shoebox_dw: (icon)
Haven't updated in awhile, and as dedicated readers might guess, that's largely because not much of note has been going on. Had crazy week at work, got sick in the middle of it, so didn't see the new Star Trek movie after all, which put paid to my vague plan to wait until then to update.

So that's my big content note today: Shoe Does Still Intend To See New Star Trek Movie Soon, film at 11. If your marrowbones are somehow not thrilled through yet, I could go on to describe the excitement of discovering that Sobey's grocery now does hand-made potato chips (crisps, for the UK audience).
Seriously, they slice the potatoes fresh daily, douse 'em in sea salt, and hey, diet doom. These things trigger way down on the primal goodness level - somewhere just alongside Cadbury's Creme Eggs. On the whole it was probably a good thing that cramps kept me from even looking at food for a couple days. The spell had almost worn off...then on my first tentative totter out into the fresh air, I encountered: BBQ flavour. Curse you, heartless spud-slicers!

This sort of thing is especially tricky to negotiate just now, because I have reached an interesting stage of my diet where my appetite keeps insinuating - usually while standing in front of the Starbucks counter - that I've done so well, denied myself so much, don't I think I deserve a treat? Well, yes, OK, I concede, a very small treat. Oh, go on, says my appetite, a couple extra calories won't hurt now...And so on. I have been forced to take drastic measures: I tried on a truly gorgeous Mexx dress the other day in full, cold and deliberate knowledge that it was and will remain horribly unflattering until I lose that last ten pounds.

Cruel, yes...but effective. Perhaps a little too effective; my appetite is now arguing I need potato chips to console myself for the mental image of self in that dress. 
shoebox_dw: (garfield monday)
So I'm munching happily away at my lunch - and just as an aside, boy do I pity all of you who don't have access to Shoemom's chicken pot pie - when my eye catches some yellow type on my KitKat 'Senses' bar wrapper.

Now, you have to understand, this bar was purchased on the assurance that it contained hazelnut creme. The ingredients list hazelnut prominently. The lady handing out samples at the supermarket specifically referred to hazelnuts in describing the 'enhanced flavour' of this new and exciting taste treat. Topping everything off there's a huge honking portrait of a hazelnut right there on the front.

Thus it came as something of a surprise to read on the back, in bold yellow type: This Product May Contain Peanuts or Other Nuts.

shoebox_dw: (ratatouille remy caught)
Am really getting into these baked Lay's chips, although the cheddar-and-sour-cream goodness wears off a smitch too fast without the oil to stick to. This is the first thing you realise, when you start becoming fat-conscious: it is what puts the flavour in things. The loss of creaminess and richness I can live without ('cepting ice cream), but the quest for taste, in a diet that already didn't include much in the way of fruits or veg, raises the hunt for low-calorie gratification to an art form.

(Look, yes, I know. The reason I don't eat fruits & veg - other than juices, corn and potatoes - is that the texture makes me quite literally retch. At various points in my lifetime friends and family have cajoled, teased, guilted or humiliated me into trying, say, a strawberry; the results have not been pretty.)

Pacifying small indulgence of the week: Vachon triple-choco cakes. Chocolate snack cake topped with a loop of chocolate frosting, within which is chocolate-fudge syrup. I have had them in the cupboard for 24 hours now, and I have only eaten one. Victory is mine!

Meanwhile...yeah, the writing thing. Am still waiting on feedback re: my PopMatters column idea, as noted a very simple concept involving my one proven audience-gathering skill: the ability to say snarky and/or clever things about pop-culture. The more I think about it, the more I like it; inclusive yet uncomplicated, fun to write and certainly to research, so motivation to keep a deadline would be a breeze. Maybe too uncomplicated. We'll see. I am feeling better on that score, after a week's reading what passes for a similarly-themed humour column in the MetroNews.

The fiction experiment, or lack thereof, is what's really bugging. Same old same old: the historical family saga is bogged down in my total lack of confidence in re: writing period accuracy, the sci-fi thing is too cliched and the 'write what you know' idea is at a dead stop thanks to my being a pastel-cover person with an absolute horror of pastel-covered fiction.

