Why Can't Everyday be Saturday? With no peace march to attend, some pals 'n I decided to check out the brunch at Reservoir before checking out the butterflies at the Botanical Gardens. The kitchen staff at Reservoir ably handled our poached eggs: they were perfectly cooked and lay on a nummy bed of fried pancetta and sweet baby asparagus. The lattes wer excellent. The four of us sat around and talked about the value and nature of forgiveness. For the record, while I don't suffer fools gladly, I'd like to think that I don't hold visceral grudges and that I do grant second chances. Granting second chances would surely be made simpler if everyone visited with the butterflies at the Montreal Botanical Gardens. My friend A and I arrived about 30 minutes before closing. Although we were told there was a bit of a lineup, we didn't mind walking through the greenhouses. This is the time of year when cactii and succulents are in bloom, so there were some pretty spectacular showings of prickly things with tufts of colour coming out everywhere. When we finally reached the butterfly greenhouse, I must admit that I got a little teary-eyed. The first thing I saw, through the fake cement porticos, was three montrously beautiful white butterflies just doing elegant butterfly things. Breathtaking. Seriously breathtaking. We spent the next hour or so watching them fly about and land in trees, examining the differences between the top and undersides of their wings, wondering how the cats would feel about a few free-flying ones in the house, comparing and contrasting the truly monstrously beautiful moths, and hoping that one would land on us. Later, a gay pal tried to fix me up with pretty much anything male that moved at Copa's. I tried to gently explain that Copa's ridiculously cheap liquor was perhaps colouring his judgement of suitable mates for me. Regardless, he kept asking "What about him? No? Well, what about him?". Bless him. It was a purr-fect day.


Fashion Update Checking referring URLs to this blog, midst the searches for "hello kitty vibrators" and "hello kitty patio lights" and "the sound of music", I noticed a bunch of searches on Google and Yahoo looking for t-shirts with the slogan "Bombing for peace is like fucking for virginity". Does this herald the beginning of merchandising the U.S.-Iraqi war? Crikey! It's not even a day old yet. My advise? Make your own.
The Fashionable Revolutionary I have a feeling I'm going to be demonstrating *every* Saturday until this freakin' war is over, which means that I won't get much shopping done. On the plus side, the weather is improving, just in time to start thinking about fashion for the peace marches ahead. Last week I saw some some stylin' ladies who had wrapped white tulle around their necks. I like tulle. I like it *a lot*. I think I'm going to buy yards of it to accessorize with: a fun hat one week, a cute skirt the next, and a daring top when things get really warm. Add some white ribbon, a placard with a witty slogan on it, and oh-so sensible shoes and I'll be stylin' for the revolution, too.


Puzzled I've never understood why my name is associated with this paper. See the "References" section.
Saturday's Peace March Starting points for the march were staggered this time around, with corteges forming in the east and in the west. Starting from the west, as we descended the hills of Rene-Levesque, we were stunned to see hordes of people marching up from the other direction. Even more stunning? Seeing how many people were still marching behind us as we made our way to Complexe-Guy Favreau. Favourite sign: "Bombing for peace is like fucking for virginity". I'm ashamed to say that I've been following stock market analysts as I try to make sense of a market that's rallied under the impression that--finally--there will be a war and it won't last long. Apparently the market hates uncertainty.


Make Love, Not War East meets west this Saturday as the Peace March starts from two locations this Saturday. I'll be there. Will you?


Adventures in Soyland (hold the red peppers) The chalet I stayed in at Mont Trembalnt last week was shared by 6 other people, one of whom was a vegetarian. We had all decided to volunteer to cook one evening meal each, which meant that we all needed to either do a vegetarian dish, or adapt a meat dish to a meatless one. I chose the latter. I decided to make my tried-and-true Coq au Vin. I made the regular version using chicken, and a smaller version using tofu. I can confirm that you can flambee tofu and cook it in wine. It was definitely not bad. Inspired by this adaption, I've been experimenting with some of my other favourite dishes. My comfort/white trash dish is chicken cooked in Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup. I sautee the chicken first, then sautee onions, garlic and additional mushrooms. I'll ocassionally add red peppers. Last night, I made a tofu version of the recipe, which was highly successful, except for the addition of red peppers--which I love. I've been suspecting that I've developed difficulties digesting red peppers, and the way I felt last night and the way I feel right now, after eating the leftovers for lunch, confirm that I should stay away from red peppers for the rest of my life. I've already had to give up legumes, which I can't digest at all, and now red peppers. What's next?


I've been lamenting to friends recently that I need a wife. You know, the old-fashioned kind of partner who tended the home, called and waited for service people, took the cats to the vet for their regular check up, tended the garden, organized the bills into "past due" and "way past due" piles, went grocery shopping, returned videos.... I'll not hold my breath whilst waiting for the (wo)man of my (domestic)dreams. I am, however, trying to find ways to simplify my life. So far, I've resisted hiring a cleaning lady and other service people to help me maintain the house and garden. This resistance has started me contemplating selling my house and moving to a smaller, easier to maintain residence. The drawback to moving is that my four kitties are used to exploring the outoors in the summer, so any new home would have to continue providing them with squirrels and trees and fences to climb. Anyone know a good cleaning lady?


Is this possible? I'm wearing a light pink extra small t-shirt today with my black jeans (instead of my usual black, brown, or grey t) and I think it makes my breasts look too big? Est-ce-que c'est possible?


I didn't realize how tired I was until I spent four blissful days in Mont Tremblant last week. February was, of course, birthday month for me. It was also an intense party month, with work-related visitors from overseas tempting me to close various bars around town. It was also an intense month emotionally--I went to Toronto to support my niece and sister as the former testified against a man who sexually assaulted her late last year. Trivial in comparison, I developed an allergy to vitamin E which made my eyes look old and tired. Four days of sleep, sunshine, friends, more sleep, and snow remind me that even I have limits.