Wednesday
And I thought I was bad at math
Bill O'Reilly's infinite wisdom strikes again! It never fails to amaze me. Or, should I say, shock and awe.
My favorite Fox commentator recently explained that Canadians have a longer life expectancy compared to Americans. Or tried to, at least.
As usual, he made no sense whatsoever.
See for yourself: (sorry, I can't embed it)
My favorite Fox commentator recently explained that Canadians have a longer life expectancy compared to Americans. Or tried to, at least.
As usual, he made no sense whatsoever.
See for yourself: (sorry, I can't embed it)
Friday
Hot, hot, hot... and sweet
It's 6:41 p.m. and it's 43 degrees C outside. That's 110 F, or, as most people put it, "hot as hell."
While sure, you could lounge by the pool or use the heat as an excuse to go for ice cream, I'm thinking of trying something new.
After all, days like these are prime time for baking cookies. In your car.
Forget the old fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk trick; this cookies-in-the-car thing is not only tasty, but sanitary, too. (Really: Who wants to eat eggs when it's so hot out anyway? And eggs that were cooked on the sidewalk? Gross!)
The plus side: It'll leave your ride smelling chocolaty chippity fresh.
Check it out here.
While sure, you could lounge by the pool or use the heat as an excuse to go for ice cream, I'm thinking of trying something new.
After all, days like these are prime time for baking cookies. In your car.
Forget the old fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk trick; this cookies-in-the-car thing is not only tasty, but sanitary, too. (Really: Who wants to eat eggs when it's so hot out anyway? And eggs that were cooked on the sidewalk? Gross!)The plus side: It'll leave your ride smelling chocolaty chippity fresh.
Check it out here.
Wednesday
At least they're honest
Wouldn't it be great if all transit notices spoke the truth like this spoof?
Timmy's hits the Big Apple
The Canadians are invading and they are infiltrating Manhattan one super-caffeinated cup of joe at a time.And the chain, which was founded by NHL Hall of Famer Tim Horton but has since merged with the American company that owns Wendy's, is taking the Big Apple by storm.
The quintessential Canadian coffee company, Tim Hortons, recently opened a dozen storefronts across New York City: two in
And that's not all: Along with his awesome-tasting coffee, Tim is bringing 63 different types of donuts and 34 types of Timbits (those are donut holes for those of you who don't already know the joys of bite-sized par-baked "fresh baked" goodness) with him.If you're unfamiliar with the Canada's iconic hot beverage provider of choice, here's some background: The first Tim Hortons was opened in Hamilton, Ontario in 1964. By last count (in March of this year, prior to the recent NY openings) there were 2,930 Timmys in Canada and 527 in the U.S. -- today, however, there are over 3,500 Tim Hortons coffee shops scattered across North America.
Canadians love the place and the stuff they serve. So much, in fact, that the government of Soviet Canuckistan made arrangements to have a Timmys location in Afghanistan to keep troops happy and caffeinated. Or happily caffeinated, at least.
Great White Northerners love their Tims so much that the Canadian coffee giant enjoys a commanding market share: Coffee drinkers are "rrrolling up the rrrim to win" on seven of every 10 cups of coffee sold in the country's quick service restaurants.So move over, Starbucks, there's a new kid in town. He wears plaid, watches hockey, and hunts moose in the off-season. You can call him Tim.
His place isn't fancy, but it serves unpretentious, tasty beverages. And the best part: the barristas don't communicate in tongues, aside from the occasional "touque," "toboggan" and "eh."
Monday
Adventures in eDating
As some of you may, and others may not know, I recently hit an all-new low and signed up for eHarmony.
I blame it on the abundance of tourists and married men in Las Vegas; my hectic work schedule; and a weak moment at a party where I found myself talking to two women, both coupled, one who found her +1 -- to whom she is now married -- on the dating Web site.
I was at a CineVegas party, actually, and the ladies were encouraging me to break from the flock and go find me a man. The crowd of short LA transplants was less than appetizing to me (and I've already blogged about the shameless CineVegas party boy crowd) and the one successful eDater bent my ear.
A week or so later, I broke down and signed up for eHarmony.
Since then, it's been fine. So far, so good, I guess. I've been matched with a bunch of local-ish guys (within 300 miles, originally, though I've since narrowed the filter to within 100 miles) and even went on a date.
That's not my issue.
The problem, for me, is the closing of matches.
See, despite being set up with people based on 10,001 factors of compatibility, I still get a lot of shorties, fatties, fuglies, and obvous d-bags sent my way.
(I've also been matched with two people I already knew, which was slightly awkward but still very funny to me.)
