was 7 I broke my arm by jumping of a semi-truck trailer. I was with my aunty at the time and my mother didn’t know that I’d broken my arm until I was brought home with a plaster cast. Mum’s never really forgiven my aunt for that.

5. The first album I ever bought with my own money was Mariah Carey (Musicbox). Not long after I bought it I gave it to my dad.

6. If you ever ask my what the first album I ever bought was I’ll tell you Green Day (Dookie), because I’m genuinely embarrassed about the Mariah thing.

7. At high school my two best subjects were History and English, my worst Chemistry and Maths. I now have a Science Degree with a Chemistry/Food base.

8. I really love food. Cooking it, ordering it, eating it.

9. I love Hotman more than food.

10. If I find a stray eyelash I still make wishes on them. I just did one then. I’m not telling you what it is because it won’t come true.

11. I’m going to the Spring Racing Carnival 3 times this year. I think it’s overdoing it – it’s not really my thing.

12. I want to go to NYC and Ireland. Soon.

13. When I was in year 8 I was bullied by one of my classmates and she made all the girls in my class stop speaking to me for 6 months. The reason she gave for the bulling was that “I was being annoying”. Every now and then I worry that I’m annoying and that people won’t like me.

14. When I was 16 I lived in Denmark. I drank a lot of beer and gained a lot of confidence. By the time I returned to Australia I was having beer drinking competitions with boys older than me and winning.

15. I can’t drink as heavily as I used to.

16. I’d like to wear more jewellery, but I can’t be bothered.

17. I don’t believe in horoscopes or star signs, but I read them with great thought and consider myself a typical stubborn Taurean.

18. I have no time for fools.

19. I live beyond my means, but ultimately I’m having fun.

20. I’ve often thought of becoming a hand model.

So, have we all learnt something here?

Geez, I’m so far out of the blog world I don’t know who to tag… how ‘bout Husky Nutmeg and Booky (because he's a busy bastard too)

...but, seriously folks.

2005-10-20T15:36:00.000+10:00

Don't be alarmed, but i'm about to get a little serious and arty on your asses because last night I was treated to an evening of French Theatre (ohh hun hungh). It’s probably the most outrageously beautiful play I’ve ever encountered. I cried. A young girl in the cast cride. There was a standing ovation. It was good.

I’m not a big Arts Festival goer, but I like that it happens and I’m more than pleased that it brought this nugget to my corner of the world (btw, Bolta once again displays his cuntdom on this topic)

In a nut shell the play was a glimpse into the lives of normal people wanting to flee their volatile countries and trying to seek refuge in Europe and Australia. Heavy, I know. If anyone in the audience was left feeling a Proud Australian – they were obviously lobotomised. I wish the season had run for more than 4 nights so I could implore you all to see it (as you may well have noted it also inspired me to blog), alas the season was already extended with a bit of help from Aunty Mary and finished last night.

By some strange coincidence Lil’ John was across the way and it did a cross my mind a couple of times to march across the way and drag him, by the eyebrows, to the performance. I think he would have learnt something important. I mean, it’s not cricket, but I’m sure he would have got something out of it.

It made me feel somewhat at ease that Teflon was there. You almost begin to think that no one with any influence knows what’s going on. Unfortunately I wouldn’t say Bracksey was the most influential man in our parliamentary system, alas – a good sign. *sigh*

If ever you happen to have the chance of seeing Theatre du Soleil please go and see them. And take a friend.

P.S. hey this blogging stuff is orright. perhaps i shall return on a more funloving note sometime.

G-strings, what do YOU think?

2005-08-31T16:40:00.000+10:00

On Monday nights I play netball.

It's fun because some of my team mates wear make up when we play and we always have a good bitch about either the other team or the upires. If it's a good game... both!

Monday just gone we played in a preliminary final and lost by 5 goals. No biggy, we've got another chance at making the finals (top of the ladder, yo!). That was not the most unnerving part of my evening though.

What has stuck with me most is that one of my team mates was bending over after the game and i could see the nasty evidence of her choice in underware.

SHE WAS WEARING A G-BANGER TO NETBALL!

If this is not a crime against man, I don't know what qualifies. I should also mention that she was wearing those black, sporty, legging thingo's.

Surely when you're playing a sport you want your buns to be secure and un-jiggy like. You should know that I don't really understand said underwear anyway. But (ha ha pun) surely there's a time and a place.

Anyway, it annoyed me and thought the best way to deal with it was to blog.

Loungin' around

2005-07-29T11:23:00.000+10:00

With the recent departure of my dear housemate, I've also had a sharp decline of artwork. To remedy this my sweetheart (who's mean with a camera, what with being a photographer an' junk) has designed some hot new wall adornments for my abode.

They are from sick gigs we have been to together. They are totally arty. Try and guess which gigs we went to. (Damn that butch woman bouncer that confiscated my camera at the Nick Cave concert, my collection would have been complete).

1. Mmmm, colourfull.

this show had an awesome light show. this is a real, unaltered picture (sans words, we weren't on acid or anything)

2. Bright lights!

don't you love a gig with an interlude!? i certainly enjoyed this one.

3. Blurry!

ok, if you don't get this one. you need to do some hard cord rock'n'roll education.

A School Night Out On The Town

2005-07-28T11:11:00.000+10:00

Drink champagne that recently departed housemate left behind – as soon as you get home from busy day at office.

Catch train to city.

Eat dumplings. Delicious. Note how “coolies” have taken over your dumpling house. Drink beer. Fall down steps as you leave.

Go to bar, drink Gin and Tonic. Have Jagermeister shots with bartenders, one of which is a Spazzy.

Excitedly and a little stumbley walk to gig venue. Get in ticket line. Get pre-paid tickets from a girl that recognises your name from constantly being on giveaway list at radio station she used to work at. *blush*

Buy overly priced beer.

Work way through crowd to be front row centre.

Make friends with people in front of you by telling them we need to work together as a team to keep other people from pushing into us. Works for first 3 songs. Kids on drugs ruin our teamwork and bond.

Go SICK all through concert. Love every member of the band. Especially this one.

Drink more Gin and Tonic.

Catch taxi home.

Pass out.

Wakes up next morning. *dreds*

Food for Thought...

2005-07-07T09:29:00.000+10:00

what happens when you're strongly against the morals of one of your great mates?

should you help them through what must be a confusing time for them, or do you stand by your own beliefs, especially when you've had many discussions about your view point?

i don't want to be a grown up anymore.

What Women Want

2005-07-06T08:44:00.000+10:00

Dear fellas,

As me and my fellow hotness around the internerd are learning you today here’s some delectable stuff that women want from youse.

Chocolate!
NO BRAINER!

Most women will love you for suggesting you should eat as much chocolate as you can fit in. Now, I’m not most women, because I don’t really like chocolate in it’s pure form. But give me a Chocolate Chilli Tim Tam and I’m yours forever. Seriously.

Duck!
If you’ve been to TMI before you’ll know I’ve got a slight obsession with the delicious Mallard. It does stuff to me. it will probably do stuff to other women.

Praise!
Every meal your lovely lady cooks for you it should be THE BEST MEAL EVER.

Not Cooking!
Heaven.

Cooking a delicious meal for you lady friend will give her time to think about what she can do after the meal. You know what I mean boys… yes, hot hot sexx.

Surprise Date!
It’s not hard to do. If you feel like going out for dinner, just don’t tell your lady friend. Do, however, tell her to be presentable and smelling pretty. Then… SURPRISE DATE! Followed again by the hot sexx.

Boys we are really not that hard to charm. You just need to spend 5 minutes thinking about what we might like and then do it (I know that last bit can be a little tricky, but give it a shot).

Thanks and good luck!

Hearts,
Sug
xx

p.s. need more clues? check out other hot bloggers like, la nadine, clem, ukelele, fluffy, fits, jess, elmo plus many more... they'll be of assitance too

Stuff about the man that broke my car and gave me an ouchy

2005-06-29T17:22:00.000+10:00

His name is Axel. That’s ironic.

His last name sounds like “scrotum”. That’s karma.

He tucks his pants into his socks and boots.

He drives a BMW that he ran through an intersection with and took out my ‘Bitch Wheels’.

His car looked way better than mine.

He’s insured – lucky. He will pay big premiums for years to come.

His blind spot is apparently much bigger than most of the human race.

He made me hit my head and now there’s a bump, a cut and a bruise.

I’m ok, but I don’t like him very much.

Criminal Acts Against: SUSHI

2005-06-22T09:39:00.000+10:00

= WRONGTOWN

Recently I have moved work premises. It’s in the far West of Melbourne. There’s not a lot out here. The closest shopping precinct is a little scary and in a totally woosey way I don’t really want to go there by myself again. EVER. For example, last time I was there, there was a man in a parachute material tracksuit hitting his head up against the pay phone. He was also muttering stuff. Creepy.

There is a shopping centre nearby, which is also scary, but mainly because there are many women/barely teenagers mothers with screaming kids. Not really my scene.

Anyway… every now and then I have to go to the supermarket for supplies for the lab. It may worry you to know that I have been to the food court there on occasion when my purchasing of goods is complete.

There is something that worries me immensely every time I visit this food court.

TWO OUT OF THE FOUR EATERIES SELL DEEP FRIED SUSHI!

Let me reiterate: DEEP FRIED SUSHI!

Does this strike everyone as incredibly wrong? One can only imagine how it came about.

“Hey Shaz, this sushi stuff looks healthy and not golden brown. It doesn’t feel right.”

“You’re right Merle. People won’t know what to do with it. Hang on! I’ve got and idea…”

I’ve tried to find pictures of it so you could all look upon it with contempt, alas there are none. I’m taking this as a positive as I hope this disease is confined to this one food court. Alternatively I was thinking of purchasing a FRIED SUSHI for myself to take a photo, but I couldn’t bring myself to commit that crime. You’ll just have to put your trust in me and believe that it does exist. Fear not! As I plan to stamp out this injustice, so the world can carry on unharmed by this heinous act!*

*I am totally not overreacting here

Gourmet a'la Sugar

2005-06-16T11:46:00.000+10:00

Remember how I used to post about food and ingredients and stuff? No? Me neither, it's been too long. So in an attempt to rectify this I present to you a post on "Stuff I've Cooked Lately That Will Totally Make You Drool".

To be honest with you I lost my cooking mojo a little while ago. But in the last 3/4 months I've been sifting through cook books, hunting for delectable ingredients and eating out at hot-spots around Melbourne town (whether I can afford to or not).

I will now share with you my journey's of FoodTown and hopefully if any of you are feeling low on cooking mojo you'll be inspired to invite your loved ones over for a tantilising journey for your tastebuds... or something something.

Stuff I've Cooked

Tom Yum Soup! Really all you need to do for this is go to you're local Little Veitnam find a grocer and go a little loco on all the wacky soup food there. You can get fish balls/cake, which is like a conglomeration of fish tasting stuff, with a rubbery texture... oh, c'mon, you love it. You can get fresh herbs out the wazoo. You should go, it's great. Oh, and while you're down there go to a bakery and get a grilled chicken/pork salad roll. Drool.

Spring Rolls! This sounds kinda impressive, but SO NOT. Once you're down with the rolling and the stuffing it's, like, so easy. All I do is make an Asian sauce, marinate chicken strips, roll, fry (mmm, fry). YUM!

Cheescake! See I can do more than Asian. This was for My Precious as a birthday cake. It's a baked cheesecake, BUT IT'S BAKED IN A WATER BATH! So it's silky as shit! I'm hoping there's still some around when I get home tonight, but I'm not holding my breath.

Steak and Porchini Mushroom Pie! I made this last night. So. Good. The porchini's hold their texture and taste delish, even after heavy cooking, so they were a good choice *pats back*. I'm totally over button mushrooms, btw. What is that? Foam? Not for me, thanks. I sloshed some red wine in the pie too, just because I can.

Ingredients I Dig This Week

Kaffir Lime Leaves

Sea salt

Fresh Chilli

Pumpkin

Rice

Who could say why? Just do.

Restaurants That I've Been To Of Late That Kick Arse

Claypots - mmm, fishy

Shoya - OK, so I'm going on Sunday, but I'm totally stoaked about it!

Pacific House - oh, you haven't heard of it? Well, it would be my advice to keep it that way... it's mine.

Taxi - so hip right now, but lacked a little love.

So? How 'bout it? Are you going to go home and cook up a storm? Go on. It'll make you happy and keep you warm on these chilly Melbournian nights. Plus if you cook for others, you don't have to do the dishes. It's the rule.

Wok on!

The Hoff

2005-06-10T13:45:00.000+10:00

The other night over a delicious meal of katzudon that I lovingly prepared for my hot date and roomy, the conversation got around to just how heinous inter-office emails can be.

My hot roomy works for a large party supplier company, with around 200 employees. This means she is privy to many inter-office emails. Coming from a much smaller company I've got to admit, although I am annoyed by innane forwarded emails, I generally don't get that many. Perhaps, perhaps, I'd get one a day.

Hot Roomy shocked me by telling me she would probably, probably, receive one an hour. Having learnt that I would receive about an eigth of what she was receiving, she decided it only fair to make my life hell and forward them onto me. Bless.

The majority of her forwards at the moment tend to contain The Hoff. Yes, The (capital T) Hoff (capital H). You wouldn't think that a man of such limited acting ability could be stretched into so many email attachment genres! Somehow The Hoff finds a way, perhaps it's that manly chest. Mmmm... hairy.

To all of those that are dubious (and perhaps some of you that are just curious), here's what I've receive TODAY. Lord knows how many there are out there? Frankly, it freightens the shit out of me...

Ha ha ha! The squares say "Go to my room". Ha ha ha... Yes, Hoff.

Ha! Hoffy! That, totally rhymes with toffee! Clever.

Mmmm, The Hoff is totally up with the latest Hollywood hot-goss. How did he join the L.A.P.D. in time to arrest Russ, or is he just acting!? I can't tell! He's incredible.

Yes, well, way to combine two of the most annoying things ever. This one just makes me angry. The dumbfuck computer nerd that created this piece of sludge should have to listen to the stupid song/ringtone that he/she has infested our lives with. forevs.

If there is a message in this rant, it would be: if you ever send me any forwards that are not funny enough to make my neck muscle hurt from laughter, don't bother. If, for a lark, you think it'd be fun to flood my inbox with this junk, I totally know people that can fuck your shit up!

Thanks and Hoff on!

Love,
S & S

Stuff about my family

2005-06-09T11:42:00.000+10:00

This is not us.

- My mum is really smart. Like really smart. She started uni when she was 16. She is never wrong. She can do anything well and usually on the first go. This is admirable, if not a little annoying. She rings me up on her way home from work nearly every second day. This is sweet, because she usually has nothing to tell me and just wants to talk to me. I tell her pretty much everything.

- My dad is also really smart, but more in the street smarts way. He didn’t finish High School. He’s the CEO of a successful seafood company. He thinks he’s never wrong. He’s very strong, physically and mentally. We like to tell each other about food, wine and good restaurants. He washes his car every Sunday.

- For 8 years my parents didn’t live at the same place at the same time. They never broke up. They totally dig each other. They live in the same place now and go to the market on Saturday mornings and usually go and see St Kilda play every week.

- My second youngest sister has really big blue eyes that say more than what comes out of her mouth. She’s shy. When you get to know her, she’s almost the funniest person in the world. She has an IT diploma. She doesn’t like working with computers. She works at Priceline. She lives with her boyfriend, who is pretty much exactly the same as her. I never see them apart. They are in love. They are both great people.

- My youngest sister just got a job with Country Road as a visual merchandiser (it’s got to do with shop windows). She’s 20. She is the best shopper I know. I’m thinking about buying a pair of jeans and will call her if I decide to do that. She is also the best present buyer I know. She’s really pleasant and warm on the phone. She’s cheeky and knows how to ‘tick me off’. She ‘ticks me off’ all the time, for her own amusement. I’m cool with that. She has a big heart. She still lives at home.

- My sisters are pretty much best friends. They are close in age. I like them heaps. I think they’re really funny and they are both hot.

- We grew up in the country and used to spend our weekends watching TV around the heater or listening to cd’s. This time of year reminds me of mum cooking soup. Nowadays we all live in the city. We all live in connecting suburbs. We all like being together.

Left or Right?

2005-06-03T12:20:00.000+10:00

“Hi, my name is Sugar and I can’t tell my left from my right.”

“Hi, Sugar.”

It’s an affliction I’ve lived with all my life.

It’s something that disappoints my mother.

It’s a flaw that my dearest is often befuddled over.

I don’t like to consider it an affliction/disappointment/flaw. I like to think of it more as a lovable quirk.

It’s not like I don’t know that ← is left and → is right (unless you’re reading this upside down), it’s just that I can’t work it out off the top of my head. And perhaps it’s less that I don’t know Mr Left and Mr Right and more that I pretty much stink at directions.

Let’s explore:

Maps

I don’t do maps.

I can read a map, if I study hard enough or if my life depended on it. But if we’re driving and you ask me to look up where we’re going in the Melways… well, we’ll we may end up on the Hume Hwy, instead of the Western Ring Road (this may or may not have happened to me last week and I may or may not have rung my dearest in tears demanding that he find me a way home).

I’ve got ways of coping with the no mapping thing. If I drive somewhere once, I can do again. This is because I’m very observant and pick out interesting land marks and intersections. So if we’re ever to meet me at the pub, just tell me it’s on a corner, across the road from the Westpac on High St and I’ll be there, for God’s sake NEVER give me a Melways reference.

Distance
If a crisis arose and I actually had to read a map, the other problem I’d face is the distance thing. I’m not actually down with how far away from me something is. For instance, if I look out my window now, I’d say the stair case is probably 75 meters away.

*gets up from desk*

*walks discreetly, although with large strides to stair well*

*is surprised*

… ok it’s actually about 27 meters. And that’s not even a big distance. Imagine me in a big metal machine with wheels, driving 106 km/h (I like to go fast). I’ve got no hope. This is another reason I rely on my landmarks.

Pointing

This “lovable quirk” is a little more obscure. I have the annoying/cheeky habit of making up where someone is pointing.

“Hey Sugar, look over there…”
*points north north east*

*sugar looks south south west*
“What? Where?”

I think it’s a stubborn thing. I think I know where the person really wants me to look and so I save them and me time by just looking where I think is best. You can see where the problem lies can’t you?

As an interesting side note my mother has always commented that I have a "lazy" pointer finger and that if I point something out, I actually hook it about 10 degrees, so perhaps I’m just overcompensating when another is the pointer.

If ever there is a lesson to be learnt here, it be this: just take me where I want to go, just don’t ask me how to get there.

Hey Sug, what'd you do on the weekend?

2005-05-30T15:08:00.000+10:00

A rare pictorial insight into S&S's life and dealings...

Fads + Quizzes = SUDOKU!

2005-05-26T13:30:00.000+10:00

Now I’m not sure if you’ve all been keeping up with the latest trends*, but Sudoku is like the newest and best thing in the world of fads and quizzes.

For those of you that have just tuned into The Missing Ingredient I am totally a fad and quizzes bitch.

Examples?

OK

Fads:
- in my youth I had;
o Collette style bike shorts and a Hypercolour t-shirt,
o a Cabbage Patch Doll,
o a Bug Catcher,
o a Rigadoon,
o a ra-ra skirt,
o a Crimper… and many other fabulous and eventually irrelevant/embarrassing products.

BTW, how totally cool was I?!

Quizzes:

- in the present I have;
o often listened to a super quiz on talk back radio (at midnight)
o spent my working hours deliberating over comical pop-culture email quizzes
o spent Saturday afternoons doing the 9 letter word target in The Age
o dragged my friends and neighbours to Trivia Night’s at various pubs
o in times of unemployment bought That's Life! magazine to enter in Quiz Competitions

See how I love them both!

