Thursday, August 31, 2006

Moon Over Bathurst Street

Moon giver, wider than a smile. I'm crossin' you in style some day. Old crack maker, you heartbreaker. Whatever you're showin', I'm goin' your way. Two buttcheeks, off to see the world. There's such a lot of world to see. We're after the same buddy's end, waitin' to bendover. My dirty gotch friend, Moon Giver, and me..........

Sheena got mooned this morning. Hot off the heels of my gitch post, sure enough don't I see some dirty ass crack first thing before a cup of coffee today.

Got on the Queen W #501 Street Car around 7:50am. Standing room only. Absently staring out the window near Bathurst. Red Light. Mind wandering. Watch the group of 6 or 7 twenty-somethings hanging out on the steps of an old bank building now turned into an arts and crafts centre. Couple of them point at the streetcar. One waves and laughs. Next thing Sheena knows, he jumps from the top of the stairs onto the sidewalk, turns around in a single bound and whips his jeans down.

Did I really just see that? Couple of ladies standing near to me had the same stunned disbelieving half-grin on their faces. Yep. We just got mooned.

Old guy beside me squinted and exclaimed "Quite the harelip on that little kid, eh?".

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

The Shitty Oak No More...aka Drinking With Old People

In Ottawa for a couple of days this week so Sheena rounded up a few of the troops on Sunday night for a little quaffing and conversation. Trying to come up with a central location and had mulled over the possibility of hitting Babylon later in the evening.

Did Elgin last week, and the Byward Market the wrong direction, so after some debate and discussion we agreed to go to the Royal Oak on Bank Street. Now, for Sheena's readers familiar with Ottawa, you will know that the Oak is a local chain of pubs. And that there are in fact 3 Royal Oaks on Bank Street. Within about 10 blocks of each other.

So as not to confuse people, over the years we have taken to call 'our' Oak "The Shitty Oak", as a way to distinguish it from the "Nice Oak" and the "New Oak". According to the official Royal Oak web site, it is the "Original" Oak, so maybe the indifferent service and bad food and ugly decor is part of the charm. Sheena hadn't been there since election night, so we agreed that it was time to go back.

A buddy from the Quebec side showed up first. Then Sheena's honourary blogmother. And then her blond companion who I think looks like Owen Wilson.

Now, Sheena has several good friends who are in their mid/late 40s and this night quickly fell into a disturbingly familiar pattern: Stubbornly unwilling to make the leap to bifocals, they find themselves unable to read the small print of the menu. This is not isolated to the Shitty Oak. She's had to put up with this nonsense at the Manx Pub, Woody's and the late lamented Bravo Bravo. Vanity, thy name is squint-induced crow's feet.

As a semi-joke, the blogmother asked our server - the bartender - if he had any reading glasses back there. He offered to check. We laughed.

Not just at the silly idea of having a stash of spectacles behind the bar, but at the fact that a real life server at the shitty Oak was being nice to us and providing friendly and competent customer service.

Sure enough, he came back with a handful of lost glasses. Left behind by their rightful owners. The blogmother tried them all on until she found a pair that allowed her to make an informed nacho decision. We were happy, though a little stunned.

The shitty Oak no more.

One pleasant, thoughtful, funny bartender had been enough to lift the stigma. Well, damn.. we said, now how are we going to know which of the Bank Street Oaks to meet at. The Oak That Used To Be The Shitty One, I suppose.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

I Could Hide Out Under There

Such awful turmoil in the world this summer. All the news over the last few days about Israeli commandos raiding Hezbollah strongholds, or Israeli commandos sweeping over the Lebanese border. It certainly has made Sheena stop and think about more serious matters.

Like, why can't the IDF affort underpants for their solidiers.

But military expenditures aside, it has reminded me of one of the great cultural divides that face Canada today. And that is: Gitch vs. Gotch.

Growing up in Winnipeg, both variations were heard. As a kid, it was the boys on the playground snapping each other's gotch bands. As a teenager camping, it was making sure nobody ever saw yours. As a 20-something on the prowl, it was helping your best friend buy "courtin' gitch", because she had a date that night. You know, the kind with garter belts. Trying to say it was for a child under 13 so the clerk at the Bay wouldn't charge you provincial sales tax.

