W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> Moi, Toi, et VoI: March 2006

Friday, March 31, 2006

It's Already Friday...And Soon It'll Be Friday Night!

GG and I took a much needed liquid lunch break at Eulogy, which I think I can safely say is one of our Top Five Favorite Places in Philly. Maybe even in The Top Two. GG, what say you? Where else can you try 600 bottled beers under one roof?

We strolled the planet, sampling a Finnish porter, a Michigan cherry stout, a Canadian apple ale, and a Belgian Delirium Nocturn (not sure what that was, but it was pretty damn good). Not much new to report other than GG is getting married in a week and I am opening a business in three. Nothing much, nothing much at all.

Sneezeguard Man has gone AWOL on me and it's pissing me off. IT'S ALL ABOUT THE SNEEZEGUARDS. I can't open until my food is safely guarded from sneezes. You promised you'd ring me, Monsieur Sneezeguard Guy. Where are you? I need you.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

It's Written All Over My Face.

This morning I went to Dunkin Donuts for coffee. The Dunkin person asked me if I wanted whisky with that.


Woot woot! The bakery is coming together. The cabinets are almost up, the tile walls are nearly finished. Now I must track down The Sneezeguard Guy and The Electrician and that's it on the construction front. After that, it's all the fun stuff: picking out espresso machines, a cash register, a microwave, all of the kitchen accoutrements...fun!

Three weeks away?? Fingers crossed....

Wednesday, March 29, 2006


Yesterday I violated #3 of the Three Cardinal Rules I must obey since no longer having the luxury of the New York invisability cloak.

1. I must not trip in public.
2. I must always wear a bra in public.
3. I must never vomit in public.

I spent the whole of Tuesday between bouts of dizziness, interviews, errands, and vomit. I had a bunch of things that I needed to do that couldn't be put off, including delivering 200 lbs of subway tile to the Canary and meeting a poor girl who wants an internship for coffee. I managed to successfully pick up the tile and was bringing it over to the Canary, when...oh it was ugly...I was stuck in traffic, trying desperately to convince my stomach flue-d body to 'please don't throw up in the car please don't throw up in the car'. I pride myself on my multitasking skills, but driving with the door open while puking was not on of my finer moments in life.

I'm still queasy today, but the worst is over and now I have to get back to work for real. Where is my team of bakers, deliverypeople, dishwashers, hair and make-up people, bath drawers, and tea makers when I need them?

Monday, March 27, 2006

I May Just Have Been Fired.

I just shot off a review of Bruichladdich 10 for my foodie column. And I'm a wee bit tipsy after having thoroughly examined its tasting notes. Oops! Maybe I should have spellchecked that fucker twice before so nonchalantly sending it off! Oh well!

Good stuff, that Brook-laddie! It's not the 15 2nd Edition that I have been coveting, as this is Pennsylvania, and getting good liquor requires going to scary parts of town and buying it out of the back of a van (or going to Delaware, but that's hardly as sexy), but wow! I'm totally in love with this Scotch! It's fruity, dare I say almost Riesling-like? But not as sugary, of course. It's not your typical Islay, but damn, I. Am. Lovin'. This. Stuff.

Can I be the Bruichladdich Girl?

Happy Birthday Wilman!

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Traveling Side Show

Well, Philly survived without me. I am back, sucking down pizza and booze while sending belated emails and half watching America's (so-not) Funniest Home Videos.

The 11+ hours spent in the car roundtrip were very productive. When I go on these long drives, I load the car with my favorite music and play lead singer, back-up, thumbs drums, and horns and strings conductor the whole way up. I love long drives by myself because I can brainstorm while I sing/conduct/drum/drive. And I can play The Sun On His Back four times in a row without fear of someone inclined to punch me in the face.* I brought a nice selection of Sweden and Scotland with me and enjoyed the whole 5-state drive back and forth. Toward the last 1 1/2 hours of the trip though, I was a little antsy and broke up the monotony by singing in various accents. I hope I was sufficient entertainment for the people who surrounded me in the traffic jams.

My brainstorming resulted in 3 new articles, and several new additions to the Cantankerous Canary's menu.

Camille's was great. She's in a new place and is in the process of painting and putting it together, so we talked a lot of HGTV.