So it’s inevitable that I become obsessed with Sudoku. This is really my first dabbling with a number quiz, but I’ve had a go and I think I’ll be ok with that. Hey – I did study Calculus and Statistics at Uni for 4 years, surely this will present no challenge for a person with my untouchable capabilities. Whahahahahaa.

Anyway, so if you’ve missed the hype what you’ll get is this:

And what you need to do is make sure every 3 by 3 box, every complete column and every complete row has every number from 1 – 9 in it, no repeats (obviously). Easy, huh?! No freakin’ way! Plus as you get better there are different levels! Sick.

So you get it. And all this talking about it is making my feet want to move towards the lunch room and hunt down today’s puzzle… when you’ve got an itch scratch it, I say…

*the Herald Scum had a big article telling us that it’s a trend, ergo…

Hello, it's me! Remember me? You know from the other place...

2005-05-16T13:42:00.000+10:00

I have frequented a café near my house for the last 4 years. I love it, it’s my favourite and the coffee is second to none. The whole time I’ve been going there the staff has always had the same core crew.

Today I went to my favourite sandwich place that’s close to work for lunch and lo and behold one of the ‘core crew’ was in there making sandwiches and serving people.

Before I continue, here are some important points:
1. My fave café isn’t open on Monday’s – so she’s within her rights to be working somewhere else
2. The ‘core crew’ are a little… how can I put this politely?... a little ‘left of centre’. Ok, they’re down right kooky, just like the Adams family, but with coffee and Lebanese food.
3. I ate at the café yesterday and interacted numerous times with said staff member.
4. She has, more than once, complimented me on my fine choice of outfit.*

Awkwardly it was my turn to be served and ‘she-of-the-café was free. I greeted her with a warm “Hi!” and was met with that look of recognition shrouded by an uncomfortable I’m-going-to-pretend-i-don’t-know-you-let’s-just-get-this-over-and-done-with look.

She made my sandwich post haste and with minimal eye contact. By this time I was beginning to feel a little “less-special”. My café person pretended not to know me! I mean, sure we weren’t at the place where we normally interact, but surely you’re allowed to interact other places. The guy that makes the coffee always says hello to me when I see him down the street. But nuthin’. She gave me nuthin’.

She thrust my slapped together sandwich at me and before I could make a clever quip about Moonlighting, had taken my exact change and moved onto the next customer.

The worst bit is now it’s going to be weird when I go into my café next weekend. Is it so difficult to give a little hello and throw a bit of banter about? No, I think not. This shall not deter me from my café however, in fact next time I go to my café I may just peck her on the cheek and slap her ass like we’ve been friends forevs. Heh heh heh.

*this point was more so you all know I can be a smart dresser.

My Bro

2005-05-12T14:40:00.000+10:00

Hi, sorry for my absence. I’ve been preoccupied and although I don’t want to go one about it (because there’s already a master at work) I am a massive a BigBrotherophile. I love it. I always have. And this year is shaping up to be stupendous.

My faves:

G-Dog as Michael has so aptly endowed upon her is ultimately great. I can’t wait until she puts all this talk of getting someone sloshed and shaggin’ them. Male or female. She’s tops.

A most divine case of “never thinks before talking” and apparently she doesn’t even think about it after she’s said it. This makes me love her more. She’s from Melbourne and I plan on stalking her at some point and making her my friend.

It’s a given that I should like the rabid lefty. He, as Jessausculture has pointed out, is obviously fucking with the more dim witted contestants heads and for this I love him. And apparently hung like a camel.

This one is just full of little gems of intellect. And when I say gems of intellect I jest, because she’s obviously as intelligent as the tiding of magpies that scare Kate (or as some clever kids have dubbed her “Birdcunt” – pure poetry). Her sweet idiocy is not annoying, however, because it makes her refreshingly honest and not as stuck up as I thought she’d be when declaring herself “The Package”, which I think is just a low-self confidence thing.

My not-at-all-faves:

This one is a dick of great proportions, because she tells us that she’s intelligent, but still cannot seem to stop gazing at herself in the mirror like she’s never seen a reflection (yet, she claims to have studied physics). I think she’s that girl in year 8 that used to sit and bitch about everyone and then say, “if they’ve got something mean to say about me, I just wish they’d say it to my face. Stupid bitches. And like she’s got the worst skin, I can’t believe Darren’s going out with her, I’m going to break them up, so he’ll go out with me.” and so on and so forth. I knew these girls (pent up adolescent issues much?) and they are not cool.

OK. Michelle is obviously a Witch. And not one of those I-have-crystals-and-do-love-spells Witch, but a we-should-burn-her-at-the-stake Witch. I’m not sure why I hate her like I do, perhaps it’s her mouth, it looks like it could spit venom. Or her eyebrows. When will chicks learn no eyebrows is less cute and more evil? Yes, even when you draw them back on. Be grateful she’s in the house parents, but when she’s let out be sure to lock up your children before she swoops down and eats them.

I generally like the others. I like it when I get to hear Glenn talk because I didn’t think people honestly spoke like that anymore – and I’m from the country! I like that everyone hates Kate. I like that Angela is an honest bitch. I like Nelson because he farts and annoys Kate, but he gets a massive strike because he’s a Johnny-lover, and people like him should be kicked in the nuts. I like that Michael has a huge boner crush on Geneva because maybe I do too. I like that there are 2 Logans, but really that’s the only thing saving him/them at the moment. Hotdogs and Dean I don’t care about, except that Hotdog’s is a crap nickname and Dean is obviously all talk.

Have I missed anyone? If so they obviously don’t stir anything from within, therefore do not deserve a serve on TMI.

Thank you and happy watching.

Shake 'em, bake 'em... Texas style

2005-05-05T14:28:00.000+10:00

I just found this little nugget in The Age.

It seems that the House of Reps in that law hungry state of Texas have put a ban on cheerleaders "shaking booty" during their routines.

Some highlights for mine are:

"People are calling and telling me how disgusting it is to see sexually suggestive routines on the part of marching units or cheerleaders" (Al Edwards, Houston State Rep., bill sponsorer) Marching units? That's some sweet multi-tasking. I used to play the clarinet in Band at high school (shut up!), granted it wasn't a marching unit, but it never crossed my mind to 'shake it'.
"He (Al) complained of cheerleaders 'shaking their behinds, breaking it down'" Maybe i had Al all wrong, he seems totally wit all da new fangled kidspeak. Break it down, Al! Boo-yow!

At least there's Senfronia Thompson, a Democratic Rep also of Houston, who said "the bill was a waste of valuable time." Werd, Senfronia.

Personally I can't think of anyone that comes from Texas that would be a booty shaker, aren't they all riding horses and shootin' stuff that moves? oh, wait...

People I like to laugh at

2005-04-29T11:01:00.000+10:00

Because I'm into food an' junk let's do this as a menu, it'll be fun for you and me!

Entree

An entree not for the weak hearted. This is a dense and tough starter, which may linger around for much longer than you'd first expect. However, this dish will satisfy anyone who needs to laugh at someone with a large dose of stupidity.

Lori and Bolo (The Amazing Race 6)
L: Bolo, where'd you put your freakin' neck, you idiot!
B: Shut up, Lori! Stop talking to me -- it's always my fault isn't it?!

I'm a MASSIVE fan of The Amazing Race and was almost upset last night that it was the last episode in the series. Except for the fact that the new season starts next week!, with other reality TV stars!

Anyway... Lori and Bolo are stupid, like real stupid! It's great, they yell at each other all the time. They're professional wrestlers and have certainly damaged themselves somehow through their chosen profession. However, they obviously love each other stacks and are sweet in a watch-out-or-i'll-twist-your-arm-til-it-breaks kinda way.

Main

A healthy appetite of Complete Idiocy must be needed to eat your way through this meal. Upon looking at it you may feel like emptying your stomach, but if you can endure the pain the inevitable humiliation will make this meal all worth while.

Warrick Capper - Dick. Head.

It may come as no surprise that Wazza was the inspiration for this post. He's a moron.

He was on Celebrity Big Brother and was kicked out because he flashed his penis at the female contestants.

He's just released his memoirs, in which he admits taking speed, twice, before a game. This has totally 'rocked the footballing community' (how 60 minutes did that sound!).

He's married to an equally dim witted woman, who creepily looks like him. And I wish I could find a picture of her in all her creepiness.

What makes him funny is that he seems oblivious to the fact that he's the stupidest man alive. He totally thinks people are interested in his 'hotness' and 'intellect'. ahahahhaa. Fool.

Dessert

Nothing is as sweet as a vapid mind. This light and airy desert makes even her drool, although I'm sure she's a big drooler anyway.

Anna Nicole Smith - there's too much wrong for a witty and susinct comment here

It was really hard deciding on which picture to add in here. There is so much visual trash on this woman, check it for yourself.

I don't really have to say much do I? She'd be a huge waste of space, if she wasn't so funny to point and laugh at.

Other items on the menu that had to be cut:
*Dubya Bush. But he's so stupid, and powerful that he's not funny anymore.
*Terri Hatcher. She's got a 5 finger Hogan (a Hogan is a made up word that a guy I know, Sam, made up. It means the space in between your pants - around the crutch area. It's measured in 'fingers', 5 being the highest.
*Nikki Webster. But I think she deserves a break.
*Bec Cartwright. I don't like her, but I don't think she's funny.

Who's on your menu?

Whey cool!

2005-04-27T13:27:00.000+10:00

Creepy!

I’ve had an outrageous amount of queries at work at the moment for whey. It’s prompted me to spread the word about the wonders of whey. Plus, it’s a great opportunity to drop a few puns.

Let’s go whey back to your childhood. You remember whey right? Little Miss Muffet, sitting on her tuffet, eating her curds and WHEY. Yeah, there you go. On a side note, how confusing is this nursery rhyme? Who at 3 knows what a tuffet is and why is Little Miss M eating curds and whey? It sounds gross, couldn’t she be eating something FUN and NUTRITIOUS, like maybe smiley face fruit pizza’s with a raspberry coulis base sauce? Kids would eat that! And the spider! Do you want to give kids a reason to have nightmares? A kitten would be far cuter and dreamy.

Ahem. Pardon me, I seemed to have digressed a whey bit...

So whey. It’s what you get when you make cheese. You add a bit of rennet and culture (microbes, not Beethoven) to milk. It turns into a junket-ey, tofu-ey type mass, which is then cut releasing the whey from the curds. It’s the watery bit. It doesn’t taste good. Kinda like a watery, sour, yogurty soup, with the look of coconut juice – except murkier. Mmmm, delish.

Cheese makers for years just used to drain this off, thinking it waste. With what we know whey is good for today it’s kinda like cutting up a diamond and tossing all the extra bits, ‘cept not as expensive or pretty. Actually a shitty analogy, meh. You get it -- stupid cheese makers.

Once they realised there was a nutritional value in the whey, they began to spray dry is and FEED IT TO COWS. Der!

In today’s market whey can be manipulated to emulate properties of egg, fat, cream, natural dairy flavours, whipping agents, bakery ingredients… yadda, yadda, yadda. It’s sold for a mint.

It’s full of dairy proteins, minerals and with very little to no fat. How good is that?! Now, before you start ringing me for samples, you probably won’t find a massive use for it in the home. But if you see it in something on the back of a label don’t be frightened, your local Food Scientist probably knows what she’s doing.

Weekend of Birthday

2005-04-26T13:36:00.000+10:00

What did I do on the WOB I hear you ask. Here’s some stuff:

Ate

At Pearl. As a Birthday tradition my the Birthdayee is allowed to pick a restaurant to dine in, with family. I chose Pearl. Possibly because I love trying to impress my dad with food and wine. He’s so proud.

Had breakfast out every morning. Glenn and I would wake up and squiggle with excitement over choosing the perfect venue to lull over coffee and eggs. Perfect.

On Saturday night we got take-away duck and crispy pork (from the secret duck place). Nothing will ever be better than this. I highly recommended getting take-away that you think you should be eating in a restaurant. It’s good for the soul. I also recommend getting enough for two dinners in a row. Just to reinforce the fact that it’s possibly the best thing you’ll ever do. You’ll need wine, too.

Partied

Went to Wolfmother. Twice! Thursday only saw last bit of the set. Apparently Sarah organised for them to say Happy Birthday to me. I wasn’t there for it *kicks self*. AND THEN I won tickets to see the Monday show. They’re cool in an our-original-stuff-may-suck-but-who’d-know-because-we-kick-ass-at-led-zep kinda way.

Friday was the real deal. It was stacks of fun. I had secret signals for ordering free drinks. I had rooley excellent friends that thought I was cool, bless ‘em.

Then we all went to Cherry and did we have fights! It’s not a party without someone upsetting someone else! JUST NOT ME OR MY SWEETS! Back off! Ahem. It’s cool. I still remember that it was a great night.

Got stoned

Hey when it’s your birthday AND the long weekend AND you’re at home watching the footy by yourself what else are you going to do. And when you’re sweetheart comes home real “chatty” like and you need to calm him down – what are ya going to do. Get stoned! I even entertained the thought of putting on my Thai Fisherman’s Pants. Ahahahhaa. No, I didn’t. Had mockies though.

Birthday’s rule.

Little Glenn

2005-04-26T13:13:00.000+10:00

littleglenn
Originally uploaded by Sugar n Spice.

No, you can't have him. He's mine. In a non-posessive, sweet way

A slice o' Sugar and Spice

2005-04-21T12:02:00.000+10:00

I can’t count the number of times people have met me and said. “You know S&S you’re an enigma, wrapped in a puzzle, wrapped in a cardigan,” or sumthin’, sumthin’. So you want to know the real story behind Sugar and Spice? A glimsp into the world unknown? Here goes…

I was born early morning on this day 24 years ago to two young bright eyed on-the-verge-of-parenthood parents.

My parents lived in a small country town (pop:1500) when I was born. Story has it that as I was pushing my way through the birth canal my Dad went a little ‘get the wife comfortable’ crazy. He got the car started, pushed the seat way back and turned the heating up to ‘stifling’. To this day we’re not sure why he was hell bent on making Mum give birth in a dehydrated state, nonetheless mother and unborn me made it to the Hospital where within 2 hours I popped my baked head out of my Mums oven.

Being the oldest ensures you always have a bit of ‘only child syndrome’, if only for a little while. I was in my terrible two’s when my first sister appeared, just as Mum lost a substantial amount of weight. Then another two years later my youngest sister mysteriously appeared in a similar fashion. I like both my sisters stacks now, but I’m pretty sure I was the wicked older sister for many years. Actually, they tell me I was, which means they may not have liked me then, but we’re now close enough that they can pick on me about it now. Oh, how times have changed!

We all grew up in the aforementioned small country town, where literally half the population were our relatives. It was a swell place. I remember never feeling at risk and roaming free wherever I chose. Alas small country towns are claustrophobic places where your business is everyone’s business. Thus my parents decided to move ‘into town’ (pop: 15 000) in Australia’s bicentennial year.

This was great because I got my own room AND got to choose what colour it was painted (peach, which I then had to live with for 10 years). That room and I saw a lot of ups and downs. There were posters of Bros and Kylie which were ripped down and replaced by ‘deep’ adolescent drawings that my ‘deep’ friends and I drew for each other. The peach was eventually taken over with terrible snippets of poetry and ‘Save Jabiluka’ posters. The carpet absorbed the musky odours of Nag Champa and clumps were stuck together with wax from overexcited candles. My cupboard spewed all my oversized black clothing over my floor, amongst the books and Nirvana cd covers.

One day, upon emerging from my den, I suggested to my parents that I’d like to live overseas for a year. As my parents never saw me apart from my slinking to the bathroom or pantry, they thought this a good and ‘strengthening’ exercise. So at the tender and sensitive age of 16 I boarded a plane to the land of Danes where I was to live with a family I had never met and go to a school where I couldn’t speaka the language.

I consider this as the breaking point. Ultimately considered the best thing I’ve ever done. One day I remember thinking to myself. “Nobody here knows me, I don’t have to do anything I don’t want, be friends with anyone I don’t like or believe in anything I don’t want to believe in.” I’d started afresh.

I made friends with an amazing, dedicated and talented group of individuals. I am happy to say that they are still my friends today. During this year I remembered what confidence, individuality, responsibility, family and friendship were all about. I brought all these trinkets home with me and have kept them in my pocket ever since.

I returned to Aus one year older and a lot braver. All my friends I’d had at High School had moved on a year and so I had to forge new friendships. Lucky for me, because I met many of my favourite people with whom I am still fast friends with.

We moved to Melbourne together to study and work and be ‘independent’, which really meant we’d find somewhere to live and get our parents to pay rent. Heart breakingly at the time my parents were not in a rent paying situation and I moved into a shoebox with my Dad.

My Dad had been working in Melbourne and Sydney for the past 10 years. Although potentially devastating for my parents relationship they made it through 14 years of living apart in distance with love, communication and understanding. In my eyes my mother will always be the most amazing person for keeping our family together. When I grow up, if I’m half the woman she is I’ll be content.

My Dad was always a most important figure in my life, though a diminished one out of a lack of presence. When I moved in with him we both had to give a little. Neither of us did. We moved around each other uncomfortably for 2 years. I’ve always had the greatest amount of respect for my father. He’s generous, strong, loving and driven. I am also these things; we just couldn’t see the other person’s side ever. Since now living apart for 3 years we have established a tight and deep respect for each other at home and work – having chosen the same working industry.

My whole family was reunited 3 years ago when my Mum and youngest sister moved up to the big smoke. We now all live within one suburb of each other. If I ever need anything in my life I know any member of my family will be there in a second. In the meantime they’re good for providing sarcasm and wit.

So today I’m 24 and I’m happy in love, profession, home, friendship and family life. On this day the 21st of April, 2005 I am one contented little blogger.

It's the final countdown... dododoodo, dodoodododooo

2005-04-20T16:02:00.000+10:00

So tomorrow is the day, no sorry, let me rephrase that… TOMORROW IS THE DAY! WHOOHOO Yeah, that’s better.

Argh! I can't take it! It's so exciting! You feel it too right?

So when you're as excitedly obsessed by your birthday as what I am what's the most tortuous thing someone can do to you? How 'bout sending you this?...

Thanks Sweetness.

*smiles coyly*

*mutters under breath*

bastard

What is it? It's pink, there's some sort of sticker on it, that I can't make out when I enlarge it. He's described it as "presents". With an 's', indicating a plural! TORTURE!

Moving on, here is a general step by step program for my day, just so you know and can think of me sporatically and know generally what I'll be doing. I'm generous that way, huh?

STEP 1: Wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed next to some hot guy I’ve picked up off the street… oh, I mean, next to my honey. Then I’ll… yeah, no, you don’t need to know me that well.

STEP 2: Get a really good coffee and be late to work. I feel I deserve it.

STEP 3: Survive work. Wait for 5pm.

STEP 4: Yay! It’s 5pm! Go home and get dressed up in time to be at Mum and Dad’s for family love, presents and no doubt a bottle of sparkling red.

STEP 5: Eat to my hearts content at Pearl. Thanks Dad.

STEP 6: Head to The Corner to watch rock hotnessed, Wolfmother.

STEP 7: Slip contentedly into bed and then… no, you’re still not privy to that information.

Friendship doesn't have to be based on food, but it's a start.

2005-04-19T11:04:00.000+10:00

matts breakfast
Originally uploaded by Sugar n Spice.

On Saturday morning I ran into my friend Matt.

He looked bedraggled. He'd been up late. But he was excited, because he'd made this for breakfast. It's sausages, some with duck, some with pork and fried mash. All washed down with stout. You like him too right?