Arguing with another westerner, who used the rural Alberta redneck pronounciation of "gaunch", we first posited the theory that perhaps gitch was for girls, and gotch was for boys. A masculine/feminine divide. Unfortunately, that hypothesis didn't hold water during the next visit to Winnipeg, when gotch was clearly used in the context of 'matching bra'.

Sheena this evening is proud to announce that she has an answer to this question. A paradigm shift she has discussed with key stakeholders and at last is ready to share with her reading public. Look past the East-West split. Move beyond the male-female divide. The answer my friends is in your history. Gitch is your new underwear. The kind your mother wishes you'd wear when you run out in traffic.
Gotch is the past tense. The kind you wear on weekends after 10 years of marriage.

World Mystery #1 Solved. SheenaVision©

Thursday, August 24, 2006

If Angels Made Poo

What would it look like? What would it taste like?

Sheena believes that she has found the answer this heavenly speculation. Yesterday evening, on her way home, she was offered a very special little brown treat. She's had this treat many times over the years. Usually about 45 minutes either side of Kingston.

The Via Rail Via1 chocolate has become a national institution. Every club car dinner is ended with a little coffee, tea and digestif, followed by a very special custom made chocolate. In recent years pink, green and yellow filled versions have emerged, but the original brown on brown is the best of all.

The chilled dark chocolate cup begins to melt as soon as one's grubby little fingers picks the perfect one off the serving plate that is marched down the aisle. If in a piggish sort of mood, it is small enough to pop whole in the mouth. Loses some of the enjoyment of savouring the warm spread of chocolate over the tongue, but occasionally advisable if wearing light coloured clothing. If the club car is empty and no one is looking, you can lick the fondant creme filling out like a kitten with a milk bowl. But it's best when you can get the right blend of creamy filling and chocolate cup in 2-3 even bites.

An initial google did not turn up the name of the supplier. Nor did an initial query of the transportation insiders who occasionally handle Sheena's baggage. But no worries. We'll get to the bottom of it. Soon.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Terror in the Skies

An experience last night left Sheena shaken and dreading a return to the airport. No... not an errant lipgloss that crossed secure lines. Not even a pack of matches that slipped under the radar. Nope. What has rattled Sheena's nerves was an encounter last night at the hotel bar.

Sitting with one of her coven, Sheena was deeply engrossed in conversation. Unintended eye contact was made with a tall blonde man who entered the cocktail lounge. The unfortunate lapse of concentration was misinterpreted as an invitation to come sit over with the ladies.

As buddy passed by our tall chairs, he bumped Sheena's with his abdomen. I believe intentionally. "Oops! Guess my gut got in the way", he giggled, somewhat floridly.

He proceded to sit down and when I turned to ensure that my back was facing him fully, indicating that no conversation was gonna happen, he turned his attention to the bartender.

Few minutes later it became apparent that the draught-pourer had become disenchanted with his new loud best friend and found busy work on the other side of the bar.

And then our buddy spotted some other chicks at the other side of the room. Yes. The Other Side Of The Room. He seemed to notice that one of them looked sort of familiar or that they were wearing something that tipped off their occupation. You see, buddy was an airline pilot, and they were flight attendants.

Buddy had already spent the afternoon quaffing a few at the peeler bar down the block and was looking for a little r & r. (Oh, did Sheena mention that all of this happened at 6pm on a Tuesday?) He yelled out his name, rank and serial number. He shouted out the name, rank and serial number of his best friend, also a pilot. Who was dating a flight attendant. Did they know her. How he was a "new hire". He used that phrase repeatedly. Almost as though perhaps some older and wiser pilot had used that phrase repeatedly on him in the recent past. He just got on board effective May 1.

The flight attendants - from a different but closely affliated airline had been around a little longer and made polite conversation with Buddy, egging him on discreetly. From The Other Side Of The Room.

My face was less than 12" from my wining companion's face and I could not hear a single word she said when buddy was in full bore bluster. We had to get up and move across the room. The bartender nodded knowingly.

Now, Sheena is pretty sure that the FAA has an '8 hour rule' in effect for commercial pilots. I'm kind of tempted to head over to the airline's web site and check out their departure schedules.

But I'm scared shitless to do so.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Best Sandwich in Ottawa

Sheena revisits her old stomping grounds on and off the next couple of weeks. First stop off the train is the one and only DiRienzo's Grocery. It's a grocery store with a deli. Great place for all kinds of weird pastas and big barrels of olives and those weird little amaretto cookies that I love even though they hurt your tongue.