When Camille first moved to Boston a few years back, she moved into this dump owned by a most crotchety horrid geezer, Ol' Dirty Bastard. This man was one of those old people who like to take advantage of the fact that they're old by being mean and horrible and rotten. He told her she could have her dog, then he renegged. He told her he'd fix the scary wiring, then he didn't. He wiggled his ass at her and smirked when she asked about the condition of the radiators.

So we spent weeks, months, painting every filthy surface in the house, sewing blinds, replacing light fixtures, laying down new flooring, until we got the place to look pretty damn cute. Camille could breathe easy and finally relax in her cute new home.

One Month Later...Ol' Dirty Bastard drops a letter off at Camille's door saying that lo and behold! he's decided to sell the apartment as a condo and she was allowed to get first dibs to buy! For an absolutely outrageous sum of money. Well....we were fit to be tied. That slimy crunk using all our hard work to his monetary gain.

Well....we plotted our revenge. In the days before the realtor was going to show up to put a price on the place, we dismantled all of our work: we pulled up the new flooring, reinstalled the old scary flouro light fixtures and took down all of those window treatments and replaced them with the original (I mean original) filth-infested shades. This time ODB was fit to be tied and sent a letter claiming that Camille "besmirched his honor" and she was to "cease and desist" undoing her handiwork "immediately". It was brilliant.

The open houses were the best because we'd planted a copy of Tenant's Revenge in the bathroom book pile and rolled our eyes and shook our heads ever so subtly whenever any prospective sucker appeared interested in the place.

We laughed and laughed and laughed. And we still laugh whenever we talk about those six months of pure hell.

*There is nobody who actually wants to punch me in the face over this. But I think if it were socially acceptable, it might be done. I admit, I'm rather autistic when it comes to listening to music. I like repetition, which is a huge element of my profession. I am such a One Note Charlie. Anyway, TSOHB is one of my favorite songs (I love those marchy tunes) and Hi-Fi is one of my Top Five Fave Albums of All Time. If you get me drunk, I'll sing a song for you. If you get me really drunk, I'll sing it for you in the accent of your choice.

Friday, March 24, 2006

It's Friday. And That's The Title of this Post.

I’d normally be the last person to defend Cheney, but someone needs to speak up over this Contract Rider Kerfluffle. I mean, he is the VP and all. I just have a couple of comments about this.

Only a Queen or King Size Bed is Acceptable: Understandable. Lynn’s night terrors cause flailing. They need their space.

The Room is at 68 Degrees: No higher, no lower. Understandable. His shrunken ageing wolfheart is highly sensitive to temperature extremes. However, it must be kept in a cryogenic stasis in the minibar when he’s not using it.

Four Diet Sprites: He really didn’t strike me as a Four Diet Sprites kind of guy (Diet Sprite's so bubbly and clear!), but I suppose that’s more reasonable than Britney’s Cool Ranch Doritos line.

Two Bottles of Perrier: For the Missus. Classy dame, she is. Wait a second…Perrier is Fr-[REDACTED]

All Lights Must Be Turned On Upon Arrival: Aww, that’s precious! One of the Seven Horsemen is afraid of the dark! That’s just about the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. Would someone send this man a Teletubbies nightlight?

Location of the Ice Maker: Just in case there’s no room in the minibar.

However, there is one demand that truly shows Dick is a diva.

T.V. Must Be Tuned to Fox News: We all used to joke about Fox being on at the White House all the time, but now we know it’s true. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Blecgh. It’s just so…vulgar.

I need some coffee.

So off I go Boston to visit my own Shorty McCool, whom I will christen Camille*. Camille and I met at Mayer, Brown & Hell** a gazillion years ago in D.C. Good Times. Good Times. I'm hoping we can get together with J, another MB&H veteran. There's sure to be lots of gossip and lots of smoking. Because that's what we do when we three get together.

Red, I was going to send you a shout out to see if you wanted to meet up considering we'll be in spittin' distance, but I fear I'm going to be bogged down in visitin' and whatnot. Next time for sure!

*Camille is the name of SMcCII's spirit guide. Mine is Maddy. In a past life, her daughter and I were sisters and laundresses in Victorian England. She was a grave digger. Her job is much better now.

**This is a moniker and bears no resemblance whatsover to any actual law firm living or deceased.

Thursday, March 23, 2006


I've succumbed to that evil siren MySpace.