If you wish to endear yourself to me more please send me pictures of your food.

the best way to my heart is through my stomach.

xx

Part 2:

Who better to take up a challenge than ausculture jess. She's busty you know... or so she tells me.

And so I present "Yummy pork and lots of other stuff like potato and ummmm green stuff like beans and... it was really nice."

Delicious Jess. (note the lack of comma).

Join with me lovers of food and blogs. I know you have what it takes, let's make the world salivate together!

Sugar or Spice?

2005-04-18T14:09:00.000+10:00

Yesterday was my Nan’s 80th Birthday Party. My sister and our beau’s got into the car and headed off to Bairnsdale. Non-stop Bairnsy is 3 hours. We stopped twice and still got there in 3 hours, due to us running an hour behind time and because my Honey is good at driving like a bat outa Hell (which I totally don't condone).

My Nan is of course special to me, everyone’s got a special 'Nan spot' in their heart. However, she tends to cop a lot of flack from the family because she’s a bit of a gossip and is slightly morbid – her favourite topic being deaths of those she knows and the prospective death of those she knows. This tends to become tedious when having a conversation with Nan.

But yesterday the whole clan (approx. 27 kin + 20 other hangers on) decended on the Lake of China in Bairnsy and ate Crayfish and Crab that my dad brought down from Melbourne. Good one Dad.

After the food was happily digesting and the candles had just been blown out, speeches were made and it was brought up by my beloved Nan the I had been the only Grandchild (of 14) that had not called her and wished her Happy Birthday.

Ok. A couple of points here:
1. It’s true, I didn’t call. It’s also true that my sister had given me a heads up to call and provided me with the number.

2. My aunts and uncles can be cruel and cunning, and cemented the fact that I was the only Grandchild that had not called in Nan’s head and that I was now in fact number 14 on her favourite Grandchild’s list.

3. My aunt, during Nan’s speech brought this up, to which my Nan (like Pavlov’s dog) responded with, “Yes, Sugar, you were the only one of 14 Grandchildren not to call and wish me happy birthday!”

4. It is also true that I should pay heed to others’ birthday’s as I become a little involved with my own.

But I was not about to let the issue lie. Ohno. This meant war family –- in a sweet, 'I should do something special for my Nan' way.

So I snuck out of the restaurant and went to the supermarket. I found the best Nan card that is possible to find in a country supermarket and set out to win my Nan back with words from the heart.

I wrote a few childhood anecdotes and told her she was ‘special to me throughout my youth, which still means a great deal to me today’. To many this may not sound like a big deal. But for this to be written to someone in my family, by someone in my family is a rather big deal.

Let’s just say I regained number one spot on the Grandkid’s list, much to the disgust of the rest of my family. Glenn even said there was a sign of a tear in her eye. I felt good that I’d done something that my Nan will always appreciate. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d done it after I knew that it’d done something that had upset her. I know that what I wrote was true and that she does hold that special ‘Nan spot’ in my heart, but maybe she would not have known that if I hadn’t been selfish the day before and not called her and suffered the guilt of that from Nan and the family.

Am I a bad person?

Phytoestrogens, ay?

2005-04-14T13:34:00.000+10:00

Fluffy asks and she doth receive:

i want to know more about about tofu and phytoestrogens.

I’m going to start with the phytoestrogens because I’ve meet some of youse and I reckon youse’ve got the tofu bit covered.

Phytoestrogens are naturally occurring phenolic plant compounds, present in foods such as beans, cabbage, soyabean, grains and hops (beer, finally, beer is good!), and are part of a wider class of polyphenols found in all plants. They are structurally similar to the mammalian oestrogen, oestradiol, and have oestrogenic properties.

Now let’s not freak out here. They’re not like human oestrogen (the girlie hormone), they’re pretty mild in comparison. As in like 1/1000 as ineffective, but still pack a punch.

Phytoestrogens are found in plants, but the most abundant source is from legumes. Soy bean having the highest levels of all the legumes (linseed is also very high). Obviously tofu is made form soy beans, therefore tofu is regarded as a good source of phytoestrogens. And so the circle is complete.

So, like, why are they, like, good an’ stuff?

WELL. They’re thought to be beneficial in 4 major areas. Cancer, menopause, osteoporosis and heart disease.

OK, cancer. It’s thought that because Japanese cultures have a very low incidence of breast and prostate cancers and a very high intake of phytoestrogens that there is a link (it’s estimated that the Japanese diet contains about 30 times the phytoestrogens as the typical Western diet). It’s kinda tied in with the whole menopause bit. As in chances of cancer development is increased after menopause. The added amount of oestogenic effect the phytoestrogen adds is postulated to contribute to a decreased risk of cancer development.

Menopausal symptoms are also thought to be reduced, or at the very least changed with a diet high in phytoestrogens. Women in Japan are more likely to have headaches and backaches rather than hot flushes and night sweats. One test showed that substituting for soya flour (45g/day) hot flushes were decreased by 40%. That’s good. Just depends if you’re more inclined to want a backache or turning beet red mid sentence.

Osteoporosis is also linked to the onset of menopause. Often treatment of menopause includes hormone therapy. So in a sense, if you’re delaying or softening the effects of menopause by consuming phytoestrogens, then it’s also going to help the osteoporosis.

And heart disease, good ol’ heart disease, we can always trust you be a symptom of poor eating. It appears that the phytoestrogens have less to do with this one, and more to do with the source you’re getting the phyto’s from, i.e. tofu. Tofu also contains isoflavins which have been shown to have a positive effect on lowering the bad cholesterol levels in the blood serum. I’ve talked about the goods and evils of cholesterol before and I’m tired and I have work to do, so you’ll just have to re-read an old post buried in The Missing Ingredient if you want further assistance on this one. (Yowza, crack the whip)

So there you go Fluff’s. Tofu = phytoestrogens + isoflavins, which = good. I hope I’ve glossed over it thoroughly enough. Now, a note to all the rest of you… it pays to have a beer with me on a sunny day to remind me to research and blog over these things.

Happy eating!

Walk all over you

2005-04-13T12:41:00.000+10:00

i am like SO Jessica Albaright no,w with my new boots

I’ve been illin’ a little lately. A case of burning the candle at both ends me thinks. But there are times where you just need to make a few sacrifices and quite frankly life’s so freakin’ good right now that I ain’t gunna change a thing (don’t I make you sick).

So yesterday I took a day off from the Herb and Spice world which is my working week and slept in. A sick day should not however be wasted and I had much to do. I spent the morning erranding: doctor’s surgery here; Richmond town hall there; a smattering of laundry and most importantly a shit load of Birthday shopping!

We all remember it’s Month Of Birthday right? Good. I’d be terribly upset if anyone forgot. So my Mum said she’d take me shopping because my wardrobe, although fun and exciting, has been fun and exciting with the same clothes I’ve had for maybe a thousand years (or so I tried to convince my Mum).

The only thing that I have ample stock of is black boots. Unfortunately, it never seems to register that I have enough pairs of black boots. So I got some new ones. These are like totally different to my other pairs! Serious. They’re higher (yeah, that’s right), they’re somewhat pointer – but not like “you could take someone’s eye out” pointy and like SO different to any of my other pairs.

Ok, it’s a problem I have. I like boots. I can’t wear heels because I think people are pointing and staring, but get me near a pair of boots and watch out baby - I’m ready to walk the walk.

My most treasured boots are out of action at the moment and have been for a heart breaking 4 months. I wore them to Meredith and the heel fell off while I was drunkenly taking them off on a mind addled morn. I need to take them back to Rocco, an institution in cowboy boots here in Melbourne (I hear he’s made them for Bon Jovi), but Rocco is in Malvern and I haven’t been able to get there… *sob*, it’s all getting a bit much… excuse me…

*in*

*out*

*in*

*out*

ok, it’s ok.

My other pair of black boots are ancient and I only wear them for two reasons.
1) They’re comfy
2) I saw a really cool girl wearing them in a really cool way, wile working in a really cool shop and thought, “maybe they’re not so bad after all.” Problem is I can’t wear them as cool as her.… Excuse me how pathetic do I sound here? Since when did I want to be cool like some girl in a jeans shop? Those boots are so dumped. Lucky I’ve got my new hot-as-hell ones.

My last pair of black boots are reminants from high school days gone by. 10-up, steel-cap, Doc Martins. I’m holding on to those babies until they come back in fashion. We all know it’s going to happen and when it does I’ll be hot shit.

Today I’m back in my lab coat happily dreaming of the day I get to lay my hands on those precious boots again (next Thursday… so exciting!) and waiting for the day to end because as the day draws to an end the comedy draws closer.

i'm tired and words fail me at this point, so let's review what's making sugar tick at the mo' through visual aids

2005-04-11T11:58:00.000+10:00

A lack of concentration

2005-04-06T12:50:00.000+10:00

In the last week I have been a little preoccupied. It’s not just affecting my attendance in the blogosphere, but in the outside world too.

Everything is taking a little more effort than usual. My concentration levels are spent. Driving is a hazard. On the way to work I’m distracted and a little daydreamy. I always pick the slow lane and am often left sitting at a green light with insane drivers tooting me from behind. Once I arrive at my destination though I don’t want to get out of my little automobile, because I know that it’ll be the whole working day before I get back in it to brave peak-hour home.

On the drive home I’m edgy and a little erratic. I just want to get home. I find myself looking for shortcuts and getting pissy with the type of driver I am in the morning. Once I arrive home I’m not calm. I rush around the house, unable to sit and read the paper and drink a soothing cup of tea.

I wouldn’t be able read anyway. I’d get through half an article and then either skip to the end or move on to something with pictures. Forget books. I picked up a cheap copy of Stark by the lovable Ben Elton a couple of weeks ago, in the last week I think I’ve got through (maybe) a paragraph or two.

I can’t sleep either. I’m absolutely exhausted, but as soon as I close my eyes my mind kicks into light speed thinking. There’s no stopping it.

I can’t eat. I want to, because I have this dry taste in my mouth all the time, but as soon as something passes my lips my tummy grumbles something about “you’ve got to be kidding, like I haven’t got enough to think about here!”

Even if I could eat I wouldn’t know what to do. I can’t cook a meal without the distinct possibility of slicing off bits of my finger with my beloved Global knives.

It all sounds pretty dim doesn’t it? Are you worried about me? Can you see a dishevelled Sugar in your minds eye?

You shouldn’t, because it’s got nothing to do with dark clouds and sad skies. It’s more about that all encompassing feeling that you need to be next to that person. You need to be touching them all the time. You need to look at them and see that look of adoration in their eyes, and feel it coming out of yours.

It’s all explosions and happiness and closeness and waiting and feeling and needing and songs and giggles. Really it’s all about love and sharing it with the person that you’ve always wanted to share it with and that can muck around with your concentration.

Phew.

Month Of Birthday!

2005-04-01T10:58:00.000+10:00

My youngest sister, Tutse’s*, birthday is in February. Mine is in April. Usually on the night of Tutse’s birthday (around present time), I bring up the fact that my birthday is next.

This is a tradition. My announcement of the upcoming celebration is so expected that my Ultra Cool Mum actually beat me to the punch this year:

*Snickering* “So, I guess Sugar that it’s your turn next.”

*A look of “She finally understands” on Sugar’s face* “I know Mum, I’ve been thinking about that.”

*Snickers from rest of table*

For as long as I can remember my Birthday has always been the pinnacle of my year. As a child I would meticulously plan my birthday party. I’d pick out themed invitations, choose my cake, schedule the latest, hippest games, make sure there was the right food for the occasion. I was so good at this I was also in charge of both my sisters’ parties.

As time went by and the years past, I became a woman. A woman who loves to PARTY! Omg, I’m so embarrassed I wrote that. Sufficed to say, I still make sure I always have some sort of hyped up bash. I'm pretty sure this year will involve drinking beer. or smthin smthin.

Anywaaay, point is I’ve programmed myself from an early age to love, love, love my birthday. So much so that this year I’ve decided it’s the Month Of Birthday!

And it starts today!

This really means nothing more than I get to talk about it all the time and make excuses, such as:

[Insert friend]: Don’t you think it’s your turn to pay for dinner Sugar?
Sugar: I would [insert friend], but it’s my Month Of Birthday!

Mum: Sugar, how come you’ve directed all you’re bill’s for April here?
Sugar: Because it’s Month Of Birthday! and I’m taking bill paying off!

Sugar: Gee, my feet are tired after my busy day at the office.
Handsome Man: You know what? I’m going to massage them for you because…
Together: Month Of Birthday!

You see how great this is? I’m totally NOT going to get sick of this. ever.

Feel free to praise me as much as you like for the next 30 days.

*Tutse is what I call her. She has a regular name too.

Lucky Toby's not the Easter Bunny

2005-03-29T14:39:00.000+10:00

So the Easter Bunny makes me shake in my boots, but this little bunny is far too cute to make me squirm, plus there's a chance he'll die on June 30th, so i'm not really that threatened.

My birthday is in April and I think the savetoby.com hooded jumper is exactly what i need. Don't you?

What makes me crap my cottontails?

2005-03-23T12:55:00.000+11:00

I may have mentioned this before, but the season is right for me to emphasise the point…

I am actually Easter-Bunnyphobic. There I’ve said it.

It’s creepy. Let’s recap: It’s a big rabbit that comes into the house and leaves chocolate for kids. Tell me that in this day and age that would not sort of be considered an offence.

It frightens the crap out of me. As a child I had reoccurring nightmares of a huge pink rabbit with crazy eyebrows, blood shot eyes and razor sharp steel teeth coming for me in my sleep. Sometimes, especially around this time of year, I still have that dream.

Mostly I don’t get scared of things coming into my house and eating me. But you see the Easter Bunny is ALLOWED to come into your house. You’re parents actually endorse it. Not like a Vampire that has to be INVITED into your house, or Santa who has that delightful chimney shtick.

Also the chocolate thing. Look, I’m not against chocolate, but we’re not best mates. It kinda makes me feel phlegmy and blagh. However, I’m a girl and sometimes there is no choice but to eat chocolate phlegm or no phlegm (how good is that word to write)… Annnyway, Easter Bunny, you win no favours by bestowing chocolate upon me.

A picture speaks a thousand words right? Well, let’s journey through “Scary Easter Bunny”

this is scary for different reasons

this is the shit i'm talking about. in my head he's thinking "i'm going to eat this baby, bonnet and all."

argh!

and apparantly EB is a dealer to the kids in school

Weekends are like a box of Futtersticks, ya never know what you're gunna get

2005-03-21T14:26:00.000+11:00

But really I just wanted to use this picture:

So many adventures over the weekend. It makes it hard to decide what to share with you, my adoring fans. Hell, why not just spill all…

St. Paddy’s
Thursday night was St Patrick’s Day. I took Friday off, thus my weekend begins here.

If you’re an avid reader you’ll know that I ditched the drink for a month and have only recently jumped back on the Wagon. The end was conveniently wrapped up the day before St Patrick’s Day (as my non-drinking buddy is Irish by trade).

I’ve never done a Paddy’s before. It was… hmmm, I need to pick an adjective… Jolly? Jiggy? Drunken? Green? Bozoville-esk? Guinnessy?... you get the picture.

I ACTUALLY had a good night, despite getting pissed really easily, dancing to bad 90’s pop songs and love ballads and developing a thick Irish accent.

Flying
On Friday I slept a lot in the sun. Yay!

You guys should totally get a friend that’s a photographer and has to do aerial shots all over the city on clear blue sky days. Especially when he does them on a day you’ve taken off and asks you to come along.

Yeah, Friday afternoon I played spot you’re place of work from 3 000 feet up. It was so cool.

Poison running through my… digestive system
I’ve never had food poisoning before. I totally had it after eating at one of my most trusted Vic St establishments on Friday night (don’t worry, it’s not a duck place). It’s now been Blacklisted. Shame, shame.

Lucky for my flatmates they went away or else they could have listened to me scream in pain and terror for most of the night. Not pretty.

The positives of having Food Poisoning for a Food Scientist like myself is that you get to endlessly amuse yourself by pondering what has poisoned you, where it came from and what kind of symptoms you will encounter next! I’ve narrowed it down to two likelies: Bacillus cereus from the rice, or Salmonella from the chicken (most probably a cross contamination). Either way it wasn’t cool.

Image
I look way different now than the last time you saw me (assuming you’ve seen me before and you haven’t seen me since Saturday).

I used to have blond curly hair. Now I have strait almost black hair.

It’s totally hip. Volka the German cut it for me. It cost me a lot of money.

I’ve spent today delighting in confusing my colleagues!

Hot Stuff
Totally hooked up with Hotty McHott for some coffeein’, hangin’, and moviein’. I was introduced to the wonders of Pedro Amaldovar through Bad Education. Go and see it its WAY good.

Revisiting the past
Before the no drinking thing I used to go out stacks. Especially on a Saturday. So I hooked up wit me boyz and we drank.

Did you know that if you live a life of sobriety you’re levels of alcohol tolerance are lowered? It’s true.

I could go on here, but let’s just say I might stick with moderation for a little longer and build up my former iron liver*.

Sunday = watching The Soprano’s Season 2 + feeling sorry for yourself + feeling sorry for others + making your mum feel sorry for you and buying you dinner.

Phew! It was a long one. And next week’s is going to be even longer! Fully.

*Isn’t that right Dark Cloud

Playing Grown-Ups

2005-03-17T10:22:00.000+11:00

Last night I transformed into a grown up. At least for the night anyway.

But let’s go back. Way back. Back to where it all began.

*que wobbly lines down the screen*

*do-looldo-do, do-looldo-do, do-looldo-do, do-looldo-do*

Once I had this hair-brained scheme to stop drinking FOR A WHOLE MONTH and do my health and prosperity good. Phew, am I glad that’s over! That’s right blogfans I’m officially back on the Wagon. Wanna catch up for a drink?

The end of such a feat must be celebrated in style. So last night I dressed up like a grown up and ate and drank like I had a money tree. Like bloggers before me, people, last night I entered the Pearlzone.

I washed my hair, slipped on my party dress and stepped into my boots, I may have even worn a little make-up.

My partner in sabbatical crime and I were ushered to our table. I’m pretty sure we were the only two people in the restaurant wearing colour. I’m also pretty sure the waiters thought we were a little mental OR incredibly cute the way our eye’s were the size of saucepans while we scaled the wine list and joked about ordering the $710 bottle of Champagne. Ha! I’m sure no one’s ever done that before! What a hoot! We did however settle on a lovely glass of fruity Denmark Sauvignon Blanc and a bottle of 2003 Margaret River Shiraz. AND it wasn’t even the cheapest bottle there. In fact I’ve never bought a bottle of wine that’s that expensive, like ever. So totally liberating. You should try it.

THEN we had to decide what to eat. OMG! Wait, this even deserves the complete wording… Oh my Goht! Here look at it yourself. I know. Hot, no?

We started with freshly schucked oysters on ice with lemon. Then I had coconut caramel roast pork chop. Glenn had white rabbit with chicory and caramelised onions. Then we had warm chocolate pudding with white chocolate ice-cream and a bitter-sweet chocolate sauce.

Yeah, I know. Fucking ah-some.

The Oysters
Try and describe oysters. It’s hard. But for youse I’ll do my best.

These were so schuckin’ good. You could still taste the sea. These were oysters that were treated wit respec’ yo, no temperature abuse – these puppies were chillin’. They were a little sweet and teensy bit bitter and with just a metallic tweak at the end. Yuuuum! Put a little lemon on those babies and slip ‘em down your gullet!

My Pork
You know how pork can be dry really easily? Not here. You know how you have apple sauce on the side? Well, how about adding a little celeriac to a bit of shredded apple to tide over some of the sweetness and then adding a tweak of lime and coconut! Take that apple sauce! Yeah! THEN why don’t you make the skin so crispy it bubbles in your mouth as you chomp down? Good idea – coz that’s when a pork chop will taste so good that you’ll dream about it.