Whenever I get matched with a potential suitor, I try to review his profile immediately so I can delete him before he sees me in his matches. That way, he won't be so discoraged when he sees me suddenly disappear from his list. Or, worse yet, decline his "communication request" and instead seve him with a delete notice.
The service gives you a long list of reasons to cite when deleting a match: "I think the difference in our values is too great;" "I have too much happening in my life at the moment;" "Based on statements in their profile, I'm not interested in this match;" " I don't feel that the chemistry is there."
There are two rather ambiguous ones, as well: "I would rather not say" and "Other."
I tend to use the latter a lot, since eHarmony doesn't have "You're obviously a child molester," a "You're wearing Ed Hardy in your profile photo," or "You resemble Jabba the Hutt," options.
Needless to say, the search continues.
I blame it on the abundance of tourists and married men in Las Vegas; my hectic work schedule; and a weak moment at a party where I found myself talking to two women, both coupled, one who found her +1 -- to whom she is now married -- on the dating Web site.
I was at a CineVegas party, actually, and the ladies were encouraging me to break from the flock and go find me a man. The crowd of short LA transplants was less than appetizing to me (and I've already blogged about the shameless CineVegas party boy crowd) and the one successful eDater bent my ear.
A week or so later, I broke down and signed up for eHarmony.
Since then, it's been fine. So far, so good, I guess. I've been matched with a bunch of local-ish guys (within 300 miles, originally, though I've since narrowed the filter to within 100 miles) and even went on a date.
That's not my issue.
The problem, for me, is the closing of matches.
See, despite being set up with people based on 10,001 factors of compatibility, I still get a lot of shorties, fatties, fuglies, and obvous d-bags sent my way.
(I've also been matched with two people I already knew, which was slightly awkward but still very funny to me.)
Whenever I get matched with a potential suitor, I try to review his profile immediately so I can delete him before he sees me in his matches. That way, he won't be so discoraged when he sees me suddenly disappear from his list. Or, worse yet, decline his "communication request" and instead seve him with a delete notice.
The service gives you a long list of reasons to cite when deleting a match: "I think the difference in our values is too great;" "I have too much happening in my life at the moment;" "Based on statements in their profile, I'm not interested in this match;" " I don't feel that the chemistry is there."
There are two rather ambiguous ones, as well: "I would rather not say" and "Other."
I tend to use the latter a lot, since eHarmony doesn't have "You're obviously a child molester," a "You're wearing Ed Hardy in your profile photo," or "You resemble Jabba the Hutt," options.
Needless to say, the search continues.
Wednesday
12:34:56-7/8/9!
At 12:34 and 56 seconds on the seventh month on the eighth day of the year 2009 -- which is today, last time I checked -- the calendar will reads 12:34:56 7/8/9.
How cool is that?!
Happy monu-Millennium, kiddies.
(Thanks to Justin Bowen for passing this tidbit on.)
How cool is that?!
Happy monu-Millennium, kiddies.
(Thanks to Justin Bowen for passing this tidbit on.)
Saturday
Fourth of July Friskiness
So as you all know, I go out a lot -- not by choice, per se, but for work. I chase celebrities up and down red carpets and to VIP sections at swanky and/or over-hyped nightclubs on a very regular basis.
Given my social calendar, it's not all that surprising that I get hit on from time to time.
While Flo Rida still holds the title of most blatant flirt (he's the only one to have kissed me on the red carpet -- on two separate occasions, no less -- and unsolicitedly give me his phone number in the middle of an interview. Twice.), this weekend has seen a handful of shameless attempts by those who should really know better.
And by better, I mean know not to hit on reporters.
Mind you, not all of them realize I'm a reporter. Heck, a lot of the time I didn't even know who they are.
Case in point: Amar'e Stoudemire. He's a four-time NBA All-Star who plays for the Phoenix Suns
I bumped into him at Tao on Thursday while I was trying to find a friend. I had no idea who he was and he just came up to me as I was texting on my BlackBerry and, well, grabbed me.
I thought he was just some random tall dude and didn't believe him when he said he played basketball. I mean, if I was a tall black dude, I'd tell all the clueless white chicks that I played basketball -- most girls love that shit.
He joked about driving a Pinto, then said, cheesily, how he actually drives a Shadow but doesn't like telling people that.
I tried to stop my eyes from rolling back into my head but the cheese factor was making me gag.
Without skipping a beat, I looked up at him and said that I didn't know what a Shadow was so it didn't impress me, but I knew he wouldn't fit into a Pinto.
When he explained that it was a Rolls-Royce my teach-this-guy-a-lesson instincts kicked into high gear.
