Perhaps one day I'll...

- become a rock star.
- climb K2.
- become a warlord of a small tribal village.
- apologize to all those I need to.
- be assasinated...by ninjas.
- become a ninja.
- travel through time.
- BASE jump off the CN Tower.
- right all the wrongs.
- cure cancer.
- go into space.
- live in a cardboard box.
- learn how to fly a jet.
- turn lead into gold.

Hmm. Ok. Perhaps not.

Thai curries are much easier to make than Indian curries. I've been cooking a lot of Thai curries this past month (with some excellent results), so today I figured I'd try cooking up an Indian curry. There's something about that savory and complex melange of exotic spices that makes a proper Indian curry so delicious. Yet this is what makes successfully cooking an Indian curry so elusive.

Sure you could make something with the jars of pre-made curry sauce. But that's cheating! To make a real curry you should get the spices and make it all from scratch. At least that what was going through my deluded brain earlier today.

A pilgrimage to the local spice store was in order.

As I walked in, the waft of exotic smells from the back corner of the store beckoned my nose. Images of spice laden caravans treking across the desert crossed my mind. The imagery was quickly squashed by a skeptical and sidelong glance by the store's Indian proprietor. His look seemed to ask: "What? You come here so you can make a mockery of the cuisine of my mother country?". I made my careful selection of spices and quickly went home.

Oh. The horror, the horror.

Something went horribly wrong. It's been awhile since I've really screwed up so badly on a dish. Heck...I haven't seen anything go that wrong that fast since Hitler invaded France. All the flavours from the spices were confused and not in balance so it came out as bitter as Portishead. My god, if you could still call it a curry, it would have to be called the "Gigli" of curries.

Eck.

I made a smoothie with my new blender instead.

So a guy at my school recently bought a murse. I hestitate to call him my friend...cuz I seriously question his buying decision. A murse, you ask? Yah. That's a man purse. That picture is the closest thing I could find to the shape and style of my friend's murse.

Now I'm not one to talk about fashion with authority. I'll be the first to admit that I have no style when it comes to clothes. After all, it was my ex who taught me well that my sense of clothing style is no better than a rhino. Bathing itself in mud. And it's true...I probably couldn't dress to save my own life. If it wasn't for my ex, God bless her, I'd probably still think aluminum foil was appropriate material as formal wear.

Now, in complete contrast, my friend is a clothes horse. He's up on his fashion...follows the latest trends and styles. And he dresses well--he owns and wears designer stuff (mostly from Prada). So I'd have to say he has more style than me. But I still question his latest purchase.

Dude! It's a bloody purse!

My friend likes to defend it by calling it a "messenger bag". The day he first wore it to school, he had letters in it that he was going to carry to the post office. Of course we would have none of it. A girl even tried to sneak lipstick and makeup into his bag for the full effect.

Now while my friend claims it is a "messenger bag" people at school just nod their head in agreement. But when my friend walks away and out of earshot, most people nod in agreement with me: "it's a purse!"

This has become a source of controversy at our school. After the laughters died down about my own pink thermos (more updates on that later), the prime lunchtime discussion has been taken up by the "purse or messenger bag" fiasco. Call this murse-gate. It's huge!

I quote someone who writes: "Nonetheless, i feel it prudent to once more expess my views on the so called "murse". Folks, there is of course nothing wrong with (nor anything cool about) a man purse. However, let's call a spade a spade. Does a purse by any other name contain less capcity [sic] for personal effects? Is the "messenger bag" not now adorning the neck of everyone's favcorite [sic] $0.50 bad chicken purveyor not as purse-like as any other? Let us not confuse the issue with nomenclature. A purse is a purse is a purse and this is undoubtedly the accessory that Mr. Pony Express now proudly dsiplays [sic] to his fellows. Good hope and Godspeed to you all and remember, there is nothing cool (nor anything wrong with) a man purse."