Glenn’s Rabbit
Glenn got the rabbit because he’d never had rabbit before (helps that it sounded fucking ah-some too) for this reason I like him a little more today than I did yesterday, awww.

Little wheels of rabbit and bacon delights with chicory, spinach and caramelised onion, topped off with a rich rabbit liver. This went so incredibly well with the wine. I was jealous.

Chocolate Pudding with White Chocolate Ice-cream anyone?
The pudding was so freakishly light that if I’d have sneezed it probably would have smacked the stylish couple on the table next to me in the face (not a loss in itself really).

Rich. Yum!
White Chocolate ice-cream. Yum!
Fudgy, saucy goodness in the middle. YUM!

Dessert was followed by coffee.

Smiles were hard to shift. Asses were hard to shift (this could be due to ‘I’m such a girl when it comes to drinking at the moment, due to NO ALCOHOL FOR A MONTH’). There was not a smattering of regret when the bill arrived. We payed like grown ups and joyfully floated out the door.

Wang

2005-03-10T15:07:00.000+11:00

This weekend i'm going to Wangaratta.

Yep, i'm going to torture myself by going to the Food and Wine festival up there and go on bike tours through the wineries. Let's all keep in mind that I'm NOT DRINKING at the moment (roll on Wednesday). My Homie and i have decided not to skip the whole wine tasting though. We're going to utilise the spit buckets! Yay! Think how pompous and toffee nosed we'll seem! Great! What I don't consume in wine i'll be sure to make up for in chesse.

i've never been to Wang before. So I google imaged it. Let's find out together what I'm in for through a commical narative.

"Whoa, look Glenn we're almost there."

"Yay! But wait we're in the car... Fuck i wish i'd had that cd player fixed this week!"

"Hey don't spoil the magic of the train images. We're here at the station!"

"Fine. Let's go check in."

"Oh sweet! A pool and '90's decor! Now what?"

"Let's go check out the sites, sounds and folk."

"Good idea Glenn"

"Hey, Sugar. It's the Mayor!"

"Nice. Dig the way she blends into the background."

"Yeah, nice effect."

"Whoa! Churches!"

"Love Churches!"

"Yeah, they rule. Pity you're not religious."

"Ha! Yeah."

"Sick, look how much fun they're having at the school!"

"Don't you wish you were 8 again Sug?"

"Fully. But maybe just for a day, because... look at the wild and crazy bunch you can meet when you grow up and get to go to Centrelink in Wang!"

"Ha! Wacky hair. They all look related."

"Yeah... wacky. True 'bout the related bit too"

"I'm tired let's sit."

"Fully."

"Hey Glenn, have you noticed how sporty everyone is around here?"

*Sugar and Glenn look left*

*Sugar and Glenn look right*

"Yeah they seem really active. It's making me hungry. Let's eat."

"Don't have to ask me twice, did you bring your Good Food Guide?"

"Crap I forgot, we'll just have to wing it."

"This place looks... like it has food in it."

"Hi, Glenn and Sugar."

"Oh, hi guys. Sorry wrong place."

*escapes eatery*

"Burr. It's getting cold. Looks like there's a storm a brewin'."

"Let's get fish and chips and watch in house movies. We'll smoke... cigarettes... and giggle like girls."

"Sounds good Sugar. Happy long weekend!"

"Yeah, happy long weekend."

*breaths in country air*

So what’s up with you?

2005-03-04T14:04:00.000+11:00

It’s been a while since we caught up huh? I’ve been real busy at work. My phone’s been ringing off the hook. My email account is choc-a-block. I’ve been attending meetings like they’re going out of style. It’s no excuse for neglecting you though. Here’s some stuff I’ve been doing lately:

Sabbatical
Yeah, still truckin’ along with this one. it’s been 2 and a half weeks now. It’s all down hill from here on in. I went out to my pub last Saturday for some hotness’s birthday. I smoked a lot of cigarettes, but not a drop past my lips. My friend Jack who works The Corner berated Glenn and me for our wholesomeness and mocked us when we asked him to make us a non-alcoholic cocktail (get it, mocked... yeah whatever).

It’s nice to know most of my friends like me even when I’m not drunk. I’ve still been invited places and offered juice. My parents were dubious that I could pull this off (thanks, supporting role models), but I’m proving them wrong rather nicely. I think deep down they’re proud.

Cooking
I’ve been cooking more. I think this is because I’m not drunk all the time, coupled with the want to impress my new house mates and warrant the use of Global knife set (no, you can’t have it when I die). I’ve been dabbling in Moroccan, Italian and Asian fairs mostly. I’ve even started taking home doggy bags of spices for personal use, which I’ve been talking about doing since I started working for a spice company 9 months ago. Hey, it’s like a baby. Wait, no it’s not. That was weird, now I feel awkward and need to change subject to cover up my tomfoolery…

Holly Golightly and Kurt Wagner
Tonight I’m going to see Holly. I’m very excited because I think her a delightful chanteuse. Before she comes on I’m probably going to clasp my hands together and giggle from the bubbles in my tummy.

THEN on Tuesday I’m going to see Kurt Wagner and his merry men (or as some like to call it, Lambchop). I like Lambchop a lot. They’re smooth in a country kinda way and Kurt’s voice is a little like caramel coated chocolate. He’s done some work with Neko Case and that makes him a good bloke in my book.

…. My emails are coming in again, oops, and there’s the phone.

*hi, can you hold for a minute. thanks*

so, I’d best be off. Have a great weekend and I hope to catch up again soon.

Peace, yo
Sugar

Martha, Martha, Martha

2005-03-03T16:05:00.000+11:00

I’ve seen the devil and her name is Martha.

What is with Martha Stewart? You remember her right? She was banged up in jail for pulling a swifty with some of her many millions of dollars. I’m not going to pretend to know all the ins and outs because I’m not a great follower of this story. However this article piqued my interest. It’s a wonderful example how PR and advertising can rot your brain.

A few things disturb me about this:

1. Apparently she’s flourished in jail. In fact, I’m even considering muckin’ about with the share market for my own personal gain so that I can get in there and get some perspective on life, loose 20 pounds and teach my fellow inmates on the pleasures of decoupage. Just think how pretty those bars could look with a lovely floral motif.

2. Martha has 2 up and coming shows upon her release. Yeah. Two. One in the style of Donald Trumps - The Apprentice. Do people really want to be a jailbird’s protégé? Well, yes it seems so. One woman interviewed for the article/propaganda piece had waited outside the jail since 5 am to audition. Scary much?

3. A character from Desperate Housewives has actually been modelled on Martha. The little conspiracy theory part of my brain is saying “Hmmm, I wonder if this is a little ploy by the TV big wigs to try and win Martha back into our homes?” Surely they’re not that sneaky though (… that was me being snide).

Annnyway, she’ll be out soon and fortunately here in Aus we won’t see much of her apart from the initial media frenzy.

The mind still boggles though how fucked up some stuff is.

Eggsellent question Fluffy

2005-02-24T13:43:00.000+11:00

Fluffy says...

the tiny man is into hard boiled eggs, mostly because he has a egg cup in
the shape of Noddy and another in the shape of Big Ears. at least one a day. his
hard boiled daddy strongly suggests 2 a week is about right for egg consumption.
more would be "dangerous cholesterol intake". try telling daddy about "dangerous alcohol intake"! but i digress.

how many eggs is too many?

Haha it's a super egg! I love you Google Image

In food it’s rare to find an all-rounder. Something that’ll give you all that you need in one serving. Hell, let’s face it, it’s hard to find an all-rounder in any aspect of life. But The Egg… oh The Egg is a wondrous thing.

To build a little chicken you have to have some pretty impressive ingredients. So it makes sense that eggs have some rich components, like:

Protein
The protein content of The Egg is the bench mark for other foods. It is the only food that has all the essential amino acids (i.e. the ones the body can’t make). Every other food ever lacks at least one of these amino acids.

Muscle tissue is made from protein, therefore it stands to reason that if you’re going to make a baby chicken (awww) you’ll need all the essential amino acids.

Let’s not forget you need proteins forevs too. You’re constantly remaking yourself and you need the protein to build it up. Eggs are the best and cheapest source of achieving this. For example, 2 serves of The Egg is the equivalent to 1 serve of meat, at about a millionth of the cost. Yeah, a millionth.

In the case of Tiny Man his Recommended Daily Allowance (RDA) is 1.2g/kg and a large egg contributes 6g of high quality complete protein.

An egg a day will do no harm here.

Vi-tamins (or as the delightful English would say Vit-amins)
The Egg is RICH, that’s right RICH, in vitamins and minerals. We all know we need vitamins and minerals, so I won’t go there.

However because eggs have both a fat soluble phase (the yolk) and a water soluble phase (the white) The Egg has both oil and water soluble vitamins. Brilliant!

Oil Soluble Vitamins (and the Nutrient Daily Values for 2 Large Eggs): A (12%), D (12%), E (6%).

Water Soluble Vitamins (and the Nutrient Daily Values for 2 Large Eggs): B12 (16%), B6 (8%), B9 aka Folate (12%), B2 aka Riboflavin (30%), B1 aka Thiamine (4%).

Here no harm. Robbo?

Cholesterol
This is the scary bit right? Well, no, not really...

Yes, The Egg contains cholesterol and a reasonable amount too. But before you get all “meh, meh, meh… cholesterol is bad,” read this and this and this .

There, feel better?

Oh, you didn’t read the links… pisht, lazy! Fine, here's the goss:

Cholesterol is made by the body, we don’t actually need to eat it because we make enough. It’s used around the place in such useful bio-thingy’s as:

-Bile acids which allow the body to absorb fats and fat-soluble vitamins from the digestive tract,
-Making steroid hormones,
-Starting material for the synthesis of vitamin D (the sun one).

Eating cholesterol will not necessarily raise the blood cholesterol level. The liver will just make a little less, because you’ve eaten some.

As far as I’m concerned the cholesterol is not the baddie here. It’s the kids he hangs with. Blood cholesterol either hangs with LDL (low density lipoprotein) or HDL (high density lipoprotein).

LDL is a bad egg (so to speak). He’s taking ‘bad’ fats out into the blood stream from the liver to store in adipose tissue. HDL on the other hand is a good kid who likes to gently carry fats from tissue to the liver (to be converted into something else). Don’t we all just love HDL right now. You suck LDL!

Also the amount of cholesterol you have in your blood is directly related to your weight. If you’re overweight you’ll have higher blood cholesterol. Ergo, if you’re doctor tells you your cholesterol is too high, it probably means you’re overweight.

See cholesterol isn’t so scary. He’s just got a bad wrap, yo.

Now to specifically address Tiny Man…

*fishes around in bag trying to find a stamp*

No, wait wrong kind of address. Regroup Sugar....

Sorry, ok.

*ahem*

Tiny people are growing fast. The Egg a day will not harm him, in fact it’s probably the best time of his life to be eating The Egg so much.

If Tiny Man were a middle aged overweight man with diabetes I’d have to change my tune a little, but at this stage let him, Noddy and Big Ears spend a little time together (careful though, you don't want Tiny Man to turn into a raging homosexual).

Kids are fickle and he’s probably over the whole egg thing by now anyway. But if you get too concerned buy him a Hooley Dooley’s spoon and give him a tub of yogurt.

Would you like Balls with your Burger?

2005-02-21T13:39:00.000+11:00

How well do we really know our pets?

We know we love them and that they love us because we give them food and let them sleep on our bed.

I have a silky black kitten, Burger*, that is morphing from Junior Burger into Whopper Burger. Through this tumultuous time of change I have realised I didn’t know my baby as well as I thought I had. Like any parent with an adolescent I’m a little taken aback by the development process.

Take for example yesterday when my neighbour announced to me that my beautiful baby girl, is in fact A BOY! Wtf?! When did this happen. She’d… sorry, he’d been a girl for the last 5 months. Even the Vet had said she *tisk* he was a girl. Nonetheless my neighbour flashed Burger’s recently dropped testes in my general direction. My little girl had indeed become a man.

It explains a lot. She was always quite boisterous as a girl. I though she was just a bit of a tomboy, mixin’ it wit da boyz, just like her ol’ mum. Little did I know she was indeed (and is) one of da boyz. Weird.

Now I feel like our whole relationship has changed. I’m the eldest child of an all female family, what do I know about raising a boy? Have my months of calling him a beautiful girl resulted in gender-confusion? Or has it made him into a bit of a SNAC (sensitive new aged cat), a real pussy magnet? Last night I even started calling him ‘mate’, in the hope that he’d feel more blokey. My relationships with the male species leaves somewhat to be desired, how do I know this relationship won’t be any different?

Oh! Have I failed as a mother? I mean I didn’t even realise she was a he! In my own defence, how often do I go around gazing at my cat’s supposed non-existent nads? If anything that makes me more normal, right?

Oh! Woe is me.

*she… damn it! I mean, he’s named Burger because in the light her… fuck… his glistening coat has a tint of Burgundy. Plus it also goes delightfully well with my food thang.

I like you a Latte

2005-02-18T09:41:00.000+11:00

Two cups of tea or one cup of coffee per day
Two cigarettes per day
No alcohol
No drugs
No fried foods
Move your ass

These are the rules that govern my life for the next month.

I’m happy about it. And every time someone pooh-poohs it or scoffs I feel a little glimmer of “hee hee, another one I can prove wrong”. Believe you me there are a good deal of scoffer’s out there. Even my mum scoffed.

It’s been two days now. The only thing I’m really missing is my caffeine. The problem is this:

do I have a cup of tea in the morning, knowing I can have another in the afternoon, or do I put all my eggs into one basket and have a glorious cup of coffee?

I’ve been doing the two tea’s a day thang. I love tea. It’s good for you, what with all the anti-oxidants.

*cue annoying kid* “aunty who?”

*laughing at idiot kid* “Nooo, anti-oxidants. They absorb free-radicals which attack cells in the body. Thus reducing the risk of cancer and heart disease (amongst other things).”

But I LOVE coffee. It tastes like smooth awesomeness, sweet milkiness clashing with the bitter coffee beans. ARGH! Why am I talking about this?

Tomorrow I’m going to the place that has the BEST COFFEE EVER (yeah, I’m not telling you about that one either). I’m going to lovingly sip that dense liquid through the stiff foam, savouring every millilitre that passes through my lips.

Oh God. Is it tomorrow yet?

Ice cold Ruski's

2005-02-15T14:52:00.000+11:00

What do you know about Russian Politics?

Me? Little to none. I did a CAT* on it in Year 12. But that was all Lenin and Trotsky stuff and I’m a little sketchy on the details.

You don’t hear so much about the frozen Russians now days though. I can’t tell if that’s because the Pale Gnome is good at fixing things, or good at covering things up.

He’s an interesting fella.

Vladimir sad

Vladimir mad

Vladimir happy

Vladimir in Hell

Vladimir and his hat

So Bond villain-esk, right now

Anyways... I was reading my weekly food industry update yesterday morning and came across this little nugget.

Those Russians sure do love their Vodka. It’s a freakin multi-billion dollar industry. And the government want to take it back. Perhaps this is Vlad's knack for keeping his peeps warm. Get ‘em sozzled on Wodka and spend the profits on NQR space equipment.

That’s really all I have to say on the whole deal.

Sorry.

I’m tried from moving and watching various billionaires on TV last night.
Na zdorvje

*A CAT is a Common Assessment Task. A major assignment in last year of high school.

Bah Lovebug!

2005-02-14T13:52:00.000+11:00

Can we get rid of Valentines Day… please?

It’s so stupid.

No… I’m not saying that because I’m single. Yes… I’m fine with being single. Now that we’ve established that can we move on?

Amazingly I do quite well on the Valentines front. I won’t go into detail, because I’m not into sharing that unless you’re gazing deep into my Hazel eyes. Let’s just say that it appears Cupid’s arrow only works for 24 hours at best. Whatevs.

I did wake up with a boy this morning! But that’s a long and involved story, which doesn’t end in Valentine gushing. And has more to do with the electricity at my new pad not being on until today.

So what’s my problem with this ‘season’?

It’s the constant asking of “so do you have a Valentine?” To which I smile and politely reply “No.” It’s the following responses that kill me “Oh, I can’t believe that”, “well, what’s wrong with all those guys?” “… just when you least expect it.”

Wah. Wah. Wah.

Yes. Ok, I get it. It will happen. But for the moment it hasn’t, that’s fine. But stop reminding me that it’ll happen when I least expect it. Because as you say that, I start to expect it. Then you have to stop expecting it. And then you go mental.

So Valentines Day my one true love Johnny and I have one message for you…

Sex, Drugs and Rock'n'Roll? No Thanks... Well maybe just a little less

2005-02-11T10:50:00.000+11:00

There’s a change in the air. Can you feel it? It’s coming in from the East, which is strange, because we usually get Westerly’s.

Let’s do this like it’s a catchy chocolate bar add:

Work
As far as I’m concerned the holiday season is over. Sure, I’ve been back for a good month now, but you’ve gotta warm up to these things. Yesterday I didn’t have time to sneeze (I sneeze stacks, I work with a lot of pepper you see).

My favourite conniving colleague is finishing up today. She’s flying off to be adventurous. No more naughty long lunches and in-house emails. *sigh*

AND the company is moving to Derrimut. Yeah, I know, I’ve never heard of it either. It’s near a woman’s prison and Taylor’s Lakes. Oh, God. It’s not until May, but still… I fear thinking about it.

Rest
Speaking of moving, I’m like totally moving house this weekend. Yeah, sure, it’s only 5 blocks away and still in the same suburb, but I’m leaving what has been my humble dwelling for the last 2 years.

This does not suck, because in my current abode my kitchen is a hovel and the back of the house is sinking. However, it pains me to say farewell to my delicious gals Miss Mary-Jayne and Miss Mary-June.

My new place is light and airy, albeit tiny and Chalet like with the fake wood, but it shall be a nice place to come after my new founded busy-ness at work.

Play
This weekend also yields the last weekend of drinking for me and my Homie for A WHOLE MONTH! Ho-ly! In an attempt to save cash, our livers, our waist line and our respective brains we’ve made a “bet” not to drink, smoke, drug, fatten ourselves for A WHOLE MONTH. As my Homie is Irish by trade we’re finishing up on St Pat’s Day. Can anyone smell a green victory drink. Ya-huh!

I can so do this by the way. It doesn’t even worry me in the slightest. No. Shut up. It doesn’t! Plus I get a present at the end and presents rule.

Watch me morph from this:

no... i really do look like a deep fried mars bar at the moment. ew.

to this:

ahahahaha! don't you just love apples! hahahahaaa, life is so great when you're healthy!

See how it’s all changing in a Mars Bar kind of way? I’m excited, its been a long time coming.

*welcomes with open arms*

This year I ain't no Chicken

2005-02-09T10:19:00.000+11:00

Finally my time has come. Smoother me in luck, happiness and wealth and call me a Rooster.

I’m a scientist right and can tend to be a little sceptical at times. OK, so a lot sceptical. But like any gal I read my star signs and say things like “it’s ok that I’m stubborn, I’m a Taurean.”

But the whole Rooster thing freaks me out a little:

The Rooster is a flamboyant personality, feisty and obstinate.
He is quite the extrovert who loves to strut his stuff and is proud of who he
is. Outwardly confident, the Rooster is also a trustworthy, hardworking
individual. He’ll tell it like it is with no qualms or
reservations.