After numerous "I'm not on Friendster that much. I check MySpace more frequently." I made the very difficult decision to sign myself up. I don't have the time or inclination to maintain two social networking sites and I've built up my Friendster profile now to the point where I have a bit of an allegiance to Friendster. It's been dumped like a bad date by so many people. I rather feel sorry for it. And I feel like I'm cheating on it. Ouch.

The thing that I hate most about MySpace is the layout. It's just plain ugly and difficult to read. I'd bet a bunch of monkeys were playing with some webdesign software and MySpace is what they came up with. Why does the profile print have to be so freakin' tiny? And in those horrid Excel columns? How do I get rid of Tom? I'm not friends with Tom. I know Tom like a I know a hole in the wall.

And good god, when people start getting 'fancy' on their profiles. Talk about hard to read! You could have a seizure staring at some of those blinky flashy multipatterned thingymahooseys floating around the screen. You'd think these people get paid to add more gobbledygook. They are the Santinos of MySpace.

I refuse to make any semblance of a profile. I'm just there to troll.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Thanks for the Nightmares, PeopleCat.

If you have an inkling to see David Hasselhoff, Bushman Eskimo, flying, check this out.

In the words of my dear dear friend of 20+ years: I'm at a loss for words.

It scared the beejesus out of the cats.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

No She Di'n't Redux.

Guinness Girl's toys post reminded me that I used to have these. I also had the Iran-Contra Coloring Book* (akin to the parody O.J. notebook - "FLEEB". Somebody else please remember!) because god-help-us-all I used to call myself a Republican. When I was 11. I know, there's something so very wrong with a) an 11 year-old who calls herself a Republican and b) and 11 year-old who calls herself a Republican who also knows all the lyrics to Hair. It's like some sick and twisted Family Ties monster child.

Oh god, and I'm not even going to get into my adolescent Objectivist phase. That was sincerely frightening.

I am so ashamed.

*It's actually called The Ollie North Coloring Book. Imagine my surprise when I went hunting for an image of it on the Internets and came up emptyhanded because it is now a rare collector's item. Fshizzle!

Monday, March 20, 2006

Bus Stop Bus Goes She Stays Love Grows

Under my umbrella...

Can't. Get. It. Out. Of. My. Head.

Heard it this morning in the grocery store and now it won't leave me in peace.

I think I am one of the 37 people under 50 who knows all the words to that song. The Staff of Life, it is! I grew up on all of that stuff. I've always had a thing for that mid 60's psych-folk rock...I had the lyrics to Hair memorized by the time I was 11 (not entirely certain what some of those words actually meant, of course.). I also had a serious pre-teen crush on Brian Wilson (the BW of Pet Sounds, not that old fat guy...). That's the way the whole thing started, silly but it's true.

It goes without saying that I was a schoolaged geek and didn't get out much. It also goes without saying that I am now a post-grad geek and don't get out much.

All that summer we enjoyed it, wind and rain and shine....

I think I need to download that song just to get it over with and out of my head before all the people stare as if I were quite insane.

Good god. I am working off of two (2) hours of sleep. Someone punch me in the face please. No rest for the weary.

...sometimes she'd shop and she would show me what she bought...

Someone help me!

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Crossing Over with Oy Vey.

My iPod and I are in psychic harmony.

For the last several days, I've had this weird psychic connection with my Pod. I've been able to predict songs coming up on shuffle. Over and over again.

It gives me the shivers to think about.

When I was a kid, I was pretty in tune with The Universe. I was able to predict a lot of random stuff - who was calling on the phone, what songs were going to be played on the radio, what cards would come up during games of war or solitaire. I used to have pretty vivid dreams of places that I hadn't been to yet, or of certain situations. They were never 'moving' shots, more like pictures with lots of details and color. I already knew the insides of many of my friends' houses before I even went into them. Freaky little imp I was, right?

In large part, I've lost my Sixth Sense, but every once in a while I still tap into it. Dead people have visited me in dreams a couple of times and I've had strange encounters with people who've passed who've passed on information that I could have known nothing about. But those instances have become more rare the older I get. I guess I've been losing touch with The Universe and whatnot.