Hmmm. So why the social stigma? After all, in today's gadget orientated world...the well-equipped man needs something to store his digital camera, pda, discman/mp3 player, cell phone. Ok. But the point is that there ARE bags out there that don't look so purse-like: something like this one and this one. Sure I wouldn't buy these particular ones...but if you really needed to, you could find a decent bag that wasn't so...dainty looking.

Cuz the one my friend got is such a murse. *Everyone nods in agreement*

Osama bin Laden has been found working in a 7-11. No wonder we couldn't find him all this time.

Sigh.

I can't believe the newspaper couldn't find a more appropriate and realistic photo than that one.

Roch uses this expression to describe a situation where you're not trying to look at something but you can't really turn away: "it's like looking at the sun...I know I shouldn't look at it, but I can't look away!" It's a good line.

Applies well to bad music videos, infomercials, Jerry Springer, and William Hung...

Had one of those moments the other day. I was crammed into my building's elevator with four other people. Elevator groaned to a stop at another floor and a woman got on face-forward towards me. She was dragging a filled laundry cart with her so it was so cramped in the elevator that she couldn't really turn around now. So now her face is facing/staring straight at me...I look down towards my feet to avoid any continuous-stranger-eye-contact. But now I can see her laundry cart.

I think there's an unwritten rule that you shouldn't stare at a stranger's dirty laundry. It's just not polite to look at other people's knickers! So if I look slightly above...now I'm staring at her chest. Ok. Not that. So I look above and I'm staring back at her face again. Argh. Can't turn and look to the side because people are standing next to me.

So what to do? I suddenly look down and pick up a new fascination in studying my own fingernails. You can imagine how stupid I looked. Ohhhhh...look at that dirt there. Yes. So fascinating. My fingernails. It's almost like I've never seen them before. Woooo.

Sigh. Elevators.

Ahhh...so it's the Season of Lent. For those who aren't Christian, this refers to a period of forty days before Easter. Before indulging on those oh-so-chocolatey bunnies, many Christians remember these prior forty days through self-reflection and fasting (giving up something for the forty day period).

So I have this classmate who I chat over MSN with all the time in class. So what does my class MSN chat buddy choose to do for Lent? She's gonna give up MSN chatting for forty days! Ack. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! I'M MELTING!!!!

*insert sound effects of Dave melting into plastic sludge onto the floor*

Sigh. This means I might actually be forced to take notes in Evidence class. Although....I could always play more games on my laptop. Hmmmm...

In related news today, I played Civilizations and killed ten civilizations all before 350BC in a span of 2 hours. Heh heh heh.

Currently wasting my time on this online game. I know Meghan will be thrilled about playing this in class instead of that stupid hidden game in the Macintosh Terminal program she likes to play.

But now I'm stuck on this one level. Blargh. I suck at puzzles.

I had a bit of a party/get-together at my place several weeks ago. And I was out with some friends the other night and one of them said one of the best compliments I've heard for some time: "Man...we were thinking of how fun your party was. We didn't have a drop of alcohol that night...but out of the top three parties of all time...I don't even know what the other two would be...but your party would definately be in the top three. And that includes the drunk ones!"

The little party hosting girl inside of me is shedding a tear of joy.

Hmmm. Me thinks it's probably only ranked in my friend's top three because she can actually remember my party sans alcohol. Either that or my friend really needs to get out more often.

My latest shameful pleasure? Playing air guitar and dancing while I'm listening to music. Heh. And I tend to really get into it too. You know. Dancing around like Elaine...my legs and arms gesticulating wildly. Spinning around with the air guitar like a madman.

My tip? Do this kind of crazy crap in the privacy of your own homes.

If you, like me, do this while walking down the street, people will think you've gone completely ape. Either that or they think you have one of those faulty heart pacemakers that's going on the fritz again. I did it this afternoon and a grandmother at the park looked at me as if I had gone bezerk. There was that momentary look of awe which was quickly overcome by the usual look they give me--the one of contempt and incredulity.

At this point they usually break out the pepper spray and cattle prods. Aiyee.