Roosters are very loyal individuals. They do not like
dishonesty or mockery of any sort. They are blunt, up front and honest people
and expect those around them to be the same. Roosters are happiest when they are
surrounded by others, at a party or just a social gathering. They even enjoy the
spotlight and will exhibit their charisma and wit in a minute. This star quality
can be overbearing, for a Rooster expects you to listen to him while he speaks
and can become agitated if you don’t. Roosters do have a tendency to brag about
themselves and their achievements and demand an attentive audience when doing
so.

THE METAL ROOSTER 1921 AND 1981
Metal Roosters can come off
as arrogant and stuck up at times. They need a cushion for that overextended ego
and someone to make sure it stays inflated. They are reasonable people who seem
to analyze every decision they make and every situation they find themselves in.
They are standoffish at times and can let their aggression get in the way of a
blossoming friendship or romance. These Roosters should take a breather from
their egos long enough to really enjoy what they have to offer

Flamboyant? Feisty? Stuff strutter? Tells it like it is? Over analyser? Charisma and wit? Me? Well… possibly. Ok, more than probable. Fine, definitely.

This year has just got to be mine! It’s about freakin’ time. So if you see me around I only want to be praised, handed money, showered with gifts and gazed upon adoringly. Ok? And if you’re born in the year of the Snake, come up and say ‘hi’ – coz we’re perfect for each other.

Taking a Leaf out of Booky's Book

2005-02-08T13:46:00.000+11:00

This topic was posed to me by the delightful and fellow Tony Delroy fan, Booky.

“Why can’t you get lettuce anymore – only that rocket shit?”

Then he told me a bad joke, as he is wan to do.

Doctor: What seems to be the problem.

Patient: Perhaps it’s best I show you, though it’s rather embarrassing.

*Patient pulls down pants, bends over and spread cheeks*

Doctor: Oh!

*winces* seeing a lettuce leaf growing from Patient’s a-hole.

Doctor: I’m afraid to say this is just the tip of the Iceberg.

Good one.

Anyhoo… the plight of the lettuce.

I happen to be a bit of an aficionado on lettuce. Self proclaimed, obviously. My Aunt and Uncle have a farm, lettuce is their major crop.

I worked there for a summer picking lettuce. It’s dirty, back-breaking, sweaty, the lettuce juice stains your clothes and you’re surrounded by hippies. Great. But you get paid and nepotism is great for the good jobs.

Lettuce is such a fad item. As far as I’m concerned the frilly, fancy-pants lettuce has been on its way out for a while now. Iceberg is making a comeback, albeit slowly. However, as soon as it’s starts making a comeback ~wham~ here comes a drought. And ~wham~ there’s a new fad leafy brother trying to take over your turf. In this case, Booky, quite rightly points out rocket is the NKOTB.

Point 1: The Drought
Did you know there’s a drought? There like totally is. One of the worst in 100 years. Haven’t you been paying attention to Bracksey’s adds? Lettuce needs stacks of water. Yeah, I know all vegies do, but… well, you not going to forgive lettuce for being wilty in the supermarket are ya? So the supermarkets won’t buy it off the farmers coz the customers won’t buy it off them. Ergo the lettuce sits in the fields getting all slimey (slimey lettuces are worse than anything ever, however, great for throwing at the hippies in the fields*).

Basically there isn’t enough water to make the lettuce industry blossom (so to speak). Also it’s been particularly humid this summer, which lettuce also hates.

Sure rocket is a leafy green too, but like spinach (the other show stopper) it’s able to hold in the water better, allowing it to be a little heartier.

Point 2: Jamie says so
The leaf fad changes according to endorsement. 3 years ago your average Jo didn’t know what rocket was. That is until Jamie starts talking about it deep green colour and it’ pukka peppery taste. Hey presto you can get it greengrocers, then ~shazam~ you can get it in the supermarket. Everyone wants it. The Jamie Army will buy it by the ‘barrow load.

Point 3: There’s still hope
Even though Iceberg hasn’t been around a lot lately, her ship’s not about to sink (sorry had to be done). It still remains to be the most popular, cheap, delightfully fresh and hearty of the lettuce plants. Many a leafy green’s tried to bully her out, with no success. Never fear, Iceberg will always be on the horizon.

*They're an easy shot because they're mainly vegans and have no energy. ooooh, c'mon. I'm not really that against them, not all of them.

Topsy-Turvey

2005-02-08T11:27:00.000+11:00

The Age weather report says that it's 14 degrees right now. It's summer. This should not be happening. So it makes sense that this morning I saw...

An long, ebony coloured African man in a bright yellow rain coat holding a plaid umberella riding a unicycle along Footscray Road.

Everything in it's rightful place

2005-02-04T09:42:00.000+11:00

Alternative title: The Tale of Little Sugar & the Blues Exploxion in her Knickers

"Oh! Hi Jon. *twirls hair* You're so dreamy, you belong here:"

"Heh! Look how rock'n'roll it is. Can you resist? Thought not. "

*leans in for kiss*

*draws curtains*

"Hi Russ. I love a big man. What's that, you want to hang out with me? Sure, cool. Let's drink to that. *chink* Say, you know what you'd look great next to?"

"Yeah, my stereo!"

"If you could just sit next to my 80's style beat box... uh huh, at this drum kit I have convientiently placed here. Hey! If the mood takes you bash along."

"No, really bash along."

"Bash along!"

"Now, just hold still while I put this chain around your leg. Hey, hey, it's cool. It's... ah... fashion. Now keep playing and I'll grab your water bowl."

"Yo, Judah, what's going on?"

"No I haven't seen Jon or Russ."

"Say have you met my Best Friend?"

"You guys would be so cute together! Then we could hang out together all the time and have late night conversations without having any sexual tension, because you're with my Bestie. Excellent."

"What do you mean you're not really attracted to her? Of course you are! You ARE! Listen if you want Russ not to have a water bowl then keep up this unattractive bullshit... i dare you."

"Sure she loves sushi, you should totally take her out for dinner."

"Bye, you guys"

*sigh*

*heads back to rock'n'roll bed*

Why wouldn't you love them?

2005-02-03T10:06:00.001+11:00

David Plastik

Botox-o-mania

2005-02-02T09:55:00.000+11:00

We’ve all heard of Botox right?

It’s something the rich and bored inject into their faces to look smooth and wrinkle free.

It’ll turn you from this:

into this:

Last night, watching The O.C. and Desperate Housewives I noticed that very rarely did any of the females foreheads moved.

Example:

What's wrong Terri?... wait is there something wrong? i can't tell.

Pretty sure Marcia has had her whole face done

This blonde one freaked me out the most

Throughout my night in front of the box I went through differing fits of emotions:

1) Excitement.
I’ve been somewhat entranced by the Botox revolution since I first heard of it. I believe it had to do with the fact that I became aware of it when I was at Uni and studying canning, (bare with me, this will all make sense).

You see Botox is a toxin that is produced by the worlds most evil of microbes Clostridium botulinum. It’s hard to kill. It is heat resistant, it won’t grow in the presence of oxygen and you only need the tinniest amount to become as stiff as a board (dead, that is). What’s a perfect condition then for this little miracle? The inside of a can.

Food Techies, like myself, are fearful of Cl. botulinum. If there’s an outbreak of botulism from your miscalculation people will die rather swiftly. It’s the toxin that governments are worried will be added to water supplies, killing millions, from just 1mL of toxin in a damn.

So, you can see why when I see famous people injecting themselves with the Botox, I become a little excited. It’s fraught with danger! It’s like deciding that sitting in a tub full of funnel web spiders is good for your aura.

2) Wonderment
Wonderment, because in a whole night of television I think I saw maybe 3 women’s forehead move. Seriously. I frustrated my fellow onlookers by screaming at the television all night: “There’s something wrong with that woman’s face… it’s not moving!”; “Holy shit, there’s another one!”; “they’re all so surprised – all the time.”

3) Frustration
How can these women call themselves actors when they’re limiting their facial expressions? They’re perpetually surprised! Never an angry furrowed brow, never a crease of sadness, never an exaggerated raise of the eyebrow. It began to annoy me.

And they all began to look a little cat like. Which is just freaky. Why can’t we all just grow old gracefully and deal with the fact that as you get older you skin looses it’s youthful smoothness and takes on a few esteemed knowledge lines?

Week-o-Rock

2005-02-01T11:09:00.000+11:00

This week is my week of music.

I’d bursting out of my skin at the very thought of it. I love a festival coming to town, so that there are side shows a plenty.

Tonight I’m hoping my contact at The Corner will find it in his heart to let me into Le Tigre. I missed them at the BDO (as I was contributing to the sea of sweat in the Hilltop Hoods) and I’ve been kicking myself ever since.

Tomorrow night is so exciting I can hardly contain myself. The Beastie Boys are all mine. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been so excited about seeing anyone… ever. To tell you the truth I was rather disappointed with the BDO effort. Not on their part, mind, there was just so much bass going on that their stylin’s were blanketed. No matter, we made out way to the Polyphonic Spree for some deep enlightenment instead.

Thursday is my Christmas present courtesy of my biggest fan (you know you are). I screamed when I found the ticket in my present. Pizza lovers stared at me as I leapt at my homie from across the table. What better way to spend a Thursday night than at the Hi-Fi watching John Spencer and his Explosion of Blues?

I saw them first in ’98 (I’m pretty sure it was ’98), again ‘twas a festival and I was young and impressionable. I was looking forward to seeing them all weekend, alas at the time of them actually taking the stage I’d meet a couple of guys that had decided I needed to be incredibly stoned. They succeeded in their task and all I remember of set is John belting out “BLUES EXPLOSION”, while I giggled and tried to stand up to see the rock on stage.

I finally saw them on Sunday’s Big Day, but I’m looking forward to not having the sun in my face on Thursday night and trying to rock to the beat, yo.

Friday I’m going out for dinner. I think I’ll need to pause and eat by this stage.

Reasons I’m a nerdy nerd from Nerdsville

2005-01-28T10:55:00.000+11:00

1. I have a Science Degree
I am a fully fledged Chemist. I know stuff about nomenclature. I have a mouse pad that has the Periodic table on it. I am employed as a Scientist. I have a business card with Hons. B. App. Sci (Food Science and Technology) after my name.

Conclusion: Nerd

2. I read Science-Fiction and Fantasy Novels.
No, not fantasy as in throbbing members and icy nipples (although now that I’ve written ‘throbbing member’, I might seek one out… ha ha ha throbbing member). I mean fantasy as in wizards, dragons, seers and children with “gifts”. If anyone wants to talk David Eddings or thinks the ultimate answer to life, the universe and everything is 42, I’m your gal.

Conclusion: Nerd

3. I have James Marsters’ signature
Many of us are privy to this nugget of nerdiness. I mean Buffy is a masterpiece of television writing, and it is well recognised. In fact I know for certs that there is another blogger reading this right now that’s also guity of this nerd-sin.

But yes, I have Spikes autograph and he writes “Dear Sugar, Bite Me, James Marsters”. Cute.

Conclusion: Mostly Nerdy

4. I have worn sandals with socks
Not only this, but I’ve found it to comfortable and climatically pleasant. I will do it again.

Conclusion: Way nerdy

5. I love quizzes
I LOVE them. I make people do them with me. I insist upon being Quizmaster. This does not limit itself to the Herald Scum (no fear, I only read it for Cary’s Quiz), but reaches out to television and radio. Elmo is now one of my hero’s for appearing on The Einstein Factor.

Has anyone heard of Tony Delroy? Best. Quiz. Ever. “The Challenge”. Midnight weeknights. ABC talkback radio. Yep, I know.

Conclusion: Nerd

6. I’ve made friends through the internet

Conclusion: Nerd

Nancy Drew, We Love You

2005-01-25T11:35:00.000+11:00

I work at a smallish, family owned company. In our Melbourne head office there are about 50 people. We’re a friendly bunch. There’s always someone to have a chat with. Everyone knows everyone. I’m not saying that everyone likes everyone all the time, but we all know our place.

I’m the youngest employee, but have never been made to feel uncomfortable about that and I’ve even established a Grandfatherly type figure in our eldest employee, affectionately known as Mr. Moon.

So have I set the scene? Pleasant, but not bunnies and marshmallows (… well we do have marshmallows, but that’s another story).

But there’s mystery in the air Blogfans! And I just love getting all Nancy Drew.

The Crime
Petty theft.

They started small, an economy sized tin of Nestle Blend 43, boxes of tissues, toilet paper… I know I’ve been loosing my pens at a ridiculous rate – perhaps I’m not “losing” them.

*raises eyebrow*

Then we move onto the heavier stuff. Someone’s getting a bit cocky. A computer mouse here and there, then a computer monitor. Not one, but two sets of portable, digital scales. And recently the mother load - a laptop! And still we’re none the wiser as to who the perp is. We are obviously dealing with a mastermind villan.

The Evidence
As yet, Chief, I have very little to report. All we know for sure is it’s an inside job. What makes me say this? Access, my friends, access.

Mice and screens were taken from a secure room. The scales were in my securely locked lab. The laptop was taken from the safe (might I interject at this point and say this rules me out… I don’t even know where the safe is). This can leave but a mere few.

Air of Suspicion
So, we have a criminal in out midst. I can’t help but walk about the office with a squint in my eye, watching for tell tale signs of blatant lies. A stutter in a response, a glance up to the left, fidgeting of hands, lack of eye contact, a crease in the forehead (hey, I’ve watched my share of murder/mysteries in my time).

I’m suspicious of everyone. I ask leading questions, “sooo, what time did you leave work last night?”, “say, Phil, do you have access to the safe?”

And I’m not the only one. People have started writing their names on their lunches, hiding post-it note pads, even – and it breaks my heart – chewing on the end of their pens and muttering “heh heh heh, yeah go on, take this one – I dare ya.” And slipping the pen back into their pen holders.

Oh! The humanity. My once joyous workplace turned into a bubbling cauldron of suspicion.

My Theory
Well, it’s obvious isn’t it? Who knows every nook and cranny in a workplace?

Not the office staff. They only ever know 3 places; workstation, coffee station/water cooler, toilet.

Not management. They only know one more place than the office staff – the Boardroom.

Not the Food Techies. We tend not to stray from the lab. People point and laugh at our coats. And quite frankly we feel sorry for all 'officies', because we have the fun.

It’s got to be the Butler… no I mean The Cleaners, it’s always the cleaners.

The Verdict
?

Stay tuned for further developments.

Dear World Wide Web, I love you because...

2005-01-24T16:24:00.000+11:00

As all of my beloveds have raved about the rockin’ party that was Sheriff’s first I feel that possibly there is no more to tell.

But wait, surely that’s not true.

It all started with Fluffy. As I walked past her radness work pad I popped in. She wanted to know where it was I was going. “Err… to the party – like ya know.” At this point I was somewhat confused, because Fluffy is our Queen and she HAD to be at this gathering.

“But you’re not walking there?”
“Yeah, it’s just down the road.”
“err no. it’s in Bruswick.”
“Yeah, Brunswick St.”
“No, Sugar, Brunswick. Sydney Rd, Brunswick.”
“Ohhhh.”
“Wait with me and I’ll take you.”
“You rule Fluffy,” and she does. Me however = Loser from Loserville

Fluffy gave me beer and I watched her serve really frustrating chicks, who totally don’t know fashion and she was really nice to them. Oh, retail.

So after gossip, wine, internerding, some Hooley Dooley action and getting readiness, we totally ended up at the right pub. Fluffy you rule.

I was greeted by Fits and Sheriff in the most appropriate of ways – namely the thrusting of the hand down the breast. Lucky they’re cute. Then Fits gave me Pimms, for which I like her even more.

As we were exchanging things I gave Sheriff a badge that said POLICE, with a picture of a bald eagle on it (seemed fitting) and a set of handcuffs. He’s the Sheriff – he needs his equipment.

Buck Fudd, Tillops and Fluffy’s debonair man provided much laugh and drinking of the Pimms (I really enjoyed the drinking of the Pimms). Tillops even told me that he was surprised at how well I grasped the political situation at the moment. I decided to take this as a compliment (as I know it was intended to be), because he will one day lead us all. And maybe I can have some cushy, foodie type roll within the government if I keep him on side.

Then my Homie got there, he had a twinkle in his eye. And I knew we would be having a fun night.

It all seemed to happen in three’s:
- was groped three times
- was pashed three times
- shared a toilet cubicle with three different people
- shook my bootie until three
- got involved in a double love triangle. The first being myself, Nadine and Fits. Like Nadine and I are going to have a serious relationship, but she’s totally allowed to do Fits on the side… and I may be able to have a small role in their child’s life. Which I’m ok about, because I’m more serious about Lee Lee. And I know that she will be mine forever. Although there was a little love connection for Nads and Lee Lee (thus making up the second love triangle). Which makes it confusing. Also I get no Fits action and I don’t know how I feel about that. Not good that’s for sure.

So… there was a lot of love. But mainly I had much love for the man of the hour, because he done a good job for a virgin party thrower. Even if he is a bleeder.

To all my pals in the carb army - word

2005-01-21T16:01:00.000+11:00

You asked for it carb fans so here it is… my attack on all things Atkins.

About the man
Dr Atkins was a MD who specialised in cardiology, graduating in 1955, from Cornell University Medical School. He was known for suggesting to his patients a low-carb, high-fat/high-protein diet. Steering away from sugar-rich processed foods.

In 1972 he devised a diet plan, which he called the Dr Atkins Diet Revolution (classy), in which patients were to eat next to no carbohydrates and to focus on fats and proteins. The diet was not widely embraced until Dr Atkins re-released his book (now entitled Dr Atkins New Diet Revolution – see what he’s done with the “new” there. Eh? Eh?) in the 1990’s.

As we are all aware this has been a disaster for carb lovers everywhere.

How the diet works
The diet has 4 phases.

NB: The diet is not a quick fix diet. The patient is meant to change eating patterns for life.

Phase 1: The Induction
This is the most rigorous part of the diet. You are required to eat no more than 20g of carbs per day for 2 weeks. In terms of what that is to eat its equivalent to 100g of banana or 175g of apple or 50g of white bread (if you want to check out what your lunch contained try this out).

Phase 2: Ongoing Weight Loss
This section of the diet is long and I would imagine as much fun as watching an Anti-Atkins kid eat a big baked potato, then some Californian rolls, then a few slices of vegemite on white bread… mmmmm.

The perk though is you are allowed to add 5g (yep, a whoopin’ 5g) to your daily intake of carbs per week.

You must do this for as long as it takes until you obtain ‘weight maintenance’ i.e. until you are no longer loosing weight, but aren’t gaining weight. This may take months.

Phase 3: Pre-Maintenance
You may now step up your intake to 10g per week (keep in mind this a little less than a slice of white bread). You do this until you start to put on weight.

Phase 4: Lifetime Maintenance
The sound of this frightens me a little. Lifetime? I find it hard to commit to plans on a weekend.

I digress.

So, you are now an Atkins and your reward is to still eat little to no carbs for life (perhaps our judicial system could use the Atkins diet for convicted criminals instead of lumping them in jail. I know I’d stop dreaming of getting rid of certain world leaders if I was threatened to life Atkins), on a positive note you are now allowed to choose from a wider variety of foods that contain carbs. These include fruits, vegetables and legumes. Wow, the variety. Cool.

So what can I eat?

How about a Hamburger without the bun

Or a protein shake made with powder and water (no milk allowed)
Mmm… Mark Ritter loves a good protein shake.

This is a normal, healthy person’s diet pyramid:

This is an Atkins diet pyramid:

i.e. no milk, fruits, grains, cereals, or high glycemic vegies (potatoes, peas, corn and carrots). Slab of meat anyone?

Do I need to say more? Oh, wait, how ‘bout it’s fucked.

How you loose weight

This bit make get a little nerdy and technical, but I’ll try and make it amusing… so stick with me.

OK.