"Oh, that's original," I said. "Welcome to Las Vegas. EVERYBODY dives a Rolls-Royce here, or a Mercedes, or whatever. Big deal."
"I really don't care about cars," I concluded as I looked away in hopes of spotting my missing friend.
Unfortunately, my attempts at blowing him off seemed to have the opposite effect.
"You're going to come home with me tonight, right?" he said.
This, after our two-minute oh-so-superficial-and-lame conversation.
"Um, no."
"Well you're going to let me go down on you, aren't you?"
Again, I shook my head. NO.
It was at this point that I the realized the word "no" probably isn't one he often hears.
He tried to kiss me a few times, and reissued offers to both go home with him and, more explicitly, have sex with him. All without even knowing my name. And all within five minutes, max.
After a few minutes without seeing any sign of my friend I quickly got tired of Stoudemire's game and told him I had to go find my friends. I promised to bring them back but, of course, never did.
Elsewhere in the club that night, I had my ass grabbed repeatedly by some douche from Pittsburgh.
I jumped and swatted him away, effectively spilling his drink all over him.
Apparently it was a silly asshole move.
"What? You have a great ass!" he said, as if nothing was wrong.
"Um, that doesn't mean you can just grab it."
"Why not?!"
"Because I'm a lady, not some whore."
"Oh, I know that..."
*SWAT AGAIN*
What is it about long weekends that make people behave so badly?
Isn't this weekned in honor of Independence Day? Time to celebrate the liberties and freedoms of this country?
Hmm.
I guess overpriced bottle service, random hook-ups and loosie-goosie rub-downs are the American way. (So, is this where I'm supposed to say 'God bless America?')
Prior to the shenanigans at the Venetian, I endured what seemed like the second-longest red carpet in America for the third-annual Ante Up for Africa chairty poker tournament.
A handful of A-listers were there, including Ben Affleck and Matt Damon.
Brad Garrett of "Everybody Loves Raymond" fame was also there.
I had never met him or Affleck or Damon before, but the latter two of the three were very polite.
The 49-year-old comedian apparently took a shining to me -- or at least my glasses -- as we chatted about this and that (and my glasses) on the carpet.
"I look at your glasses and I feel like I want to weld something," he said.
He's such a charmer, I know.
"I want to weld a tunnel between my room and your room."
"This isn't weird, this isn't weird, we will be dressed as pirates..."
Naturally, I laughed, somewhat nervously as the People Magazine and US Weekly stringer stood there, equally stunned and amused, and laughed as they witnessed the exchange.
It wasn't awkward at all.
Given my social calendar, it's not all that surprising that I get hit on from time to time.
While Flo Rida still holds the title of most blatant flirt (he's the only one to have kissed me on the red carpet -- on two separate occasions, no less -- and unsolicitedly give me his phone number in the middle of an interview. Twice.), this weekend has seen a handful of shameless attempts by those who should really know better.And by better, I mean know not to hit on reporters.
Mind you, not all of them realize I'm a reporter. Heck, a lot of the time I didn't even know who they are.
Case in point: Amar'e Stoudemire. He's a four-time NBA All-Star who plays for the Phoenix Suns
I bumped into him at Tao on Thursday while I was trying to find a friend. I had no idea who he was and he just came up to me as I was texting on my BlackBerry and, well, grabbed me.
I thought he was just some random tall dude and didn't believe him when he said he played basketball. I mean, if I was a tall black dude, I'd tell all the clueless white chicks that I played basketball -- most girls love that shit.
He joked about driving a Pinto, then said, cheesily, how he actually drives a Shadow but doesn't like telling people that.I tried to stop my eyes from rolling back into my head but the cheese factor was making me gag.
Without skipping a beat, I looked up at him and said that I didn't know what a Shadow was so it didn't impress me, but I knew he wouldn't fit into a Pinto.
When he explained that it was a Rolls-Royce my teach-this-guy-a-lesson instincts kicked into high gear.
"Oh, that's original," I said. "Welcome to Las Vegas. EVERYBODY dives a Rolls-Royce here, or a Mercedes, or whatever. Big deal."
"I really don't care about cars," I concluded as I looked away in hopes of spotting my missing friend.
Unfortunately, my attempts at blowing him off seemed to have the opposite effect.
"You're going to come home with me tonight, right?" he said.
This, after our two-minute oh-so-superficial-and-lame conversation.
"Um, no."
"Well you're going to let me go down on you, aren't you?"
Again, I shook my head. NO.
It was at this point that I the realized the word "no" probably isn't one he often hears.
He tried to kiss me a few times, and reissued offers to both go home with him and, more explicitly, have sex with him. All without even knowing my name. And all within five minutes, max.