Well that video shows one useful way of using your Collins-Robert French Dictionary.

I knew taking French class would be useful.

You know how you would always complain about the class teaching assistant (TA)? My friend and I used to do it all the time in undergrad. But now my friend is in a Masters program and is now the TA who is inflicting pain on the students. Ahhh...how the things have changed with time.

But let's be frank here. It's not like my friend is a bad TA. In fact, he works hard. He pushes 15 hour days at the lab running samples and whatever crap those science people do in labs (I have no clue cuz I graduated with an artsy degree). He's usually there at the lab till 3AM. But when he gets little sleep he gets a little cranky with his students. So frankly I think it's frickin' hilarious that he got this letter the other day:

Dear "My friend's name",

"Mr. Lab Supervisor"

Hahaha. Man. *rubs tears from eyes* That's classic. Now I wish I had students of my own to inflict pain on.

They say the true friends are the ones who are completely honest with you:

Friend: Ugh! I can't believe you have that photo of you on the website!
Me: What? *bewildered look* Which one?
Friend: The one in blue with lines in it.
Me: Why? What's wrong with it?
Friend: You look horrible in it! It makes you look 17 years old with bad Milli Vanillli hair!

Gee. I feel so loved. Oh well. I guess it's a good thing I didn't post the other portrait of myself.

Oh wait. Damn. I just did. Oh well this is just the Internet. It's not like that many people read stuff on the Internet anyway.

What? That many? Crap.

Oh well. Just cue the music. I've got some lip-syncing to do.

As recipes go, this one is bloody simple. And not only is it bloody simple but it's bloody good! Plus it's vegetarian so you can take it to nearly any potluck and it will be a real crowd pleaser. Plus you'll be considered a real hero (almost a demi-god if you will) to the vegetarians, cuz a lot of potlucks I've been to are real downers for the vegetarians. It usually ends up being a few brave vegetarians camped out around the humuus bowl chewing on carrots and celery sticks. Blah.

Oh you vegetarians. This recipe is for you.

So get a bag of jumbo pasta shells (shown left) boiling in salted water. They take about 15 - 20 minutes to cook. While that's going on, pull out a mixing bowl. Drop in the white of one egg (you can use egg substitute). Throw in a container of ricotta cheese. (If you've never used ricotta...it's an unripened, fresh, soft cheese that similar to cottage cheese in texture. I suppose cottage cheese could be used as a subsitute, but you should be able to find ricotta somewhere in the dairy aisle).

Dump in spinach (either a drained can of spinach, a package of thawed frozen spinach or boiled and chopped up fresh spinach. Canned spinach is probably the most tasteless of the three alternatives but is certainly the most convenient). You can play around with the ratio of ricotta cheese to canned/frozen/cooked spinach. I usually go with a good handful of spinach to 500 grams of ricotta. I find that if you add too much spinach to the mixture, it gets a little bitter. Shred a lot of mozzarella cheese into the bowl. Add any herbs you like.

Stir those pasta shells.

Open up a can or jar of your favourite pasta sauce. Make you own sauce if you have the time. Take only 3 spoonfuls of the sauce and mix it into the spinach and ricotta cheese mixture. Save the rest of that sauce...you're going to need it later. Mix the spinach and ricotta mixture together. If the mixture is way too runny, add more mozzarella cheese. It should be a just a little thick.

Preheat oven to 400F. When the pasta shells are done, drain and cool them with cold water. Take each pasta shell and stuff it with the spinach and ricotta mixture. Place it onto a baking or casserole dish. Repeat until all the shells are stuffed. Cover the shells with the rest of that pasta sauce. Blanket the sauce/stuffed pasta with shredded mozzarella. Drizzle olive oil on top, if you want.

Slide the pan into the oven. Wait until the cheese melts and gets golden brown. Spoon a few shells onto a clean plate. Garnish with finely chopped parsley, black pepper and/or shavings of fresh parmesan on top (if you have any).

This stuff freezes remarkably well. All the vegetarians go "hooray". The end.