Now Sheena spent a lot of time in Ottawa's Little Italy over the last few years, and I can easily say that the above picture was clearly taken when the store was closed. From 11am to 1pm on weekdays, the place is lined up outside the door.

You really have 3 choices - all $3.50 (that's GST in, and AFTER a price increase from $3 last year...) Custom made sandwiches, pre-made sandwiches or boxed pasta to go.

Option 1:
In assembly line fashion that would make both Henry Ford AND Seinfeld's Soup Nazi green with envy, the luncher picks just the right bun out of a big crate. The buns alone are treasures, the right balance of crusty and chewy. Must research source.. I think I know, but need to verify. Luncher then selects from a deli counter jammed pack with every meats, sliced cheese and interesting fillings like roasted eggplant, peppers, tomatoes, to name a fraction. Pre-tested combinations are listed on the whiteboard, and yes, you can order by number.

Option 2:
Premade. This was Sheena's pick probably 35% of the time. The hot sandwiches are premade and wrapped in saran wrap and piled high at the counter near the door. Italian sausage, meatloaf (REAL HOMEMADE), roast beef, chicken and pork (again, all real cuts, not processed meats), Veal cutlets, western and all kinds of creative variations with cacciotore, piccata or marinara toppings. 15 seconds in the microwave and the cheese drips all over your hands and keyboard.

Option 3:
Pasta. Sheena began to gravitate to the pastas more often in later months after discovering the tortellini. Fresh homemade sauce, grated cheese, always rememebering a napkin and fork...

Ask any Ottawa cop, firefighter, paramedic or maintenance worker where it is. There's usually a half-dozen civic vehicles parked out front during lunch rush. No interac, just cash please...

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Riper and Runnier

Spent some time on Saturday at the amazing Cheese Boutique. Stuck off the beaten path near the Kingsway, in an old sausage making plant, it's a bit hard to find the first time out. Good thing they have vans with big yellow signs at key turnoffs pointing the way.

I've not seen anything else quite like it in Canada. Not only do they import the best from around the world, but their own aging cellars for cheese and meats mean they only sell the products when they've hit their peaks. Olive oils, perfect produce, veal chops that could fell a tree... have to see it to believe it. A little bit of Harrod's food mall right here in our backyard.

Today's purchase: a hunk of Quebec's Bouq Emissaire (see picture above...); a package of fruit/nut crackers and a litre of guava juice (inspired by Julie's Lunch' wakalita see Sheenavision passim. The pairing of this cheese with the fruit crackers was a trick learned at the Fat Cat Wine Bar on Roncesvalles (who do a gorgeous cheese plate, mostly from the Cheese Boutique...).

Was going to open a red with it. Probably because I saw
Stratus Red on the menu at the Swan this weekend and have had it on the brain. Most gratefully, an online intervention occurred and the suggestion of a medium bodied Chardonnay was given. Bingo! Perfect moment to open last week's unoaked chard from Deborah Paskus's Closson Chase.

Can't think of a better snack to represent national unity. Though now Sheena has a new obsession, and finds herself getting restless. Is there such a thing as a Cheese-Route in Quebec? I do have a few vacation days left to burn...

Saturday, August 19, 2006

The Strumpet Of The Swan

Yet another reason to hate Toronto, all my jealous and self-loathing non-Centre of the World readers: Sheena presents The Swan on Queen St. W. Come on, even The Economist finds this place charming.

A spur of the moment dinner decision. Thank God my dining companion and I have no standards because the tiny dining room was jam-packed, so we grabbed two empty stools at the bar. Gave us a better view of the retro-diner heritage fixtures. Twirled around on the seats to see what everyone was eating and it all looked great. I started with a McManis Viognier, and El Chaperone had a Wellington Ale (in a bottle). Normally Sheena prefers an Aussie Viognier, only recently developing a weakness for those from California's Healdsburg district. She was somewhat red-faced not to have ever heard of "Ripon" or the "San Joaquin" valley wine district. Thank you Google Maps.

Skipped appetizers and went straight for the main courses. We both chose well, but he won. Sheena had the roasted capon; companion had the braised beef short ribs. Both dishes served on top of a big plop of buttermilk mashed potatoes. The capon had a yummy bourbon and vanilla sauce that had a distinct kick to it. The beef fell apart if you looked at it the wrong way, completely melt-in-mouth. I have to order it for myself next time.