A medium once told me that I am a super-sensitive natural psychic but in order to hone it I must cleanse my body of all impurities and give up alcohol, medication, caffeine, and chemicals. I wonder if the bag of Combos and glass of shiraz I'm eating for dinner are causing interference with my phoneline to The Universe.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

No She Di'n't.

Straight from the can. With a plastic fork.
And a glass of piss poor Bonny Doon Riesling.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006


ET reported that TomKat may have gotten married on the sly.

There's just something about those two that sends my hackles up and brings out the circa 1954 Suburban Parent in me. I swear to you, I'd get in my wood-paneled station wagon, drive to 'The City of Angels' (ha!), find that girl, drag her out by her ear kicking and screaming and throw her into an Irish pregnancy prison until she had the baby and it could be adopted by a nice infertile yuppie couple from Connecticut.

Maybe I'm cranky because I may have to brave the cold and wind because the only thing to eat here is

1. bread
2. white bean spread
3. a Cadbury egg.

[Pause to ponder.]

No, it's them.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Celebrate! Dance to the Music!

Oh shit. Did I just quote the Doobie Brothers?

(No, Oy. Three Dog Night. That's almost as bad.)

In any event, a little celebratin' is in order.

My sign is up! Hurrah!
My phone is working! Hurrah!
My equipment is being delivered tomorrow! Hurrah!
Did a magazine interview and I didn't flub it! Hurrah!
All of the people I hired want to work for me even though it's taking forever to get the joint up and running! Hurrah!

And a good friend bought me a lovely bottle of Oban, which I am presently enjoying as I type.

And if I couldn't get any of y'all to enjoy scotch before, this oh-so-tantalizing description of Laphroaig might....eggs, plastic, and burnt sticks. Can't get much tastier than that!

Aroma: Intense nose, well integrated and complex. (straight) Peat-smoke first, accompanied by a chemical-floral scent (like aerosol spray), then a deep fruitiness (melon balls, nectarines, over-ripe plums, boiled sweets, Cinnamon Balls, brand of sweets); some scorched wool.

(dilute) With water, the scent becomes more smoky and tarry - tarry rope and Lapsang Suchong tea. Slightly oily.

Flavour: The mouthfeel was mouth-cooling and pleasantly dry. The primary taste was surprisingly sweet to start, then a smoky interlude with a hint of salt and a sweetish finish, but with a firm peat-smoke 'catch'. The overall flavour was of burnt sticks.

Development: Its phenolic character reduces over time, to be replaced by heather and cereal notes, with some plastic. Flavour remains iodine/smoky to start, then mash tun, then eggy.

Trust the chef. It's scrumptious and addictive.

Monday, March 13, 2006

Vices and Whatnot.

I realized that I talk about drinking quite a bit on The Blog. Much like Guinness Girl, I would definitely not consider myself an alcoholic (I’m sure I would flunk the test) (Flunk in a good way, of course.). But considering the present highly chaotic circumstances of my life these days, I say I’m entitled to an extra wee nip every now and again. (That’s probably what Betty Ford said. But anyway).

I wasn’t always a drinker. No, yours truly was an expert in all things cannibas-related for quite a few years. Not that I was a pothead mind you. I was able to be productive in my jobs, I brushed my hair, never burned incense (yuck!) and was pretty much a fully functioning member of society. I never was into the The Dead shtick. Touch of Grey was it. (And that doesn’t even count, I know.) Eventually, I stopped smoking weed because it made me paranoid and anxious as I got older. But ah, the days of yore. Funny stuff.

You, Oy Vey? Little Miss Lipstick? You smoked? Lots of it? For years? You – the one who likes toile, wears a pink Burberry scarf and dotes on kittens? Indeed. People are often surprised about this little factoid. This girl not only can roll a beautiful j, but she puts filters in them (Fancy, I know. It's the Martha in me. Thank you, Brazilian boyfriend of friend’s roommate.)

Back in college, there was this bodega called Living Healthy where those in the know used to buy dimebags. You walked into this shell of a store that had nothing on the shelves except for a few boxes of tampons, some second rate chips and a Snapple case. You grabbed a Snapple, walked up to the bulletproof window, slid $21 to the guy, who, if you weren’t a regular, would say, “What’s this for?” to which you’d reply “I’m cool, dude.” And he would slip you a dimebag. And off you went. Living Healthy did eventually get busted, but it was up and running the entire time I was in school.