Things to remember: Number 1 - Carbs
Carbs are complex sugars (lots of sugar molecules attached together or polysaccharides). Our body uses simple sugars (single sugars or monosaccharides), they're small and easy to move around in the blood stream. The nerves and brain get them first because they’re number 1.

Things to remember: Number 2 - Liver
You know how we all make jokes about damaging our liver with copious amounts of alcohol. Ha ha ha. Well, it’s actually quite serious. The liver is a hard worker. Doesn’t quite have the same romantic air to it as other offaly bits (“from the bottom of my liver” doesn’t quite have the same ring does it?), but dang, she works hard.

In our adventure the liver is integral.

The liver is responsible for releasing the right amount of glucose (one of those simple sugars) into the blood (well, sure, the pancreas plays a part too... as do various hormones, but you get my drift). When you eat carbs the liver is the one that breaks it down into simple sugars and releases into the blood if we are in need of glucose OR will build it back together into glucose powerhouses called glycogen and store it in the liver. If there’s enough glycogen in the liver, it will be then converted into fat and stored around the body as adipose tissue (fat and cellulite – a girl’s 2 favourite things).

Things to remember: Number 3 – When there’s no glucose
The body is a very resilient machine. We have to cope with ridiculous amounts of alcohol, drugs, loud music and doughnuts we pump into it. It has back up plans for everything.

So when there’s no glucose the body has a couple of cards to pull out.

1. Break down fats into fatty acids and glycerol. Muscle tissue can use the fatty acids for ‘food’ leaving the nerve and brain cells to use the glucose.

2. Gluconeogenesis (which means making ‘new’ glucose). This is where proteins are broken down into amino acids and then converted into glucose (plus a few bi-products which I will discuss later).

Carbs, proteins and fats are all energy sources, but keep in mind that the carbs rule and the brain is picky about using something else.

Eventually though on the Atkins diet you will run out of glucose. So what does that clever liver do? It makes ketone bodies. (This one’s for you honey).

Things to remember: Number 4 – Ketone Bodies (KB)
KB’s are made through lipolysis (lipo = lipids = fats; lysis = break down or death). A message that there is no glucose hits the liver and it starts the process the fats. This is fine for weight loss. Not so great for the brain and nerve cells.

An abundance of KB’s can result Ketosis. Ketones are acidic. As the KB’s are floating around in the blood stream the blood also becomes acidic. This can result in giving the breath a sickly, fruity odour like nail-varnish remover or pear-drops. And can lead to Ketoacidosis (high levels of ketones with acidity) which causes nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, confusion, and, if not rapidly treated, coma and death.

Think about it like this. If you want your car to perform to it’s very best you put optimax in it. You don’t siphon scungy fuel from the bomb that’s been parked on the side of the road for 6 months. Your brain and nerves deserve the good stuff. If they’ve got siphoned fuel kicking them into gear you’re going to get woozy, foggy and a little slow.

The weight loss

Yes there is weight loss. This would never have become popular otherwise. There are also studies that back up the fact that there is weight loss.

An article published in New England Journal of Medicine in May 2003 revealed that between 3-6 months the weight loss of the low-carb diet, compared to that of a low-fat diet was significantly different. However, media types tend to overlook the fact that at the end of the trail (12 months) there was no significant difference between the two groups. Plus 40% of the patients dropped out of the trail because the diets were too strict.

Another article published in Journal of Clinical Endocrinol Metabolism (April 2003) supports the fact that the initial weight loss was greater. However also states that patients regained a third of their initial weight loss.

Now if we flash back to Things to remember: Number 3 – When there’s no glucose. You’ll remember that when fats are broken down into KB’s there are bi-products that are in amino acids, but do not make up glucose. The one we will focus on is Nitrogen (N).

The body does not like N, just hangin around. In fact N is asked to leave the body ASAP. It’s filtered in the liver and kidney’s and combined with other bits to form urea. The body then gets rid of it in, you guessed it, urine.

The more N you have the more urea you have, the more you excrete, the more water you’re loosing (because you don’t just squirt out urea – that’d be gross). Have we caught on yet? YOU’RE LOOSING WATER. A lot of water. The female body is around 75% water. There’s a lot to loose. You loose water and you loose weight! Ha, magic. You also get dehydrated, headaches, nausea, blah, blah, blah.

Not only that but your liver and kidneys are working overtime with no extra pay (remember they’re feeding off the siphoned fuel too). They start to go on strike.

BTW... This is pure speculation at this point people, studies have not been carried out long enough for any conclusive evidence on the way an Atkins diet affects the liver and kidney’s. However there is a link of people that have been on the Atkins diet reporting liver and kidney problems. Whether you think this is coincidence it totally up to you (it’s not though you know).

Other possible health problems speculated to be connected with the Atkins diet are Kidney stones, heart problems and gastrointestinal problems (ulcers, diarrhoea and kidney infections).

Interestingly Dr. Robert Atkins, who followed the diet, had heart problems in his later life. There were also claims of Dr. Atkins being overweight at his time of death. His heart did not lead to his demise on this plane though. He slipped on a patch of ice and died from head trauma. His wife fervently denies he was overweight and that his heart problems were a result of a virus.

Look at this though and tell me he looks like a picture of health?

So ask yourself do you want to be one of those people that go out to restaurants and diliberates idiodically at the menu, forever whinging at the lack of low-carb options there are? Of course you don't you want to be able to eat whatever you like whenever you like.

I'll let you in on some food knowledge. There is a secret to weight loss. Yep. Your intake has to be less than your output. You need to eat a balanced diet and exercise. That's it. And it's doable. So fuck off with your slim fast diets and be sensible about your body and the way you treat it. Because after all even if you diet all your life you still may slip on some ice and die from head injuries AND be hungry - i'm just not willing to take that risk.

"You're my wife now Dave"

2005-01-21T09:01:00.000+11:00

Hahahaha

Comical relief before my Dr Atkins smack down

Dear Dairy

2005-01-19T09:55:00.000+11:00

As soon as someone starts to waffle on about how their Naturopath told them that they shouldn’t eat anything with gluten in it and that dairy is the root of all evil, my blood begins to boil. I don’t know why, but for some reason Naturopaths have decided that dumping these two things from your daily intake will suddenly cure all – sure, why not.

I understand that people do have reactions to these things. And my heart goes out to the poor kittens, because it’d be no fun. There’s the bloating, and the gas, and the aching, and the nausea… the list goes on. But surely not everyone is allergic to both gluten and dairy?!

First I’d like to plead the case for dairy. Because things like this make me sick and depressed.

So we’re on the same page you should know that I don’t really like dairy foods. I’ve never been a milk drinker and if I have a massive milkshake I feel a little queasy. So, it’s not like I’ve got my sista’s back, yo, more like my ugly cousin needs a reference.

We are all a little lactose intolerant. Lactose is the sugary component of dairy. To break down lactose we need lactase, an enzyme. As infants we have a plentiful amount of lactase. As we grow the ability to produce lactase decreases. Presumably this is because we absolutely must have dairy as children to get enough calcium for growing bodies. And dairy is one of the best known sources of calcium. As we grow older we have less of a need for calcium because our bones are not growing as much (although we will always need it for other bio-reactions). We still, though, possess enough lactase to see us through.

My point though is very few Australians are completely intolerant of lactose. Other cultures are more intolerant. Asian and Aboriginal cultures are particularly intolerant. And damn it they have the right to be! Dairy has only very recently been introduced to their diet. They don’t have the biological systems set up to deal with it. However, they get their calcium (and other dairy attributes) from other sources. Their calcium source depends mainly on eating bones, either directly or through stocks.

Let’s discuss why you need dairy.

It contains calcium. We all know why that’s good, especially for children. We always need a top up though, osteoporosis is no fun.

Commercial milk contains about 4% fat. That means it’s 96% fat free. Most companies would kill to have a product that’s 96% fat free. So why the big deal with having skinny milk all the time?

Not only that, but when we cut out the fat we’re cutting out essential and beneficial fatty acids, these fatty acids are important for both the brain and the heart. They have actually been shown to lower cholesterol levels. So drink the good shit, otherwise you’re just cutting out the ace stuff. Plus full cream tastes better.

Like I said. I’m not mad about dairy, but I LOOOOOVE cheese. Cheese and I have been together for a long time, and it’s one of my most stable relationships. I have blogged about cheese before, but it’s great, so whatevs.

Cheese is fat and protein. There’s no getting around this. And if I met you and you said you eat low fat cheese, please forgive me for punching you in the temples. Cheese is like concentrated milk, therefore the goodness is also concentrated. Eat cheese.

Yogurt is great, although I get sick of yogurt fairly easily. The added bonus of this is that it has the happy bacteria in it. In your intestines there is a couple of kilo’s of bacteria (it’s ok, they’re supposed to be there). Some are good, some are evil. Yogurt will supply the good ones to keep the evil ones at bay. If you’re on anti-biotics it’s a good idea to eat some yogurt to get the good bacteria in there so the evil bacteria doesn’t get a leg up.

I hope our journey into the world of dairy has enlightened you and set your mind at ease. Now, if you ever order a soy latte in front of me you’ll understand why I won’t talk to you and flick ash in your coffee.

My Duty

2005-01-18T15:28:00.000+11:00

If I had a number 1 peev – what would it be?

Dieting.

Without a shadow of a doubt.

I feel that I need to restore the balance. Therefore over the next few posts I shall try and dispel a few dieting myths. As is my lab coat duty.

If you have any questions along the way, feel free to raise your hand. There’s no such thing as a silly question.

R.I.P mclusky

2005-01-14T16:14:00.000+11:00

Don’t you just love a Welsh accent?

A country’s got to be cool when towns have names like Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch

They came up with characters such as Rupert Bear, Danger Mouse and Super Ted.

They pass the time away bog snorkelling.

They invented the long bow, which ultimately resulted in the offensive 2 finger solute. The idea being you had to hold the arrow between your pointer and big finger, so the enemy saw the back of these two fingers. You’d be offended to if it soon meant you’d get an arrow in the eye.

All these things are cool. But let’s face it the best thing to come out of Wales is mclusky.

They are pasty, they aren’t always pretty.

But, man, can they play the rock!

Sick!

Sadly this was recently announced, which means that I’ll no longer see their wacky antics erupt on stage. My ears will never be exposed the thumping of Jon's bass line, or the tickle of Andy's guitar riffs or the madness of Jack's thumping kit.

Farwell mclusky, I’m glad we meet when we did.

And yes I did steal the formate for this post from a radio competition fellow rrr listeners. It’s because I’m lazy.

Lunch, a Kebab and an Impish Man

2005-01-13T16:56:00.000+11:00

I work in Footscray (say it with me now: Foot-es-cray). It’s a “colourful” place. A “cultural melting pot” if you will. If by “cultural melting point” I mean junkies, teenaged mums, people with missing teeth or all of the above, then yes, a “cultural melting pot”.

Sometimes I like to wonder down into the centre of the volcano and pick up a Kebab from Footscray’s Best Kebab House (that’s the actual name – informative much?).

Today I thought I’d jot down a few things in my student diary (which has a picture of a fully sick 80’s kid with a red stack hat, gardening gloves, wraparound reflective glasses and riding a blue banana board – bodacious deck dude) as I was meandering towards aforementioned Kebab House.

Join me on my lunch break won't you and let's see if we can count the plebs.
Chicks that don’t look like they’re above the age of consent pushing prams: 3

A junkie in a ‘wife-beater’ (apt) having a domestic with a loud toothless woman: 1

A boy that looked like he was the love child of a rat and a bird: 1

A jar of ‘Hair Mayonaise’: 1 WTF?! This is especially close to my heart as I did my thesis on mayonnaise. It is now officially my favourite thing ever. if anyone wants to buy it for me it’s at an African woman beauty shop called Shiah.

A very jolly man whistling a lovely tittering tune: 6... oops no, there was just 1. Nearly had you there though, didn't I?

A little Asian man that reminded me of the creepy Dwarf in Detective Coopers dreams and said “Good afternoon” in an impish way: 1

All in all ‘twas your average trip to the Kebab shop in Footscray.

Enough of the bitching and moaning. I’m going to talk about pizza

2005-01-12T16:30:00.000+11:00

I’ve had a long standing love affair with pizza that started, as it does for many of us, in my hormone driven teenaged years. It’s what all the kids on Degrassi High were eating – so it seemed good enough for me.

Growing up in a rural “city” (it was the Local Shire’s idea to call it a city because technically after 15 000 people wither in there it’s a city) we did not have an extravagant array of plush pizza options. Luckily for me my Mum is good at the cooking.

My friends thought I was a little kooky digging out a slice of cold pizza with home made sauce, prosciutto, goats cheese and basil on it. “But where’s the processed to shit meat? And the cheese! There’s only bits there and there… why isn’t it over all of the pizza?”

Fools.

To further prove to you that I am indeed a fan of the pizza. How’s this…

When I was 14 I went travelling in Europe with my parents (yes, I’m spoilt and no I didn’t appreciate it at the time… because I’m spoilt alright). We travelled the length of Italy. My challenge (which I chose to accept) was to eat pizza from top to bottom.

Thin bases morphed into thick spongy bases. The sauce turned from a focus ingredient, to a mere smear. More toppings were introduced to thicker bases. Different meats were used. No meats were used. Sometimes you’d only get the choice of ‘pizza’ (because Mama knew the best pizza and “there’sa noa pointa makin anya morea”), sometimes there would be pages and pages to decided from.

The best pizza I ever, ever ate came from a little restaurant in Rome. We’d stepped straight off the plane. I was tired. Things were strange. I felt like the worlds biggest loser because I was hanging with my family in my totally inappropriate Australian clothes.

We were fucking starving, but my Dad wanted something authentic, so we wondered aimlessly for an “authentic” Italian hole-in-the-wall restaurante We found one.

OMG. I’ve never food isn’t meant to taste this good.

It was so thin. The sauce was everything. It was a crimsony, garlicy, cheesey wonderland. There were sheer pieces of prosciutto liberally strewn over the top. And that was it.

So you know hot the most cliché phrase in food ever is “melt in your mouth”. Yeah well… this actually dissolved before it hit your mouth and then the taste would magically tickle you everywhere.

Fuck. Me. How good is pizza.

Big, black, mean ol' Question Mark

2005-01-11T15:57:00.000+11:00

Picture this:

Endless ice chilled beers that you simply MUST use a Kalimna stubbie holder for.
Dog-eared book beside you ready to be picked up again.
Waves rolling around just over that thare sand dune.
A gentle sway of the boat that you don’t notice until you’ve been on land for half an hour and realise your brain’s still swaying.
The thought that the only thing you may have to do that day is walk to the toilets or get more fetta stuffed peppers for the “nibblies” plate.

Then at night you’d see ALL the stars. ALL of them.

Yeah, I know… I could almost go for a nap too.

This has been my life for the past week. It was serene. I was happy. My hair curled in the salty water, my skin cleared and bronzed (and freckled – but in that cute way) and I caught up on 6 months sleep.

I’ve been back 3 days and already I’m tired, oily, limp haired and back at work. Everything that I’d let go of during my escape is still here when I got back. Like I’d left them under my pillow and they seeped back into my brain while I was sleeping.

Bastards.

I mean they’re not Tsunami big or nuthin, but they’re still there picking away. Festering in my head.

The completely sucky bit is that I can’t even identify what ‘they’ are exactly. Unanswered questions, actions, motives? Seeds of doubt about this and that. Beginnings of plans that will probably never come to fruition.

Sometimes my life is just one big freakin’ question mark. Why can’t we just all stay on holiday’s and have to worry about is whether swimming counts for showering and if so then, cool because I haven’t showered in 3 days? We’d all be a lot calmer and fresher and our hair would look great.

Or maybe I should just quit my whining and be a real girl and put words where my big question marks are. Because I do know the words, it’s just… well… what if they rumble with the question mark and it falls on my head and I get concussion and wake up 6 years later and then my wardrobe is completely out of style? I don’t think I’m ready for that.

Don’t worry. This only makes sense to me. Well mainly me. I think I’m not as tough as I presume to be. Damn. I hate that.

Here's Cheers Mr and Mrs. Spice

2005-01-10T14:15:00.000+11:00

You know that first moment when you realise that your parents are more than just your parents? They’re like actually people in their own right. They did stuff before you were born – you are not their entire reason for living (well… for some maybe, I’m the favourite).

I got a hold of this concept by the end of my teenaged years. This was good of me, after being a complete two-faced mole to them to the first part of my teenaged years.

I bring this up because I’ve just spent a delightful and relaxing week with my parents on a boat on the Gippsland Lakes. Whilst bitching about something trivial, a very Wise Man said to me “Sugar, you have a great family.”

Damn. Fuck it. I was enjoying my little rant there Wise Man.

He’s right of course. My family is ace. There’s nothing like a bit of holiday time in a vessel to drive that home.

During our time on the Lake my parents celebrated their 31st wedding anniversary. THIRTY FIRST! That’s forever. I can’t even sustain a two week relationship and they’re bumping around together for 31 years. Geez. Pressure.

The way in which they celebrated was typical. Over lunch Mum held up her glass and said “Well Mr. Spice, here’s cheers to another wedding anniversary.” A look of 'oh yeah'. Spread across Dad’s face and he said, “Yes dear, I did remember.” We asked how many years they'd ticked off together. They pondered with a concentrated look and decided it must be around the 31 year mark. We congratulated Mum (as is tradition) and that was it.

Being the megalomaniac that I am I begun to ponder what attributes have genetically flown my way. I’d like to think that I’m the calm, easy-going, glass-half-full person that I show people, but really I’m too much like my Dad for that. I’ve got the there’s-got-to-be-a-better-way-to-do-this gene from my Dad, as well as the I’ll-explode-if-you-don’t-do-what-i-tell-you gene. Conversly I’ve got the sensible-is-my-middle-name gene and the how-can-we-sort-this-out-rationally gene from my Mum. Which makes for a bit of a Tug of War in my own head.

At least I look like my Mum. Coz she’s hot. Right fans?

By the way. It’s nice to be back.

A googly gift to you all

2004-12-23T14:20:00.000+11:00

One of my favourite "work" games I employ to get through my day is to put obscure phrases into Google Image and see what comes up. I then send them off to whoever i think will laugh at them. The more obtuse the better.

As a parting gift to you all my wonderfully, delightful (not to mention good looking) friends I impart to you…

Love and prosperity

Howls of laughter

Presents beyond your wildest dreams

An end to hangovers

Fun in the sun

And a rockin’ good time.

Merry Christmas (or your religious equivalent) to all you ace kids.

As Promised "What My Family Eats At Christmas" Post

2004-12-22T14:53:00.000+11:00

My family Christmas dinner is a sight to behold. Let me take you on a journey of food, beer, wine, profanities and bon-bon’s.

My parents both come from large families (average of 5 siblings each). We from the coun-tree where having kids is what we does. As a result I have a lot of cousins (over 30 all up). This makes for interesting family get togethers.

We tend to hang with Dad’s side of the family most. C’mon face it – there’s always the side of the family that you go “ah-some, Smith side of the family. It’s gunna be messy,” and then there’s the “oh, the Jones side of the family… I’m pretty sure I have to leave early that day.” (btw, totally not my family names. Keepin’ with the anonymity)

Dad’s side of the family loves a drink. One friend of Dad’s met his sisters once and remarked “I don’t think I’ve even met men that can drink as well as your sisters.” Yep. Just keepin' wit tradition. With the drinking comes the swearing. If you’re easily offended I suggest you keep well clear of this bunch. That aside Dad’s family to me equals a whole world of good food. Need I say that this is a good thing in my book? Here’re the stats:

Uncle B
Foodiness: Former Butcher
Special Powers: Gets best. Meat. Ever. This includes turkey, lamb, chicken, and ham. He knows the peeps to buy it off and gets great deals.