We don't often order dessert, but were enjoying the evening, liked the atmosphere and didn't feel like rushing through our wine, so we got the Maple Creme Brulee and a Peach-Rhubarb Cobbler. Must have exceeded the recommended daily caloric intake level by a 1000, but who gives a shit, really. Life is a precious gift intended to be savoured. Just like that little piece of crispy blow-torched sugar that even this morning is still stuck in my teeth.

Friday, August 18, 2006



Anyone else a little weirded out when famous people talk about their genitals in public.

A visual Sheena does NOT need before Friday Happy Hour, thank you very much

But, here's a summary clip highlighting the CBC and CTV non-stop 24 covereage of the Toronto AIDS Summit this week.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Photo Caption Contest #1

Thanks Drudge Report for this evening's inspiration.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Feeling A Tad PEC-ish This Morning

At last! For a couple of years now, Sheena had put "A Day Wine-Touring in Prince Edward County" on her to-do list. Yesterday was that day. It is a very new region, with the first commercial wineries opening up in 2000, but there are several with tasting rooms now and dozens of growers are coming into their own. Probably be a very different place in 5 years once the newbies hit their stride.

First stop: Black Prince in Picton. Nice looking spot, decent variety of wines open for tasting. Unfortunately, this was the worst stop of the tour, and Sheena became very concerned that it was not going to be a pleasant day. The wines were adequate. Nothing special, but nothing particularly offensive. Oh wait a sec... yes.. the staff was offensive. Scaredy lady who started off serving us knew nothing and looked panicked whenever a simple question like "which Rosé would you recommend?" was asked. I didn't see any tasting notes or lists and asked for one. Sheena likes to make notes when she tastes, especially on a first time visit. The snarkmaster rolled his eyes and informed me that "We don't print lists here. The selection changes too frequently. It's just a piece of paper anyways". Yes. That is precisely why I wanted it. I wanted a piece of fucking paper to make notes on. I ended up using the back of the receipt from when we stopped on the reserve near Deseronto to buy cheap indian smokes earlier in the day. Nothing purchased.

Second stop was a hoot. By Chadsey's Cairns is built on a gorgeous old property ripe with myth and intrigue and mystery. Click on the link for the history of the site. Would love to go back and picnic and explore. Wines were as unique as the location. Bought a Chenin Blanc (apparently the only vineyard in the County that grows it) that had a lovely mineral flint edge that I look forward to serving with some fresh pan fried fish one day very soon. Sheena has a bit of a weakness for Gewurtztraminer, and they had a nice one, though a little too heavy on a banana nose for my liking. The Gamay Noir was described as "sour cherry", but is more properly described as Atomic Wedgie Sour Cherry. My eyes watered, but it was fun. A fun piece on Wine Politics here...

Sandbanks was one of the treats of the day. Ended up buying almost a case. Bone dry Riesling at $16.95 had the classic limey-slate flavours, but with an unexpected depth to the finish that just hung around your tongue for a while. Baco Noir at $14.60 was a good everyday red with pasta or burgers. Some new Bacos have a ketchupy edge to them that Sheena dislikes, but not this one. Lovely Cabernet Franc for $19.95. Beautiful colour, very slight hint of the green pepper nose that can ruin a franc. A keeper. Had proper tasting notes printed and available on the counter. Good glasses too...

Carmela Estates was next. Pretty grounds with outdoor patio and one of those giant chessboards where you can walk and play. A busy spot. OK wines, but the pinot noir had that "pick me! pick me!" enthusiasm that meant 3 bottles found a home. 2 left as of this writing... ($20/each)

New kid on the block is Norman Hardie. Wow, I guess when the big shots say it's the best pinot in Canada, it's not surprising that his several hundred case production is long gone. The tasting room only opened up this summer, so it does feel a little unfinished, despite the absolutely lovely grounds. Only the Riesling was available for tasting, and at $19, was a steal. When Sheena whipped out her Visa... then her bank card to pay, she was reluctantly informed that the machines weren't actually hooked up yet. So only cash. Or cheque. Didn't have enough cash for the 3 bottles, so guess what. Yep, whipped out the chequebook. I cannot remember the last time I wrote a cheque at any retail establishment... let alone to buy booze. Pretty much on the honour system. Cool.

