This week, the News of the Day was updated less than some of the other pages on the site. A heads up for the coming week: Live footage from one of our rap shows will make its appearance in the media section.
I was out with some friends tonight after fellowship. One of them asked me if my sense of smell is really good. This pretty much came out of nowhere and was directed only towards me. It struck me that the real question was, "Does your nose have any other functionable purpose -- perhaps one of superior olfactory ability? Or is it just ridiculously large?"
On Sunday, I wrote: "In other news, I was eating alphabet soup the other day. Halfway through the bowl, I looked at my spoon, and it spelled "8W". My delight was short-lived when the next spoonful spelled "SUX". Luckily, we all know that this means absolutely nothing."
Today, a friend of mine told me, "There's no 8 in alphabet soup. 8 is not a letter." So, assuming that the mysterious serendipity of the cosmos did not intervene with my can of Campbell's, maybe I had mistook the 8 for a B. Like I said, there had to be another explanation. So it was BW that sucked. Poor BW.
Happy birthday to my sister who is now at a time in her life where it's impolite to divulge her age. When she came to visit me in New York, I told my friends that she was fourteen. Only two out of twenty-five people were skeptical. That's because my sister -- though well beyond the age of pigtails, overalls, and putting daisies in her hair -- will sport this combination on a daily basis and with curiously innocent aplomb.
In other news, I was eating alphabet soup the other day. Halfway through the bowl, I looked at my spoon, and it spelled "8W". My delight was short-lived when the next spoonful spelled "SUX". Luckily, we all know that this means absolutely nothing.
Okay, so I went to the grocery store today and I bought some blueberry yogurt: Dannon "Light N Fit" because, conveniently, I am neither of those things. I open the lid and there's a game code to win a free day at a spa. I've never been big on spas, but I figure it has something to do with my never having set foot in one. So I'm thinking, let's win a trip to the spa to see what it's about. I go to the website and I don't win. I'm disappointed for at least a full second. But then I decide to check my Body Mass Index.
According to the BMI Calculator, I am 25.5, making me only 0.5 into the overweight category, since being overweight starts at 25. This means I'm overweight, but not really. When I feel like it, I figure I could easily push back the 0.5. Okay? So no more people emailing me about how I need to stop eating cream. The News Archive | Email
For the past six days, I haven't eaten out. I've just been eating whatever happened on my stove. One day, I even made guacomole from scratch without realizing what I was doing. I was trying to make a quick breakfast and ended up just mashing my avocado around in a bowl with a fork. I threw in some chopped tomatoes and pretty soon, I think I had guacomole. Incidentally, nearly everything I made (stir-fried shrimp and tomato, salmon with tomato cream sauce, spaghetti bolognese, Chinese-style beef and tomatoes -- everything except the stir-fried eggplant and ground pork) has involved excessive amounts of tomato. No prostate cancer for me.
I hope. It occurs to me that I don't really know what a prostate does or where it is. But I read that tomatoes take care of that, so I'm not going to bother figuring it out. The News Archive | Email
Last night, I was at the 420 Bar and Lounge off 80th Street celebrating my friend Audrey's birthday. Though I did rap for Audrey, at one point in the night, I was literally on fire. There were candles all over the room, and I was leaning over the bar because I was trying to be cool or something. Instead, I started feeling really hot and it smelled like something was burning. I turned around and the bartender, a tall, leggy blonde said, wide-eyed, "Take it off! Take it off!" And I was like, "Yo, you're cute but let's not get carried away."
Apparently, my bubble vest caught on fire. I know what you're thinking: "You still wear a bubble vest?" The answer is yes; the bubble vest, incidentally, was from ninth grade. I just don't throw any of my clothes away. You'd think that I thought fashion itself peaked when I was in high school and I just refuse to let it go.
Give me a moment to brag: For lunch, I made salmon with fresh tomato cream sauce over some fusilli pasta. All from scratch. Not only did I grow my own flour for the pasta, I bred, caught and then killed the salmon myself.
I bought cream yesterday to make the sauce, and then someone told me that cream is 40% fat. After factoring in my having bought a whole carton of it and my recent weight gain, you realize the ensuing dilemma. I should have known that buying that much cream is not a good idea, particularly, a carton of it that said "heavy cream". Heavy, you'd assume, is never on your top three list for Things To Become. I had shied away from the 'whipping cream' and the 'half and half' because whip cream is for dessert and half and half is for sissies.
So I flew into New York last night. Because of a scheduling conflict, the plane was a chartered flight; I was told the reason why I was sitting in a La-Z-Boy was because this plane is sometimes used for the Raptors. Anyway, I spent the flight listening to the classical music station. I did this because they didn't have any hip hop whatsoever. The reason for this is simple. They figure only 4 things can happen in hip hop: At any given time, you are either murdering someone, doing illegal drugs, having an unreasonable amount of sex, or this mysterious "getting it crunk". None of which, incidentally, the guy in the next seat wants you to do while hurtling 20 000 feet above ground. I like the pre-flight video. I want to make one that says, "If the oxygen masks fall from above, carefully fasten the elastic to fit snugly above your ears. Then it is very important that you freak out because this is never a good thing and you are most likely going to die." The News Archive | Email
I'll tell you something else that makes me angry. People who order cereal at restaurants. What's that about? First of all, I understand it's none of my business. And I don't blame anyone if they're travelling or something. But buying cereal for four dollars at a restaurant makes no sense; it doesn't taste any better paying someone professional to pour your Frosted Flakes. Maybe it's just the restaurant charging four dollars that makes me angry.
How do they justify charging four dollars? Was someone specially trained to pour this cereal? Excuse me, waiter, I'd just like to commend whoever's in the back pouring this cereal. The pouring here has just been exquisite. I want you to tell him that I fully appreciate his having been professionally trained at the School for Pouring Things, as I'm sure that's where three of my four dollars just went. The News Archive | Email
I'll tell you what I don't like. Baby bananas. I don't know what it is, but they make me very angry. I saw them today for the first time at the Chinese grocery store with my mom and my sister and they were sitting on a shelf, trying to be so cute. I hate things that try to be cute.
My site comes up second in a Google search for "Michelangelo's David look-alike contest". This means, ultimately, that I come in second, and so, I'm very honoured.
My sister is leaving tomorrow, thus marking the beginning of the end of my Christmas holidays. I'm pretty sad about this, but then I remember those of you in Canada who started school this week. Though I'm not one to gloat, I'm very happy that I still have until next Monday, suckers. The News Archive | Email
All-you-can-eat places are very, very bad. If you take me to an all-you-can-eat place, I will inevitably eat all that I cannot, and then maybe a little more. I like to eat myself into a miserable ball of indistinguishable mass so that I can neither move nor articulate anything more intelligible than a grunt. This has happened tonight, and so, since I have written here last, it's safe to say that I have not gotten any lighter.
I went skiing this past weekend with my friends. Very eventful. It has come to my attention that trees, though very pretty, hurt.
My Christmas vacation is winding to a close. Frequent updates on all pages will resume the moment I decide that it's time to clean my room.
The News Archive | Email
Happy birthday to my sister who is now at a time in her life where it's impolite to divulge her age. When she came to visit me in New York, I told my friends that she was fourteen. Only two out of twenty-five people were skeptical. That's because my sister -- though well beyond the age of pigtails, overalls, and putting daisies in her hair -- will sport this combination on a daily basis and with curiously innocent aplomb.