Westmount Adventures

It started back in first year when having lunch off campus seemed so bold and adult. I had designs on a young gentleman, and having learned that he resided in Westmount, I plotted to get know his neighbourhood. It would give us more talking points for our next conversation, I reasoned. It did, for all of three minutes, but Baboushka was kind enough to accompany me to Westmount, and that tradition lasted for four years.

Now, as worldly seniors, Westmount doesn’t seem quite so exotic, although the houses are beautiful and it’s a nice reprieve not to have to choke out halting French at every shop (ya done me dirty, French Immersion). And after four years of practice, we’ve got our itinerary down.

It starts with the walk. From the McGill campus, we walk west along Sherbrooke, armed with a camera and a temporary devil-may-care attitude about schoolwork. The Westmount Adventure Afternoon is for leisurely chatter, not scholarly discussion. As we stroll past the Ritz Carlton and peer into the Holt Renfrew windows, it’s gossip and lazy what-if questions and maybe a fun fact gleaned from CBC radio. And then, boom. We’ve arrived at our first photo op. Except this year, our posing friends — statues we named Georg and Mathilde — had been removed. So we pretended, and it was almost as good.

Four years of Westmount Adventures

Once we cross Atwater and are officially in a new city (exotic!), we  detour down Green Ave., former home of my favourite Montreal bookstore Nicholas Hoare (now sadly closed), and might pop in to the Lululemon because #mcgillbiddies. Photo Op #2 is outside the Westmount Memorial for its fallen soldiers. We Adventured right before Remembrance Day this year, so were appropriately adorned with poppies.

And then it’s time to spend money. There are David’s Teas in downtown Montreal, of course, but the shop seems better suited to well-manicured and moneyed Westmount. We refill one of our tins — Mango Lassi this time — and I also splurge on a tea advent calendar, a frivolous treat I’ve been craving for three years. Next step is dinner at Le Taj Mahal. That first year, I remember being so perplexed at the lack of restaurants in Westmount. There are lots of coffee shops but so few restaurants. Do all the families on the Boulevard have endless dinner parties prepped by hired help?

Finally, before our bus ride back home, we nip into a café for dessert. And by dessert, I mean overpriced (soy) milky coffees. Because #mcgillbiddies. And because in first year, we needed a place to do Latin homework.

But it isn’t really the food and the tea and the exotic feeling of leaving Montreal that make the annual Westmount Adventure so special. It’s just wonderful to have three or four hours to talk with Baboushka. I know we live together but homework and housework and work-work can take up so much time, and in the midst of midterm madness it’s nice to just hang out.

On Marriage & Sassy One-Liners

My cousin got married last weekend, and I uploaded some pictures to Facebook. Baboushka had lent me her rockstar fascinator and vintage dress (was it rescued from a high school drama department?), and it was the first time I’d seen the Boy in a suit. I was pretty pleased with our dapperness, and tickled as the likes kept pouring in. But then there was a comment from an old high school acquaintance. She said we looked lovely (aww shucks!) and promised to buy us a gift when we got married (whoaaa there, way to assume).

The picture that started it all.

The Boy is pretty amazing, I’m the first one to admit it, and we’ve been together for more than two years, but we’re only 21. The prefrontal cortex (decision making part of the brain) doesn’t finish developing for approximately another four years, and even at 25, I don’t think I’ll be ready to pledge my entire life to one another person.

I made some semi-snarky comment back at High School Acquaintance, but Facebook comments are way easier to ignore than in-person ones. So, to be prepared, I did some Googling and came up with clever answers. Here are a few of my favourites.*

“When are you getting married?”

• After the zombie apocalypse. If he survives, I’ll deem him worthy of fathering my children.
• I’m holding out for a Harry Winston. Would you like to contribute to our Kickstarter fund? The minimum contribution is $500!
• Last night! We just didn’t want to invite you.
• When the tax benefits are worth it.

“When are you having a baby?”

• When they’re worth more on the black market!
• When all those zygotes stop dying inside me.
• As soon as I can direct some of his sperm towards my ovaries. The trouble is, it tastes too damn good!
• If you want to know about my sex life, you can just ask! What are your favourite positions?

*I cite!

Responsible Adult Shopping List

One of my favourite things about blogging is seeing what you lovely people Google to arrive chez les Players de Prince Arthur. And today, one of those things was “responsible adult shopping list.” I suspect that took you here, one of my very first Princely posts, which probably wasn’t that helpful. So I shall try again.