They say New York is the Capital of Convenience. I used a delivery service for a few years called Dr. P. Haze. He even had business cards. You’d call up, leave a code number and someone would call you back and say “This is Peter Hayes...” (“I’m cool, dude.”) and give you an ETA. Such service! It was a very professional operation: They were closed on Sundays, had special hours during the Holidays, and offered a Buy Six Get One Free! Deal which was damn hard to beat.

Dare I say it's easier to buy weed in Philly than alcohol? Seriously. The weed guy’s open on Sundays and Federal holidays. I've noticed that the stuff is quite popular and pretty easy to find here. But alas, I'm stickin' to the bottle these days. Just can't handle my hooch.

I’m not about to spout any political opinions about this subject. I think y’all can probably guess how this Uberlefty feels about vice crimes. Those were the days.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

indi calvados cheesecakes

cat cookies

WTF: Blogger Doesn't Know 'Burrito', 'Enchilada' or 'Margarita'.

As good a way as any to start a post.

Friday: Black bean burrito from Pico de Gallo.
Saturday: A.M.: Leftover guac & chips; P.M.: Nachos, enchilada trio, 6 margaritas, & 1 Mexipolitan at El Vez*.
Sunday: Tortilla thrown on pan, sprinkled with cheddar = "Quesadilla".

I think I'm going to puke.

Last night Dax and I had a lovely dinner at El Vez followed by a meet-up at Independence Pub for a birthday party of one of her co-workers. Unlike last weekend's party, this one was all lawyers. And me. Oh, don't feel sorry for me, really. It was great fun because these people aren't your regular starched-collars-aluminum briefcase-Grisham types: they are Philadelphia's finest - The Public Defenders.

What a quirky bunch. With social skills! Not something you see often in large groups of lawyers. And even though Dax was apologetic about talking work-stuff, I found it fascinating. I learned what a 'PWID'** is. One fellow told me that my neighborhood is one of his best customers for PWIDs.

Anyway, it's yucky rainy here today and I must get back to baking. Big party with lots of press there tomorrow (Grateful I won't be there. My cheesecake will stand in as my trusty representative.), and I've got lots of Cantankerous Canary business to take care of too. So off I go.

*We may have poured six margaritas, but they were definitely not full-strength. Otherwise I would have been...oh god, let's not even go there. I suggest y'all try the Mexipolitan - a little more kick than its Cosmo cousin, but still fruity and girly and nice.

**Possession With Intent to Distribute.

Addendum: I just want to make it clear that the "I think I'm going to puke" comment was made in reference to the weekend's ongoing Mexi-fest and not to the story that follows. Sorry for any confusion, Dax. xx!

Friday, March 10, 2006

Whoring for Halibut.

A 'development' person at my college had been harassing me for months to get together with her. I think she thinks I'm rich, you know, being one of Philly's Hot Young Chefs*, because you know, chefs are generally wealthy people who have pied a terres and clogs made of gold.

I agree to have dinner with her only because I have almost forgotten how to use utensils other than straws and sporks and I figured, hey, I can put up with a little sales pitch for a decent meal.**

She suggests McCormick & Schmick's, which is her 'favorite every time she comes to Philly'. I've gotta tell you, I don't get this. M & S is a seafood restaurant chain. I am annoyed because A) Philly is not known for its seafood. It's actually illegal to fish in the Schuylkill!) and B) I don't understand why some people who travel insist on sticking to chain restaurants they can find anywhere. Why bother spending all that time on your train or plane to just wind up at a place you could go to without having to schlep your hairdryer with you?

The first time I was in London was on a 24 hour layover with my cousin. The first thing she wants to do after we land is go to The Rain Forest Cafe. Huh? Being the adventurous one of the pair, I insist we eat mushy peas, wander around Harvey Nichols and hit Boots to load up on shower gel and face scrub.*** Because, you know, that's London.

Long story short, M & S was perfectly fine, albeit predictable, save for the whisky selection which was mindboggling (22 types of scotch alone! Giddiness!). But my whoring may just get me a feature in the alumnae magazine which would be great because Martha reads it, or at least keeps it in her first floor powder room in Connecticut. She even said she'd try and swing some sort of rich alum benefit cookery thingy with Martha and me. (What will I wear? Good god!)