Aunty B
Foodiness: Vegie farmer
Special Powers: You name the veg or salad item of your choice… she’s got it in the bag. She’s also very persuasive. Oh. And I’m her favourite.

Nan
Foodiness: Spent life in kitchen
Special Powers: This woman can make a sponge that hovers over the table it’s so light. Pav’s? You got it. Fruit cake? Yah-huh. Fairy cakes? Yessum. Unfortunately she sometimes breaks out a Flummery, which may have been cool in the seventies (along with crimplene), but now is very much not in vouge.

My Mum
Foodiness: Natural Abilities
Special Powers: This is an extraordinary woman. I’ve eaten with my Grandparents and I don’t know how she developed such a refined palate. She’s also super organised and a delight – she’s the one that keeps all happy and the room moving. I want to be her when I grow up.

My Dad
Foodiness: Seafood King
Special Powers: My dad is a savvy business man and is in the seafood biz. He da man for all your crustacean needs. Read this a weep.
Crayfish galore – big ones, bigger than big. Still snappin’ at ya when you first see ‘em big.
Oysters – plump, soft, salty, fresh as an ocean breeze.
Prawns - “Chuck another shrimp on the Barbie?” Oh I don’t think so. You wouldn’t be brave enough to call these big boys shrimps.

Oh sweet.

Everyone knows there place, what they need to do and when someone’s almost finished their drink – right there with another coldie.

And then there’s Me and I’ll just be walking around tasting things willy nilly, handing out tips, sticking my thermometer in all the dishes, and generally making sure I piss everyone off at some point with my Product Development prowess and finely tuned tastebuds. For a laugh maybe I’ll bring along a bag of MSG and sprinkle liberally (oh c’mon you know I’d never, that’s against my religion).

Silly Season

2004-12-21T15:31:00.000+11:00

I’m spent.

I can do no more. I may be at work in human form, but my brain is either still at home sleeping or lolling about in a pint of beer. Either way it’s happier than my body.

I’m not just saying it either. I honestly look like I’ve been drinking heavily for the last month. My face is puffy, my eyes are red, my skin is blotchy, I’ve developed a pot belly, I’m lethargic and my hair is dull and lifeless. Wow, I’m really doing some good self-promotion here, eh?

Mah. I’m not going to do anything about it though. I’m still going out tonight (after Glenn and I take Ralph-esk photo’s of our hot friend – don’t worry, it’s kosher).

I love Christmas and the lead up to Christmas. Although it’s never been like this before. Never before have I had money, or functions to attend. But this year it’s been fest after cheery fest. I fully understand the term “silly season”.

I’m looking forward to it being Christmas Day at about 9pm. When it’s all over and we’re all thinking about sleeping for the next week (if only so we can digest all we’ve eaten… oh and stay tuned for tomorrow’s “What my Family Eats At Christmas” post).

(how much this post sucks is a reflection on how gross i feel at the moment. tcha.. i think you get the point, it's really only funny because of that first pic)

Homies

2004-12-20T10:55:00.000+11:00

Me bitch No-mee is back in town. Ditchin’ the Fwench Coast for some good ol’ Straya (that’s Australia to you foreigners) lovin’.

She is like fully sick mate. Fully.

We met through a most excellent friend (Rikki we loooove you) about a year and a half ago. We was holidaying it up on the coast wit a bunch-o-homies and discovered we had a mutual despise of dogs.

I remember the exact moment that we became friends:

*dragging feet down to “Doggy Beach” at Point Lonsdale*

Me: Oh God, I hate dogs. This sucks major.

No-mee: This is so rank. I am wery unhappy about this.

Me: I’m so glad you’re here.

*gaze knowingly into each others eyes*

After that moment we spent much time together (our trio not complete without the lovely Lucille). All being Richmondites we roamed/ruled Swan St all summer. At one point we were drunk for about 2 months (give or take). I would turn up around midday, after recovering from last nights adventure, and we’d talk about how we were jobless, penniless, how long we waited in the line at Centrelink last time, what happened last night, where we were going tonight, the latest boinking conquest, blah, blah, blah. T’was the best time ever.

But it had to end.

Lucille moved to Point Lonsdale to study algae (she’s totally a marine biologist. Cool), write a thesis, work in a pub and meet many ruggedy chippies/sparkies/etc. We love her.

No-mee moved back to Fwance (she hangs there a lot) to study, run motels, meet ruggedy hotel managers and teach Fwench children how to play ‘Simon says”.

I kept Richmond warm for their return, got a job where I can where a lab coat, started a blog and meet not-especially-ruggedy-but-o-so-cute barfly’s.

No-mee flew back in on Saturday night and much to my delight was so ready to go out on the Stray-an streets (o’ Richmond of course) the second she got in. Best. Ever.

We ate Sam’s pizza, drank beer, told stories.

She will be back in Fwance in 2 weeks. Before then we hope to mess some shit up. Bless.

Book Book Quack Quack (and then some beer)

2004-12-17T13:16:00.000+11:00

The great adventures of sugar and spice for Thursday, 16th of December, 2004.

Scene 1: Nerdathon
5pm. out. the. door.

There’s no stopping a gal who’s got to get to a nerdfest at book central. Especially when at this meeting of poindexters there’s a funny-man-with-a-cd-made-wit-da-lurve (fully sick), a slick when-you-leave-my-party-you-get-a-doobie dewd (he also tells bad jokes), a hot omg-i-totally-know-you’re-new-boyfriend chick, a when-i-arrive-i-do-so-in-packs-of-sexy-mama’s hotness, a flower-giving-and-“who’s-the-cutest-boy-ever”-(me!) delight, and a cinderella-who-had-to-leave-and-took-my-heart-with-her babe. Plus so many more of the coolest dweebs (ever) that it hurts.

*group hug* (I said group, not grope Sheriff)

It is like so totally cool that while we could all totally be like this

or be here

(heh. that guy totally looks like a blogger. wait... booky is that you?)

but we're not and the radness is all around. Word.

Scene 2: Duck me (yes… again)
Like I don’t know if you’se know but I totally dig on duck. So when Glenn asked me to join him at the Old Kingdom (tcha) for his Christmas Duck Work Dinner I was like: “Ah. Yah. For shizel.”

I finally met the infamous co-workers and charmed the pants off-a-them. It was the least I could do for the 3 Peking ducks! And the wine. And the squid. We laughed. We ate. We swapped good restaurants. Ian told me I could be a hand model. Ah-some.

If I had have died after that meal I would have died with a smile on my dial.

Scene 3: Beer flowing through my veins
But I didn’t die. I went to The Corner instead. Yay! Glenn and I beered. Yay! Then we meet friends. Yay! Then Jack told us about he has been in the last 2 shows that The Boosh have put on at the Comedy Festival and Sarah and I gushed. Then to fully watch our jaws drop he brought down props from the show. Yay! My lovely Benny kept buying jugs. Yay! Then we went home and had Booky’s parting gift. Yay!

Now my head is sore. But it’s OK because Kimmy at the front desk gave me a candy cane and I’m happy. I heart the festive season.

Some people ARE just dumb

2004-12-16T08:53:00.000+11:00

There are two trains of thought associated with this dipshit

1. *clutches stomach"... I think I'm going to spew.

2. You fucking moron! Are you mental? It's a prehistoric man eater that is pissed at you hitting it's nose all the freakin' time. Good riddance

Internet Dating

2004-12-15T11:28:00.000+11:00

So if you’re having duck with a hot date that you met on the internet and two fully-dweeby-out-to-impress-middle-aged-men park next to you, whadaya tell ‘em?

Well the truth, of course. Opportunities to tell the truth this good don’t come along that often.

"I’m on a lesbian date with this hot chick I met on the internerd and I'm taking her out for her first ever duck. Oh. And that couple behind me… yeah, they’re my parents."

OK, so maybe we embellished a little with the lesbian thing. C’mon – you know you’d do it too. Otherwise…

Lee Lee and I were totally on our first date. Ever.

We did meet on the internet (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

We were eating duck AND it was Lee Lee’s virginal attempt.

And…

My parents (by pure coincidence) were sitting behind us.

The “clever” one, and I use that term loosely, guessed we were bloggers and proceeded to have a reasonable conversation, I think that involved John Safran (they’re both Jewish you see). Who coincidently I saw at The Corner later that night.

The “moron” (this term is more accurate), who was sitting next to me, didn’t really understand the conversation and kept trying to find out what our blogs were and where we worked and dazzle us with his inner Melbournite connections. Cool. We were like totally impressed. Ah… Hello, we ARE inner Melbournite connections. (I can totally get you a chef’s knife for cost price and then take you to see Sage Francis for free at The Corner). Whatever.

They made us laugh. Though more at them than with them. Cruel, heartless, wenches we are. He he he he. Hey Lee Lee, maybe if we had have stayed they’d have paid for our duck!

All in all… Best. First. Date. Ever.

"So... how was it?"

2004-12-14T09:48:00.000+11:00

Whoa. Where does one start? No really... where does one start?
Best. Weekend. Eva.

The Good Stuff
Well, this is going to be pretty broad, because nearly everything was ace.

The music
Sure a given, but it needs to be said.
Wolfmother – fucking ah-some. I’m going to track them down and marry every one of them.
Hilltops – these guys were playing after I finished my bar shift and I was super-hyped to be back in the crowd these cats sounded sick, mate.
The Dirty Three - I have never seen anything more perfect than this set. As they were setting up there was a storm rolling in. But to the revelers sheer pleasure it moved behind the stage, turning the sky pink and shooting off lightning sporadically. Omg.
Rocket Science – I heart rocket science. I’ve got a badge on my bag. When I was hussying it behind the bar wit my bitches Sarah and Cass, Roman bought a beer off me. I went all "I’m a fan" and told him about said badge, then I wished him luck for the set. I shouldn’t be allowed around celebrity types.
Sage Francis – he came out on stage in a monk’s robe. Need I say more?
The Bait – I didn’t expect Spiderbait to be on this list, yet here they are. This was fully nostalgic. Fully.

The People
I had my pose around. I love my pose. You could almost see the love. Oh, how we laughed.

This one
This one and
This one… ah-some.

For a music festival there is some ace fashion at Meredith. Love it. People are generally cool and generous. Sure, there are there’s the odd group of dicks that you want to throw your empty can at, but as a whole the crowd’s ‘got a good vide man.’

The Weather
This one’s controversial. Friday night was spent in a line of a billion cars. The storm hit and all hell broke loose. No one was getting into the festival because anyone that tried was getting bogged. So we sat until the storm passed, and then we thought. "we’ve everything kids need to party. Let’s party." And we did. 4 hours later we were in and set up. Best. fun. Eva.

Saturday was warm, muddy and cloudy. Perfect. I was still wearing a t-shirt when I crawled home at 5am.

Sunday the sun shone. We all got high on Vitamin D.

The Day After
What better to do than hang with totally rad bloggers that you’ve never seen in the flesh before? I think we’ll have fun together.

The Bad Stuff
I don’t want to bring it down, but there was some bad stuff.

Missing the Music
As much fun as it was on Friday in the car line I missed nearly the whole of Friday nights line up (say The Immortal Lee County Killers II – weren’t nuttin special).

Xavier Rudd and his band of Hippies
I just can’t handle it. Hippies waving their arms around to the moronic up-beat rhythm of Xavier Rudd. Shut. Up.

The Glow Stick
I held a glow stick. I didn’t mean it. Someone handed it to me. I did wave it *hangs head in shame* until Glenn tapped me on the shoulder and berated me. And rightly so. Consider this a public apology, it shall never happen again.

Is it nearly next December yet?

Bright Light. Bright Light.

2004-12-10T10:30:00.000+11:00

You know the glow?

I gots the glow.

Someone tuck me in

2004-12-09T15:38:00.000+11:00

OK, so I’ve totally posted about Meredith a billion times. I’m excited. More so than is seen to be cool. And as a little insight to me: I’m a planner. Bet you wouldn’t have guessed that about me.

So my plan was to get fully prepared. Like…
1) Have all my camping stuff lined up neatly at the door.
2) Have my washing cleaned and pressed, so that I’ve got a full wardrobe to choose from.
3) Do my camping shopping (you know baked beans, camp-pie, 2 minute noodles… oh c’mon you know I’d never do that).
4) But most importantly I wanted to make sure I was fully rested. Because I know what happens at rockin’ music festivals.

I’ve done none of these things. And all because of the last point.

It all started on Friday night. My party. Rockin’. I can’t remember some bits. I did spew though. My room was like a vortex for all things evil and somewhat illegal. The actual party disengaged around 5 when the last set of speakers exploded. But we weren’t finished there. We cracked on ‘til 3pm Saturday. Best efforts though go to ace housemate who kept it up until 10pm, and work colleague who made it through to 2am Sunday morning. Ah-some.

Since then I’ve had sleep patterns of:
Sunday: 6 hours
Monday: 6 hours
Tuesday: 2 hours (maybe)
Wednesday: 10 (this one is less impressive, but still doesn’t make up for the others).

I’m not rested. And it’s fair to say I gets a little cranky when I’m not rested. Sleep deprivation is totally used as form of torture. The KGB, Japanese PoW camps both used it and even the good ol’ Yankers at Guantanamo Bay love a bit of this action.

And tonight’s going to be no different I’m afraid. I’ve got at least 2 dates. *sigh*

On the bright side I’m going to be camping in the hard core rock (rock as in thrashing guitar riffs and hip beats, not bits of the earths crust) infested mud for 2 nights. And loving it.

See youse there. I’ve got a shift on the Electric Possum Bar 4 -8 Saturday. Let’s cheers shall we?

Chug-a-Lug

2004-12-06T22:40:00.000+11:00

I’ve found Australia’s best chocolate milk.

Chug-a-lug. It’s from King Island. ‘Nuff said.

It brings me back to the days when I lived in Denmark… (trust me there's a link)

I dunno if you know this, but they drink a lot of beer in Denmark. There’s this

And this

Which is what the Danes drink. Carlsberg is like the Danish equivalent of Fosters.

So think of a young impressionable 16 year old girl in the land of beer. Yep. I learnt from the best. Here’s a few things that the Danes are liberal about:
1. There is no strict drinking age. My local pub was frequented by school kids. We used to duck down when we had a spare class.
2. At school parties we would be served beer and wine by our teachers. The canteen had a beer tap for such occasions.
3. During the day you could buy cigarettes at the canteen. You could buy singles for 20 cents if you were a bit short.
4. There were boobs and bums on the tv all the time. I don’t mean after midnight I mean prime time ads. No one blinks an eye. Porn is fairly rife in DK.

People rarely abuse any of the above points. I did. A little. Hey, I was an Aussie kid and wasn’t allowed to do any of them. I didn’t do all of them. I hated cigarettes.

So with the beer there came hangovers. Often. And this is where the milk fits in. Matilde. Best. Hangover. Cure. Ever. You should know that I’m not a big fan of milk or chocolate. I know. It doesn’t make sense. But this was a new world.

Thick. Like a mixture of milk and cream. But not sickeningly creamy.

Rich. Like dark cooking chocolate. Ace.

Caramelly. None of that really sweet aftertaste that lingers in your mouth. This was classy shit.

Chug-a-Lug, while having the cheesiest name ever, is on a par with Matilde. It takes me back to a happy place. Back to teenage naughtiness, late nights, spewing in the pub, rooms lit entirely by tea lights, listening to Johnny Cash ‘Ring of Fire’ on the jukebox and staying up all night smoking pot and drinking herbal tea.

There’s nothing like a memory attached to food. Well for me anyway.

Turn That Frown Upside-down

2004-12-03T13:23:00.000+11:00

Oh thank fuck it’s Friday.

I hate this week. It’s been the worst for a long time. And it ain’t nothing more than I’ve been living inside my head for most of it. It’s been less ‘sugar’ and more ‘spice’ and none of those nice spices like cinnamon, or cassia, or nutmeg. No, no, no more like fenugreek and celery seeds (trust me they are worse than dog’s balls – so I hear).

The two things that have boosted my mood?

1. Summer lovin’ had me a blast
Tonight’s festa festa in celebration of IT’S SUMMER! Praise the Lord. Even if no one turns up to my party I don’t care, my delectable housemates and I have a tub of sangria and we’re not afraid to use it.

It’s been far too long between parties and this one’s coming up roses. I look forward to seeing many of you there.

2. Merry Death
I just won a double pass to Meredith (no surprise to some, I’m a serial winner). Thank you Biggsy. Thank you RRR.

Yeah, sure I had my tickets. I’m working on the bar for 4 hours (drop in and we’ll have a bevvy – I’ll post the times), so free ticket city. But 2 integral team members missed the boat. Then – winner, winner, chicken dinner – I score. What this means for me is a weekend of mooching off these two friends for all it’s worth.

That’s 4 free tickets I’ve scored this year. Geez I’m a good kid to be friends with. And look my head’s expanding as I write.

I've made it, I've really made it

2004-12-02T08:32:00.000+11:00

What do I have in common with these fine, upstanding women?

Well, yeah, there's the obvious... the hotness and the like incredible intelligence.

But there's also this:

Yes blog fans. I'm pleased to announce my new range of beauty products. As my press release says:

"Sweet, warm and spicy. Ring any bells? Our Sugar & Spice gifts are only available in all things nice, for the girly girls on your gift list. Special edition only."

I really couldn't have done it without the love and support of all of you. It just means so much to me that *hic* I have been able to accomplish so much *sob*.

Each and everyone of you have a special place in my heart.

*cue exit music*

... and just because I've hit the big time doesn't mean I'll forget about the little people!

Thank you. Thank you.

*escorted off stage*

Water Activity

2004-12-01T08:55:00.000+11:00

The question was posed last night over Taco’s by our resident funny man.

Why does bread go stale, but biscuits go soggy?

It’s an important point and one that I’m sure we’ve all pondered. Water activity, my bloggy friends, water activity. Now, I’m not talking frolicking around in your string bikini (although I’m pretty sure after Friday night’s encounter, many of you would be willing to don said bikini, and I ain’t jus’ talkin’ ‘bout da ladies). I’m talking about equilibrium.

Chemistry is all about being equal and sharing what you’ve got to be something bigger and better. I think we can all learn a little something from this. Don’t you?

Let’s take water for example. If Mr Hydrogen and his twin brother, let’s call him… Mr Hydrogen weren’t willing to share their single electron with Ms. Oxygen (nice – two men, but weird because they’re twins) we wouldn’t have water and we’d be up the non-existent creek.

“But,” I hear you thinking, “I wouldn’t consider having soggy biscuits and stale bread ‘working for the greater good’!” No. And it’s a good point. However, I didn’t say that Chemistry is always working for us (think petrol, atom bombs, cyanide), it’s just working for Chemistry.

So your bread is sitting there in the air where the relative humidity is at… hmmm… 65% (that’s average).

Your bread has an aw (water activity) of 0.95. (aw (water) = 1.0)

The biscuit has an aw of 0.3.

If you compare the two you’d have to admit the bread is fairly moist.
*nodding*
Even compared to the relative humidity of the room (which is measured on a different scale, I know, but it’s helping my point… I think)
*mutterings of agreement*.
Great.
And so then you’d say that the biscuit on the other end of scale in having a low aw
*uh huh – get to the point*.
OK. Yeah.
Thus, if everything is trying to be equal with their surroundings the water is going to osmotically move out of the bread and into area with there is a lower concentration of water (the air).
And the biscuit is going to drawn moisture from the air into, as the air has a higher concentration of water than the biscuit.

If you don’t believe me, I don’t really care. I know I’m smart. But you can experiment yourself. Put a slice of bread and a biscuit (both fresh) into a sealed air tight container and leave for a good couple of days. The biscuit and the bread should end up having a similar texture… apart from the obvious – one’s a biscuit and one’s a slice of bread.