Result: one ridiculously frustrated Shoe. I should just start writing something, I know. Given a choice between that and gorging on choco-cakies, maybe I will.


Mar. 18th, 2008 11:33 pm
shoebox_dw: (lucy)
Public-service announcement: As you can see, I've decided the 'paid-LJ' option is about all the excitement I can take for the time being. I mean, seeing as how it took me like an entire weekend to convince my accountant - aka Shoemom in full-bore "Fine, then! Just go spend money, you - you money-spender, you!" mode - to let me have the c-card even to that extent.

(Seriously, she's a sweet woman but at even the bare suggestion of parting from a penny does this Jekyll/Hyde thing that makes Scrooge look like a bumbling amateur. And since we as Witnesses don't celebrate Christmas...)

Anyhoo, apologies for the abrupt switches in mood and tone here since, but the butterfly layout only comes in so many colours, and the sheer foofiness of the previous one was really starting to bug. As a buyer commented re: a pair of similarly lavender slacks today: 'You might as well have flames running up the sides, because there is no way in hell anybody's gonna take those seriously."

Otherwise, not much to report. Ooh, except that the Agony Booth finally got around to reviewing Battlefield Earth, which is pretty much made of win. Lovers of snark everywhere, this is one experience you should not miss. If you've got the stomach (and the few hours) for it, the best way to get the full effect is to follow this review of Travolta's Folly up with Ken Begg's at Jabootu, to catch some precious little stupidities the novices on this Team Booth missed. I don't really blame them though; there are so many...

Also, I just wanna take a sec to mention that the new Hershey's Kisses - well, new to me anyway - with 'cheesecake-flavoured truffle filling' are way yummier than their name deserves. Almost makes up for the fact that here it is just days before Easter and I can't find those little mini-Mars bar or Dove caramel eggs anywhere. It's just, like, Cadbury-o-rama, and frankly I'm not all that crazy about Cadbury chocolate, it's way too rich and heavy.

Of course, I am resigned to all this, because a lifetime of experience has taught me that whatever commercial foodstuff I happen to take a special shine to is automatically added to some sort of cosmic Too Much Fun list and disappears from shelves pronto. Sometimes within weeks. Sorry about that, fellow Stouffer's Roasted Red Pepper Rotini lovers. You may want to stock up on the Thai Ginger Beef now, and avoid the rush.

Anyway, speaking of Easter, or more accurately why I don't speak of it...yeah, meme article coming soon, promise. Possibly tomorrow. For now, as you may have gathered, I need sleep


Jan. 1st, 2008 08:49 pm
shoebox_dw: (lucy)
Public service announcement: I really must apologise to all - uh - [glances at statcounter] - any of the readership who may have unwittingly bought seats on the Great Bob & Ray Essay Kaleidoscope these past few weeks.
It started out as just your standard offhand blogger's appreciation I swear; but then an unexpected hit from a Los Angeles IP address started me thinking that it would probably be a good idea, when writing a public tribute, not to leave the impression that any live honourees were deceased. I got interested, and started researching, and realised I'd left out some really great details...well, you can imagine, after forty years there are a lot of details.

So the next thing I knew I was working on a full-fledged little article.
(Should anyone with a personal interest in fact be reading, I'd like to stop right here and say thanks. Not sure what for, specifically, but I have developed a very great need to thank somebody for those forty years.)

'Tennyrate, the really good news is that I've just added the very very last, finishing touches this afternoon. I think. Well, barring any shocking! revelations of late-night cavorting on the set of Bob & Ray & Jane & Laraine & Gilda, the SNL special they taped in the 70's...

...OK, getting grip once and for all. Seriously, as far as I can tell both Elliott and Goulding were perfect gentlemen at all times; even while throwing a spelling bee to a miniskirted Laraine Newman they come off as the dear old grandfathers they were by then. Albeit I do wonder if the little ones were allowed to stay up and watch their Grandpas chorus Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?...

[Um, in business suits. You can put down the brain bleach now. Sorry.]


So life acquires a distinctly whimsical edge anyway, when you conflate vacation days with the holidays...


shoebox_dw: (Default)

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