To play fair, I offered her free cooking classes and a fancy cake for the upcoming benefit. As y'all know, I'm such an smooth talker when it comes to publicity...

But the halibut was good.

*Flattery will get you everywhere.

**I promise to give my college loads of moolah when it comes in. I swear it.

***This was 1997 and my cousin was not eight at the time. Since then I've developed a more refined palette but I'll always be a sucker for Boots.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

You Love Me! You Really Love Me!

Philly, you came through!

This morning I got up at the crack of dawn to call the health department to find out whereingodsnameismypermit because I was told that the best times to call are between 8 and 8:30 am and 4 and 4:30 pm (Now that's service!). I needed to be adequately caffeinated and ready to rumble with these people.

"Yes, you're approved."
"Oh yay! Yay! Thank you thank you thank you. Really Thank. You."
"Yeah, we just haven't mailed out your formal confirmation letter yet. We got the paperwork back on Tuesday. Have you finished construction?"

Good lord. After leaving a half dozen messages for these people, telling my teary-eyed sob story about how I'm a small business and this waiting is killing me, it's bleeding me dry, so please please please let me know the status of my application, because really I can't wait much longer and I just might have to move to Delaware and that would be a real pain in the ass. And wait, wha? YOU TOLD ME I COULDN'T START CONSTRUCTION UNTIL YOUR FREAKIN' PERMIT CAME THROUGH.

I suppose I shouldn't dwell.


Unrelated: Red, The Lucksmiths do a fantabulous cover of There Is A Light on Romantic and Square is Hip and Aware (a phrase that is one of my personal mantras). It's a Smiths tribute, but the rest of the album is so-so. (If I had a clue how to do an audioblog, I'd put it on here). And it's a duet, which makes it all the more sweet. It's very swoonable! And I want to hear an audioblog of YOU singing What About Love.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

I Wish

I had Sasha Bell's voice. I'm coveting the new album but I'll force myself not to be all mp3.ru evil.

Just had to share. Sigh. I wish I wish IwishIwish.

[Please ignore the ramblings of this bored and lonesome lady. It seems that everyone was very busy today and there was no one around to entertain her.]

Head on the Bar. (yeah, yeah, I know....)

Look what happened to King George. He was sitting in his usual sunny spot in my kitchen window when I picked him up to play with him and lo and behold! his legs fell off! Gruesome, isn't it! My only guess as to what happened was that the cats, after listening to hours of NPR, destroyed him with great pleasure and abandon, and then felt guilty or afraid that I was going to beat them senseless, so they just put. him. back. right. where. they. found. him.

See there, in the background? That's Sophie pretending she doesn't have a clue as to what all that is about. Going on her merry way. Whistling Dixie.

In other news, Daxie took yesterday's penniless wino comment to heart and took me to the Monkey Bar for an endless supply of whatever was my pleasure. (I HEART you, Dax!) Cute place, nice bartender, excellent sidecars though a paltry selection of whisky.

The sidecars were truly divine (and huge! I felt somewhat like this guy.) And after 1 1/2 sidecars and a Czar Nicholas, I was pretty much on the floor. It was pitiful. So we called it a day at around 8, I wandered home, ate a frozen enchilada*, went to bed, woke up every hour on the quarter hour until 4:15 when I decided to turn the lights on and finish History of Love. More on that later. Finished the book, attempted sleep. And now I'm up for the day. Over and out.

*For the record, the enchilada was not frozen when I ate it. I did heat it up before shoveling it into my face. I think part of the problem with my lack of, er, stamina, last night has to do with this new diet I'm on called the Frozen Enchilada Protracted Stress Diet. I can't remember the last time I sat down and actually ate a real meal on a plate at a table in a civilized fashion.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Paranoid or Extremely Intuitive?

I am in bureaucratic hell.

I thought I was in the clear. I thought I'd have The Cantankerous Canary* opened by now. But no. The City of Philadelphia hates me and wants me out.

Why? Because I'm one of those Sixth Borough-ers whose only intention is to make a nice life for herself in a city that has the potential to become one of the Great Cities of America? I'm here for YOU, Philadelphia. I'm here to help you out and make YOU special. I am proud to be a part of the Great Migration South to newer prospects. WTF?