Sheena admits to walking into the Grange in a pissy mood. I kept thinking that Penfolds needs to come out here and kick their ass. Tried two wines - pinot gris which tasted weirdly of green tea - and the gamay noir which tasted like cherry Koolaid. Didn't finish the sample, but they still charged me for it. Had enough and left.

Last stop was the highly anticipated Closson Chase. Just over the top with prettiness of the estate. Frickin blogger pictures not working right now, but will add them later when things are back to normal. Pinots gone for the year, to be released again when they start the season next May. Famed winemaker Deborah Paskus has been splitting her time between this place and Tawse in Niagara, but apparently will be dedicated to CC full time next year. Picked up two of the unoaked chardonnays for $23/each. Worth a return visit when they get more stock open for tasting early next summer.

Seems to be an uneasy dependency in PEC on Niagara grapes right now. Most vineyards just too young to have good fruit right now, and the pioneers who are 100% county grown have a bit of a disadvantage over those who coast to VQA stardom with southern grapes. Sheena's worry is that there will be a regression in quality in a couple of years as the award-winning places who are putting PEC on the map give up their addiction to Niagara grapes and have to fend for themselves. Only time will tell. And rest assured I'll be there to report back.

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Kibbles 'N Bits

Sitting up at a camp this weekend, watching the shooting stars with a few friends, their pre-teen kids and an assortment of dogs. Sheena is not a dog person, but has no problem hanging out with other people's canine companions, and gets a kick out of playing catch with obsessive compulsive border collies and petting pugs until they purr.

But why the hell in our generation have we decided that dogs don't eat meat? When one of the visiting non-dog owner adults saved a bit of fatty bit off the steak to give one of the dogs, the owner looked shocked and exclaimed "Oh no, don't give him that, he'll throw up!".

Dogs eat shoes. Dogs eat garbage. Dogs eat other dogs' poop. So why suddenly in the last 10 years have we decided that dogs can't digest steak scraps? Have we fucked up our species to the point where we've run out of ideas and now we have to screw with the millenia-old eating patterns of our most trusted animal companion? Sheena understands the need for dining etiquette and not encouraging table-side begging, but come on now. Are we intentionally breeding any sense of independence out of animals to fill some gaping emotional void in ourselves?

I mean, in those rock paintings that the cavemen did, you never saw dogs chasing after brown rice and ground millet.

Thursday, August 10, 2006


Recently Sheena had the opportunity to attend a memorial service for a person she hadn't seen in many many years. Cruel twists of fate, a tragic accident years ago, an ongoing struggle with inner demons and regrets; he had been estranged from family for a long time.

Did he die feeling abandoned and lonely? Was anyone around to help him? How did he live? Did he suffer? We all had the same worries and painful questions wondering how the time had gone by so fast, and might things have been different. We tortured ourselves with the woulda, shoulda, couldas.

At the end of the service, the crowd shuffled by the immediate family to pay respects and offer condolences. After the old neighbours and extended family had passed by, a line of strangers appeared. No one knew who they were.

As the strangers approached the row of family, we looked closely at them. Emotion was etched deep into weather beaten faces. Some were scabby. Some were shaky. A perfectly pressed and pristine brown polyester suit from the 1970s put on out of respect for the deceased and the solemnity of the situation. Large women with spectacular mullets comforted the skinny and bony and tired. This motley crew were his people. His friends, his colleagues, his drinking buddies.

The family had not made arrangements for a wake or post-service lunch. But his people had other plans. They wanted, no - needed, to honour his memory. Their lives had been immediately and directly impacted by his premature death. His family had gone through that loss two decades ago. But for his people it was fresh and raw and painful.

So they invited the family to come and celebrate his memory in the place where he lived, where he socialized, and where he died. So the suits and sports jackets and high heels piled into the cars and pulled up in front of one of Winnipeg's most notorious flophouse welfare hotels.

The family slowly and carefully opened the door, unsure of what they would find. Not knowing where to go. A metal barred cage surrounded the front desk clerk and beer vendor. Opened the door to the cocktail lounge. There sat his people. Already starting in on the first round, which was on the house thanks to the owner. It was almost 11:30am. In the middle of the room, on the pool table, was setup a lovely spread of homemade sandwiches - ham, tuna and egg salad, sliced ham and bologna, cakes, cookies. And kielbasa.

The family joined in. Had a beer. Round of sambucas were passed around the room. It was his drink. We toasted his memory.