After a few minutes without seeing any sign of my friend I quickly got tired of Stoudemire's game and told him I had to go find my friends. I promised to bring them back but, of course, never did.
Elsewhere in the club that night, I had my ass grabbed repeatedly by some douche from Pittsburgh.
I jumped and swatted him away, effectively spilling his drink all over him.
Apparently it was a silly asshole move.
"What? You have a great ass!" he said, as if nothing was wrong.
"Um, that doesn't mean you can just grab it."
"Why not?!"
"Because I'm a lady, not some whore."
"Oh, I know that..."
*SWAT AGAIN*
What is it about long weekends that make people behave so badly?
Isn't this weekned in honor of Independence Day? Time to celebrate the liberties and freedoms of this country?
Hmm.
I guess overpriced bottle service, random hook-ups and loosie-goosie rub-downs are the American way. (So, is this where I'm supposed to say 'God bless America?')
Prior to the shenanigans at the Venetian, I endured what seemed like the second-longest red carpet in America for the third-annual Ante Up for Africa chairty poker tournament.
A handful of A-listers were there, including Ben Affleck and Matt Damon.
Brad Garrett of "Everybody Loves Raymond" fame was also there.I had never met him or Affleck or Damon before, but the latter two of the three were very polite.
The 49-year-old comedian apparently took a shining to me -- or at least my glasses -- as we chatted about this and that (and my glasses) on the carpet.
"I look at your glasses and I feel like I want to weld something," he said.
He's such a charmer, I know.
"I want to weld a tunnel between my room and your room."
"This isn't weird, this isn't weird, we will be dressed as pirates..."
Naturally, I laughed, somewhat nervously as the People Magazine and US Weekly stringer stood there, equally stunned and amused, and laughed as they witnessed the exchange.
It wasn't awkward at all.
Friday
Yay news!
Sometimes the news is so good, it's better than good news; it's yay news.Some yay news came today: Sarah Palin is resigning as governor of Alaska.
Granted, this yay news will probably result in bad news -- her seeking higher office -- but here's hoping the driving factor behind today's revelation is a dark dirty secret that's about to come to light, ~ ~ ~ ~ Sarah Palin: I quit. ~ ~ ~
or a skeleton in her closet that's
about to come to life.
Nudie pics would be great. Or a mistress (a straight affair wouldn't be bad enough IMO). Or a meth habit. No -- meth lab in her basement.
There's a slim chance that she's terminally ill, and of course I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but chances of that are pretty slim.
Alas, let's face the facts: She's probably going to seek a seat in the Senate, or prominent placement on the 2012 presidential ballot.
"I think this is a stupid, stupid move," CNN Republican strategist, Ed Rollins, said. "If this was for 2012, this was a very very stupid idea."
In a basketball analogy-laced speech, Palin claimed she would not seek reelection because she was the point guard and had her eye on the basket and she knew it was time to pass the ball in order for her team to win. Presumably, so someone else could score the basket.
It wasn't clear what "team" Palin was referring to: Team Alaska, Team Republican Party, Team America, or Team World. And we all know that each of these teams have very different ultimate goals.
She held a press conference on the Friday afternoon of a holiday weekend and didn't take any questions following her speech. so it looks like we'll have to wait and see what the real story is.
Just in time for the Fourth of July
Allow me, the pescetarian, to share with all of you carnivores the secrets to the perfect burger.And by me, I mean the NY Times.
Those Big Apple Eaters have put together a great animation outlining the basic elements of burger bliss.
Click here to read their tips, from the bun to the beef to everything in between.
Wednesday
Happy Canada Day, Eh!
It's Canada Day, meaning I should have the day off with pay, dammit.Alas, I do not.
Thankfully, these painfully Canadian videos are funny enough to make me forget about my lack of vacation time, stat pay, and CBC-TV.
Peace oot and enjoy the videos, eh.
And, as I "tweeted" earlier this morning, if you need me I'll be hiding from the Mounties in my igloo, listening to Rush, watching hockey on CBC, drinking beer, and eating poutine.
The spoof that started it all: "I am Canadian"
The spoof that followed: I am not Canadian
(a Quebec parody)
(a Quebec parody)
French-Canadian swears (Chalice, tabernacle, austie...) and mentions of Montreal's Club Super Sex (yes it's real, on Rue Ste.-Catherine), buying beer at the deppaneur, and poutine (that's French fries with cheese, folks.) Classic.
Canadian Beaver Fever
"Up here in Canada, we've got some really nice beaver."
Where's your pet beaver?
The Canadian Code
Ya can't beat 'em, so ya might as well join 'em, eh.
... Or just blame Canada like everybody else.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)