Why are you doing this to me? WHY? I am slowly watching the interest on my loans tick-tick-tick skyward while you sit on your Phat Cheesesteak-induced ass and laugh as I slide into financial ruin. Gentlemen, I have pennies to my name and a taste for moderately expensive alcohol. This is a serious problem. Can't a city help a wino out? Brotherly love. What a sham.

I swear, Philadelphia, I swear on a stack of Bibles that I will move to Wilmington if this doesn't get straightened out right quick. Wilmington will have me, I'm sure of it. The Cantankerous Canary* will finally put Wilmington on the map. So there.

Whatchya gonna do about that, eh? Bring. It. On.

Monday, March 06, 2006

Comatose Sunday

To make up for the previous night's raucous debauchery, I spent the whole of Sunday watching old Project Runways and Lifetime movies. And for the love of god, I can't remember the plot of a single one...they really all start to jumble up in your head with every possible incestuous configuration of Lifetime Stars imaginable: Judith Light + Tim Matheson; Patty Duke + Peter Coyote; Mere Winningham - Judith Light + Meredith Baxter, Peter Coyote + Molly Ringwald - Patty Duke x Tori Spelling, Farah Fawcett + Robert Ulrich...Oh yeah, Robert Ulrich and Apple's mom...yeah, that was one of them.

Utter garbage. It was fabulous.

Me + the tee vee + grocery store sushi + Lagavulin + a mountain of dirty laundry = A Blissful Sunday.

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Holy Shit, I Was Born in 1975.

Last night was The Rock Concert. I think I can speak for GG when I say that we had an outrageously fun time. I've been a basket?/bundle?/bushel?/heaping pile of frayed nerves over the last few days/weeks/months and did I need a Rock Star Party. Ha!

We had a fab viewing of the show (Thanks S! xxoo! And thanks for saving us from the throngs of drooling 16 year-olds!) but were nearly blinded by eye-daggers from said droolers. I have to admit, though, we did feel old. Ancient. It was a little scary. We were standing near three young lads who, after calling each other douchebags and giving one another wedgies (I'm so not kidding), were rather pathetically trying to pick us up to get backstage. GG pointed out that they were most likely half our age. Theoretically, they could have sprung from our own wombs. Tragic. Towards the end of the show, I started to complain about my back, GG about her feet and we both decided we needed some Advil. Pathetic. (I should note, however, that the Advil comment was made in large part because we were both sorely hungover from the previous night's, albeit separate, debauchery. We're not that old. Sheesh.)

After the show, we hung out with S, who is one of the Top 10 Sweetest People on the Planet, until waaay past our bedtime (we're old, remember?) and now I'm up on 3 hours of sleep, I've got a pile of recipes to sort through and some other random shit that I need to do (OV: Pick up cat food!). It's the life, man!

Oh, and one more thing - because there must always be at least one kvetch per post: Someone please explain to me how an XPN dj doesn't know who Joe Pernice is.

Friday, March 03, 2006

I've Lost It. And Lovin' Every Minute.

I've been dancing in the kitchen ever since I finished working.

The Kurant + Diet Sprite hasn't hurt.

Having a blast here all by me wee self. Though I wish someone would update their blog so I can post witty poignant commentary. It's a little lonesome, but I'm dealin'.

Any requests, anyone? I'm going through the iPod. If you're into indie pop, you've got your girl....

It Hasn't Been All Beer and Skittles.

Well, it's been mostly beer (with some sidecars) and honestly, no Skittles/skittles to speak of, but I just love that line and thought it was a near perfect post title for today.

Things are looking up. I'm very busy today baking my arse off. And I want to bring some monkey bars to Guinness Girl, but only if she wants me to.

I'm knee-deep in truffles. I've created a Bar in a Box that I hope The Rockstars will like: Dalwhinnie, Framboise and Calvados truffles. And I'm throwing in some Earl Greys for next day's hangover. If it goes over well, I can expand the Bar, though I'll have to keep my fellow Philadelphians in mind when I do. Yard's truffles? Hmmm.....I dunno.

No big plans tonight. Just chillin'. But if anybody's up for a drinkity-drink in the Center City area, email me.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Still Mute.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Who Moved My Cheese?

There are 11 different cheeses in my fridge. I don't know what half of them are.
This scares me.