Post-Office Party

2004-11-29T13:25:00.000+11:00

What should you not do at an office Christmas Party?

1) Bail up the CEO (and major shareholder) and tell him what you think needs improving within the company. And give your opinions on who is working for the powers of good and evil. Then go on to suggest that you should have a weekly meeting with said CEO every Tuesday at 9.00am (I’ll bring the coffee – not that freeze dried crud).
2) Sing ABBA’s Dancing Queen.
3) Tell various members of Senior Management where you see yourself and what your goals are for the future. OK doesn’t sound too bad. But if it’s 1.00am after bucket loads of beer, the sincerity tends to get lost.
4) Turn up to the hotel with worlds hottest cowboy boots. Walk in and feel all eyes upon you. Then receive compliments for the rest of the night because you’re ‘different’ and ‘out there’.

Who am I kidding? These are the best bit of the night. And for the record, my boss was the one to drag me up for the Dancing Queen episode.

Then to top it all off: A couple of office kids (when I say kids our overweight-chain-smoking-teeth-missing 52 y.o. Purchasing Manager came along too. He’s my favourite person at work) and I wondered into Ding Dong – purely by chance and I got to rub shoulders with totally outrageous bloggers. Sweet.

Off to Pony until 5, when I just couldn’t hack it anymore.

'Tis the season.

Office Festivities

2004-11-23T15:36:00.000+11:00

Me being the high flying Food Technologist that I am, will be attending my first ever sales conference this week. Hot. There'll be cocktail parties at the Rialto and meetings at the Savoy. No expense spared.

I got especially excited with the General Manager and the Chief Financial Officer were both playing the team-building-and-stock-transferral-board-game in my lab yesterday. Which I’ll be looking forward to cheating on on Friday.

But what really takes the cake. What's really the cats' pajamas. What's even better than sliced bread, is that on Friday evening I have my first ever Office Christmas Party. Oh yes.

I’ve attended Office Christmas Parties before for my Dad’s company. But I was allowed to be trashed there, one could almost say encouraged. Then there’s the numerous trash-whore Christmas Parties for various hospitality jobs I’ve had, but they’re in a league of their own.

I think what I’m particularly worried about is that I’m not necessarily very good at saying “no” to alcohol, or much else for that matter. So I’ve got a hunch that I’ll end up pretty freakin’ rotten. Plus it’s free. Psssh, ah-some.

My one saving grace is that there are quite a few ‘corrupt’ employee’s here at my place of work. And quite a few of these are relatively high up on the food chain. I’m hoping that they’ll outshine me.

(I’ve heard stories of boinking on the Boardroom Table and various substances circulating. Although you didn’t hear that from me)

Another problem I face is that there will be a Karaoke machine.

Yep.

With the right splash of ingredients – alcohol, confidence… anything. I’ve got a pretty good chance of ending up there. A lot.

So any requests?

R.U.SAVD

2004-11-22T13:10:00.000+11:00

What images are conjured up when you see this driving around the streets?

Let me impress on you further with saying the driver was wearing a “Tradies” type flouro yellow t-shirt, had a handle bar moustache and wrap around black glasses.

Ok, so we’ve got a mental picture right? Right. Yeah, Yobo. So I glance at the back of the ute and notice many garish stickers on the back. “Great, I love reading redneck quotes,” thinks I, “they’re so catchy.” For example:

… but wait a sec… what the fuck? That’s not… omg! Jesus stickers. That’s right plural. 5, count ‘em, five Jesus stickers, with clever phrases. Ha!

Dis is dem:
Salvation – the only thing that’s really free
You can discount that. I guess salvation really is free

Life’s Short – Pray Hard
See what they did here? Used a pre-existing slogan and religioused it up. Clever.

Jesus, here for Melbourne
I think I speak for all Melbournites here when I say, “Phew” I’m glad he didn’t stray into Sydney. He must like The Rock.

I’ve got Jesus on my side
OK, I'm confused. So is Jesus here for you… or Melbourne? I thought he was supposed to love us all equal like. Shows what lil’ ol’ non-religious me knows.

*

I hurriedly wrote all these down in my diary (*sob*, which I lost at Cherry on Friday night *sob*, my life is worth nothing now *sigh*), in peak hour Friday night traffic. And just when I thought I’d lost him, or dreamt it, I glanced in my rear-view mirror, only to notice the number plate:

R.U.SAVD

Brilliant.

Disclaimer: I have no problem with whatever religion you follow. I just think the juxtaposition is stunning (don’t you love how I just wrote juxtaposition - and I'm a scientist!).

* there is another one, but it’s in my diary *sob*. If you see her, please bring her back to me.

ducking delicious

2004-11-19T11:25:00.000+11:00

There are 2 things in life that make me feel all tingly inside when it comes to eating out.

1. the quest to find the skankiest restaurant, where you pay pitons for the worlds best food. A diamond in the rough, as it were.
2. when the aforementioned diamond serves Peking Duck.

Last night, alongside my fellow restaurant hunter, Glenn, we uncovered the restaurant equivalent to The Star of Africa.

Kudos goes out to my Dad who steered us in the direction. His method of choosing good Asian fare is by the amount of black hair there is sitting down shovelling rice down. Extra points are awarded if there are little old pruney Asian women in there. Here there were both.

We strolled boldly passed at least 2 groups of people on the street waiting to be seated, assuming we’d be joining them soon, but got straight in. Nice. We sat on your typical Naughties version of a Formica table. Right in front of the kitchen door, which is where every table is in these types of establishments.

I looked at my fellow hunter and found the same look in his eye that was in mine.
“I might cry.” I said. He agreed. This was going to be good.

The walls were lined with a spattering of brightly coloured paper with either English or Chinese characters. Prices were crossed out half the time, but not much exceeded $20. There was seafood like you wouldn’t believe, crab, scallops, every fish (ever), lobster, pippis, squid… you name it. Every now and then a waiter would come out carrying a net with a shiney fish flapppin’ around or a squirmy lobster and let whoever was going to chow down on it have a squiz.

Then there were your lesser known dishes: frogs legs, weird offal… you know.

Being self-proclaimed aficionados in the world of crispy fried squid with salt and chilli, we couldn’t go past it. Obviously there was duck. Peking, with the pancake and the spring onion and the cucumber and the plum sauce… oh my god. Oh, and scallops with ginger for entrée.

If you’ve ever had crispy squid you know it’s a world of delight. But not like this. It was not only crispy - the meat was actually juicy. Like they’d been force feeding the squid before they chopped them up for us. My mouth is watering again.

The duck was so succulent and plump and sweet and delicious and I don’t think I can write about this much longer. It’s causing me actual physical pain not being there.

All this plus wine and chat makes for a ducking great evening. And no, I’m not mentioning the name. I’m selfish like that.

Meri Blog

2004-11-19T09:18:00.000+11:00

I have a bloggy plan for Meredith.

It requires interaction. Please leave a comment if you’re going. Oh, the funness.

What ever happened to The Food?

2004-11-18T09:54:00.000+11:00

Ahem. Didn’t I start this whole blog thing so that I could show the world my cooking prowess and astounding knowledge of food? Yeah, so where is all this tummy goodness?

Ashamedly I’ve let my ego get the better of me. It’s true. Sometimes I do this.

So back to more important things.

Why does your wee smell funky when you eat asparagus?

Last night I picked up some asparagus, prosciutto and some Melbourne Bitter on the way home. Because I was dumped from Wednesday Corner Night. Whatever. A lovely Penne ensued (sans the beer, I just drank that).

Because asparagus is so seasonal I always forget its hidden powers. It’s fun when it happens though. What? It is fun.

So here’s the scoop.

The funky smell doesn’t happen to everyone. But is ok. The freaks are the one’s that don’t have the funk. It’s at about a 92% strike rate.

It’s all got to do with sulphur. Who’s cracked a rotten egg? Been to the steaming cesspools in Roturoa, NZ? That’s sulphur, baby. The flavourist’s mortal enemy.

(I was once doing sampling for an ingredient company and got a sulphur compound on my lab coat. A drop mind you. I smelt like a bum for the next 3 days. Thanks sulphur.)

So sulphur smells.

There are 3 major stanky contributors to the wee stench. 2 of these are S-methylthioacrylate and S-methyl-3-(methylthio)thiopropionate. (All I really wanted to prove about including those is that I know about chemicals and junk. Give the girl 10 points. But hey… who was the person that identified these compounds? That’s one thesis project I would be less than excited about. Who am I to talk though I did my thesis on a mayonnaise style sauce.)

These compounds are present in both the asparagus and the wee. Though either in different forms, or bound tighter in the vegetable bit. I mean they’ve got to be different because AS IF you’d eat something that smelt like asparagus-wee.

So… they’re moving through the whole digestion bit where everything turns into broken down bits of gunk or stuff that your body hates and needs to get rid of. You know who wants stuff that the body hates? The kidneys. They’re mad for it. But the kidneys are fickle folk and they get rid of stuff in a hurry. And they get rid of it through… wee. Hooray! We’ve reached the bowl. We know what happens here. Pee-eww.

Who else feels smarter?

Now here are some weird pics I found on Asparagus.

Ahhh.... probably not.

Oh, ah. Crafty.

Nice, a folk project called "Asparagus". Sweet hat.

Probably the sweetest film ever

2004-11-17T13:13:00.000+11:00

Ho-ly crap. I’m still laughing.

"...Incredible." Best line ever.

Check out what the web site does too.

There are so many quotes to take away with you. G-man and I spent dinner recounting the ENTIRE movie. Almost wetting ourselves with laughter. Again.

I’m pretty sure the people in front of me developed whip-lash because my feet kept slamming into the back of their seats. Actual fits of laughter.

Here I’ve even linked the times for those of you in Melbs.

Go. Go now.

Today I’m massively excited about:

2004-11-16T16:51:00.000+11:00

*Meredith Music Festival

*Seeing this tonight (even though it’s a sorry excuse for missing out on Gillian Welch tickets)

*Tomorrow being Wednesday. After Wednesday everything seems easier.

*The new Neko Case album I’ll be buying stat.

me. me. me.

2004-11-15T22:25:00.000+11:00

So who was the most popular gal ever at Pony this weekend? Yeah that’s right it was me. And I owe it all to my favourite t-shirt.

To start at the beginning… I went on a bender this weekend. I didn’t mean to. Really I didn’t. It just happened. And I don’t really want to be all, "Ha! How rad am I! I got drunk on the weekend. I’ll give you a play by play," but…

Friday I went The Corner(what a freakin’ surprise) and saw stacks of Gararge rock. Rock. To continue in the rock theme I stayed out and spewed. Totally ah-some.

Things I should have done on Saturday:
- loved my liver, brain and lungs.
- not gone out for ‘a drink’
- and maybe watch a dvd. Yeah, that would have been nice.

Things I did on Saturday:
- went out to Bimbo. Ewww. Quick think of the Punters to make you feel better.
For (count ‘em) 11 hours.
- drank more than one beer and more than one G’n’T
- stayed out until 7 am.

It’s the last point where the Pony bit came into action.
I wore my Interpol T-shirt that I bought on the internet. Because buying stuff on the internet is like cool an’ shit. And apparantly every single person in the whole of Melbourne that digs Interpol was there. And they were all guys. Sweet. They all loved me, me, me.

I had 5 guys bowing the "we’re not worthy, we’re not worthy" to me. And I loved it.

Being cool is fun. Doesn't matter if you're the only one that thinks so.

what's funny?

2004-11-15T21:35:00.000+11:00

Footscray K-Mart. Just because.

plug on. part 2

2004-11-12T16:54:00.000+11:00

So it’s widely accepted that I heart The Plug.

When I discovered The Plug was calling it quits I decided it was important to kick up some kind of stink. So I wrote him a letter, where I cussed and made the wit.

To my delight The Plug responded and then I responded and made comment about my profession and that I could tailor make him a herby blend. Special ain’t it.

So I made The Plug his herby blend with love and whey powder (to make his potatoes crispy, you see). This is my formulation (“mum’s” the word on the formulation).

INGREDIENT %
WHEY POWDER 30.000
ROSEMARY CUT 15.000
GARLIC MINCED 15.000
ONION MINCED 15.000
SUPERFINE SALT 13.000
PEPPER CRACKED 7.000
CHILLI CRUSHED 3.000
VEGETABLE OIL 2.000

The chilli was in an 'optional chilli sachet', which I'm rather proud of. Apparantly not everyone enjoys chilli. Losers.

And I sent my herby goodness to The Plug all the way in Atlana, Georgia. That's in America. Totally far away from Melbourne, Victoria, Australia.

I waited patiently for a response. I checked the mail every night in the hope that The Plug would reciprocate the love. And last night my every dream was fulfilled.

I got one of these

It’s got all kinds of plug stuff in it. And I got a card, and a letter, both penned by The Plug. As Television’s Kynan Barker says “You LOVE getting presents in paper bags! Bless your anonymous fanmailing heart.”

Awww. My heart’s all a-flutter.

A good reason for being tired.

2004-11-11T15:12:00.000+11:00

Maybe it has something to do with the fact I played a game of netball (yes, netball… hey, it’s the new cool, ok) at 9.30 last night. Drunk.

Well you see it’s tradition that we go to The Corner for dinner on Wednesday. And they have beer there and I was there. It just made sense. Not to mention someone thought it was hilarious that I was going to play n-ball after The Corner and made sure I was never without a full glass. Great. Hilarious.

Frankly, I played well. My aim was somewhat accurate and I think I was a little more aggressive on the court than usual. Netball is hard-core-bitch-fighting, so “a little more aggressive” is ace.

It’s since 2pm that I’ve really hit the wall. The 4 cups of tea got me through the morning and the sushi (oh man how I was craving raw fish today) got me through lunch. But now I’ve got nothing to live for.

So write me a comment and brighten my afternoon. I know you’re out there.

What ever happened to Nathan Cavaleri?

2004-11-08T16:48:00.000+11:00

Cavaleri Query number 1: Which came first the cancer or the fame?

Apparently the cancer. but hey give the kid some cred', he hung with BB King.

“Nathan Cavaleri is a young Australian boy who was diagnosed with cancer; he came to the Medias attention when he got his wish of jamming with Mark Knofler during one of dire straits tours here.

Nathan was taught guitar by his father from a very young age (3 years I think from memory). Following Nathan’s televised jam session with Mark Knofler he shot to celebrity status rapidly, travelling to the USA where he played backup and duo's with world renowned blues players such as muddy waters and others. Nathan also made guest apperances in television shows such as Baywatch.”

You think Baywatch is good, but the more info you uncover the better. It was actually Baywatch Nights. Baywatch’s ugly twin sister, even more hideous than the first.

Cavaleri Query number 2: Where are they now?

Look how tough he is now with his blond tips. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Oh this is an absolute gem. I have to go and check these guys out!

Ha! They call themselves The Dirty Skanks because of the girls in the front rows of their shows. Charmers.
And their first single is called MILF! And it goes a little something like this...

Talk about bored housewives,
Watching them Days of Our Lives
Don't hold me tight
Take a bite
Fuck me in the kitchen
While hubby's workin' wishin'

Gold.

Another child prodigy turned drug toking scum-bag. I heart Nathan Cavalri.

Ode to Vodka

2004-11-05T16:11:00.000+11:00

I have very little respect for this beverage, but I felt compelled to do and Ode to The Vodka today after yesterday.

Yesterday all of Melbourne’s finest whores (male and female) were out on display. And what is Oaks Day spent with work colleagues without a of Icelandic Vodka shots? What is it? It’s better day. Vodka should not be consumed without a buffer.

This then took me back to days of abusive-teenaged-drinking (after all that’s what an office environment reflects). The Fruit Tingles taken in 2 litre bottles to the Year 12 party. Goodness knows I wouldn’t have been doing the things I did that night on Raspberry Cordial. And I’m sure Dave-The-IT-Dweeb wouldn’t have done a nudey run without the aid of The Vodka.

So I thought “What the hey. I’m going post about The Vodka today”, because it’s why I feel so shithouse right now.

Some of my preferred offerings:

The Vodka Lime and Soda – actually my preferred “other” drink. Sounds a bit poofy, nonetheless goes down without a hassle.

The Vodka and Cranberry – wery refreshing

The Aforementioned Fruit Tingle – Raspberry, Blue Curacao, Vodka. Ewwww, this is only in here in case the younger generation get ahold of this blog and need some assistance.

The Vodka, Gingerbeer and Lime. Could be because I’m a sucker for Gingerbeer.

The Vodka is an essential part of most cocktails.

The pees de resistance… The VodkaMelon.

I think I’m confused. I started out writing this hating the idea of The Vodka… but now I think I’ve lightened to the fact that we need a back-up. The Vodka may not be Head Of The Class, but she’s there for everyone. A support system. And who am I to discount that? Where would we be without our support system?

I think we can all learn a little something from The Vodka. Don’t you?

By the way I want to write about Bush. But the words never quite make sense. And we all know it’s worse than vodka shots… nay, Citruse shots. *spew*

plug on

2004-11-05T13:30:00.000+11:00

love this site.
love that i wrote to the plug.

i even made a special herby blend for his potatoes. it must be love.

Death by Turkey and Beer

2004-11-03T16:03:00.000+11:00

Despite the fact I’m posting on Wednesday I did in fact drag my wretched corpse to work on Monday, but was in no mind for wit (hence no blogging).

OK, so I only got one of my predictions right (the wetting of the pants), but that’s a good thing right… no tears. Oh... and shit the bitching, alcohol and cussing bit came true too. Duh.

I’ll save us all the hassle of reading my play by play of the last 4 days and leave you with this. I’m. Fucking. Exhausted. Alas, still willing to haul my ass to The Corner tonight. No matter how crapola you feel there’s no reason to skip out on tradition.

Some Choice Cuts:

Between us The Gang sunk in 8 hip flasks of beam/whiskey/turkey and all other mind bogglingly awful bevies.
Biggs, R. wore an afro wig all day. Precious. You go ‘Girl Sebastian’ uh-huh, yeah (snap, snap, snap)
The G-Man caught a happy snap of some drunk chick’s muff as she was tackling her brother. Weird. (is it wrong to want to post this?)
We broke a chair at the Rob Roy. Can’t say I had a direct hand in the destruction, but I looked on at the ‘stacks on’ in full awareness of the snap and crackle that would ensue. It was our way of saying "Thanks for the music Rob Roy."
Totally exchanged numbers with a hot guy. Now this may not seem like a big deal to most… but let’s just say I’m WAY picky about these sorts of things. Dear lord, I hope I didn’t tell him my blog address.
Drank beer all Cup Day, then ate curry… not advisable.
Backed both Makybe Diva and Vinnie Roe for a place. Won $23 from the TAB. Better though was getting She's Archie (last place) in the sweep and winning 10 bucks (get it bucks!)

Oaks tomorrow. Holy shit, I don’t want to become one of those bitches that go to the races in frocks, make-up running by 3 o’clock, shoes off at 4. Screw that, my shoes are too red and flat for that to happen. And make-up… P-ha, except for the excessively red lip-stick.

Of Horses and Tears

2004-10-29T15:17:00.000+10:00

The Gang are hitting the Races this weekend. The shit is likely to hit the fan and splatter all over everyone’s face.

Predictions:

Someone will cry
Someone will make someone cry
Lines will be crossed
There will be a lot of: bitching, alcohol, cussing
We will all wet our pants laughing
I will either: a) call in sick for work on Monday; or b) get through the day pretending I’m not in a coma to save a sick day.

It’s what happens when Melrose Place meets Thornbury – ain’t that a pretty picture.

All shall spend the weekend holding their breath for Monday's blog (assuming I can drag myself in)