The family began to gradually leave after lunch. But some stayed a little longer. Meeting the friends and neighbours and colleagues for the first time. Some of them had known him for 2 decades. These were the family's missing years. The opportunity to learn about his life, his health, the impact he had on people, the trust people put into him. An unexpected door was opened. Some chose to take it.

When the last of the family left, they knew in their hearts that he didn't die alone. He had stopped contact with his family for reasons known only to him, but had found and built a strong community around him. And a new sense of regret struck us. That we all make mistakes and poor choices along the way, but that perhaps next time we walk past a bum on the street, or turn our back on someone who disappoints us, we close the door on ourselves as well.

You can't pick your family. You can't pick your nose. But you CAN pick your friends. He was lucky.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Don't Bother Searching Snopes

This is for real. Sheena has one in her hand right now. Yes, typing is more difficult.

I recommend the bottom of the recipe link. Book marks and necklaces. Man, they really know how to market to a girl. Swoon.

Yellowhead Highway

Highway 16, aka The Yellowhead Highway is often neglected as the hayseed hick cousin of the Transcanada Highway. Probably for good reason. But oh what a fun roadtrip. A Beer Garden Queen riding shotgun, bag of Old Dutch Ripple between the seats, no CDs, so navigating the perilous shores of pork belly auction stations, power pop and the good old CBC was a given.

Right at the Winnipeg city limits, one is greeted with acres and acres of smiling yellowheads... just waiting to be roasted, salted and spit out the car window at 100k.

The towns compete for drive-thru business. I mean, ya gotta stop somewhere for a pee and top-up, so do you picnic under the shadows of the giant steriod injected heifer? Or perhaps in the shade of the suspiciously speedfreakish smile of a happy rock? Maybe cool off with a tall cold beverage?

You decide....

Sunday, August 06, 2006

50'x140' Lots: $1 Each

Real Estate Boom got you down? Consider a move to Kamsack, SK "The Garden of Saskatchewan", where a nicely formatted polite letter and $1 will get you a parcel of land for residential or commercial use.

Keep the grass trimmed, pay your taxes on time ($300-600/year average) and just be an all around good neighbour. A pretty though somewhat hardluck town that sprung from the loins of CN at the turn of the century, Kamsack is now trying to diversify its agricultural economy and attract retirees, families and investors through this neo-Siftonian approach to land distribution.

The railway heritage is celebrated with a little park, prettily landscaped around an old CN caboose, right near the still-active siding serving the grain elevators.

A map lays out the downtown area:

I found it a little hard to read, so I zoomed in closer to the Legend. Ah... yes. That makes sense now.

Saturday, August 05, 2006

R0L0 C0

Didn't go out for dinner. Enjoyed a homecooked meal, topped off with a spectacular Doukabour Rhubarb Torte. (Watch this space for a recipe posting at a later date once Sheena gets a chance to test drive the handwritten and somewhat circular instructions).

Only hotel/vendor/tavern in town closed these days. The nails are taking a beating the weekend.

Population is about 420 people. Most famous native son is Eddie "The Wrench" Werenich, curling legend extraordinaire. A small community populated with primarily northern and eastern European farming families. Heavy on the Ukrainians, who came over in two major immigration waves in 1905, then post WW2.

Sheena exists because of the latter.

Spent the day shopping:
  • Box of Red River cereal
  • Old Dutch beef jerky
  • Tetra Pack of Vendage Pinot Grigio from the Drug Store
  • Couple of 6/49 tickets
  • Kick ass guacamole bowls from the Bakery/Hardware/Fishing Supplies Store on Main Street
  • Co-op brand Barbeque Sauce
  • Swan-River Valley roasted coffee (those Mennonites are EVERYwhere these days)

Was very pleased to see proper perogies for sale at the Lucky Dollar. Homemade, packaged in an oversized freezer bag, labelled in accordance with local food-handling guidelines.

Passed on the local talent, though.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Stupid Bar Tricks #3

BlackBerry Roulette
1. Sit at a pub with at least 3 other geeks/nerds/wonks who all have the same model of Blackberry.
2. Consume 4-8 pints.
3. Place all Blackberries on the table, face down.
4. Mix them up, like you're playing the Shell Game from Price is Right.
5. Pick up one of the Blackberries and randomly reply to the first email at the top of the inbox.
6. Sit and wait.
7. Look for a new job/spouse/girlfriend.