Vegetables are healthy.

“What to buy at the grocery store when you’re a lactose-intolerant peskatarian cooking just for yourself.” Of course, if you can digest lactose and eat land animals, feel free to swap in cow’s milk, chicken breasts and the like.

PROTEIN: eggs, hummus, almond milk, smoked salmon &/or salmon/swordfish/trout filets, cans of chickpeas, tofu (occasionally)

PRODUCE: lettuce (or baby spinach!), tomatoes, bell peppers, button mushrooms, cucumber, onion, avocado, broccoli, baby carrots, nibbley fruit (like grapes or berries) and whole fruit (like apples, pears or bananas)

CARBS: bread, pasta, potato, sweet potato, quinoa

FUN: granola bars (I like Lara Bars and Nature Valley), nuts (almonds, pecans & walnuts are my favourites), chips (Baboushka and I are on a 2-bags-a-month rule)

TO HAVE IN STOCK: tomato sauce &/or pesto, extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar, tamari soy sauce, salt & pepper, an array of spices

With that, you can create some fabulous easy meals like Spanish omelettes, baked salmon & vegetables, massive salads, quinoa bowls. More on that later. It’s homework time!

Adventures and Dress-Up: A Night at the Montréal Opera

Source: Opéra de Montréal website

It was about time Sarastotle and I had another adventure; this time, we chose the opera. Opéra de Montréal premiered Delibes’ Lakmé last night, and we were lucky enough to score kinda last-minute tickets. We did have some trouble physically acquiring said tickets; let it be known, that if you purchase opera tickets online with a credit card, you need to bring that credit card to the box office. Apparently photo ID doesn’t cut it. I only brought a few things in a tiny purse, and my credit card didn’t make the cut. The box office people did eventually relent and hand over the ticket; I now have a note on my file in the Opéra de Montréal computer system outlining my transgression.

Box office problems aside, we had a wonderful evening. The performances were beautiful, the costumes were lovely, and the set design was really, really cool. I don’t know how critics will rate the performance, but my assessment is that the whole thing was beautiful. I’ve never been to the opera before. A lot of what I know about the opera comes from movies and cartoons, where it’s shown to be kind of boring and hard to understand. This one had very helpful “subtitles” shown across the top of the stage in French and English, and the singers enunciated very, very clearly. Maybe this was an easy opera, but I followed along very easily.

*SPOILERS*

Lakmé is a very sad story about a beautiful young Indian woman named Lakmé who meets an Englishman, who is trespassing in  the very sacred temple that Lakmé’s father is in charge of. Her dad gets really angry at the Englishman, vows vengeance, and then stabs him. Lakmé saves the Englishman, because of course they have fallen in love, and wants to bind the two of them together by drinking from the same cup of sacred water. The Englishman kind of changes his mind about their future together, and Lakmé kills herself.

*END OF SPOILERS*

It is a great show, and the music is really lovely. My mom has a CD of a production of Lakmé starring Maria Callas that she played in the car every once in a while, and I’ve always wanted to see it live. In getting ready for tonight, I felt a little like Cher in the absolutely fabulous movie Moonstruck, when she gets all dolled up to go to the opera with Nicholas Cage.

Perfection.

Nicholas Cage did not accompany Sarastotle and me, but we did end up getting super pretty and were among the fanciest at the opera–some people wore jeans! I didn’t know that that was a thing. Here’s my Cher makeover!

Some gnarly activity going on right now on my bare face.

After a layer of base, foundation, and concealer over all blemishes.

Cream-coloured eyeshadow on the lids, taupe eyeshadow along crease, brown eyeshadow along lashes. I tightly lined the top lids with a eyeliner brush dipped in a pot of black gel eyeliner. Very slight cat-eye. Mascara on top and bottom lashes.

Wine-coloured lip gloss. I have nothing vampier.

I could probably have made my creases more noticeable; comparing my eyes to Cher’s in the picture above, hers are definitely more defined. My bedroom has pretty dim lighting; in my mirror, it looked like I was creating some serious eyeshadow creases. Out in the real world, I looked more like I was going for a smokey eye.

I don’t have Cher’s great head of hair (and I still haven’t had my hair permed like I was planning to), so I just put some gel in and kept it straight. I certainly felt glamorous.

Also, how gorgeous is Sarastotle’s dress (and Sarastotle)?

It’s hard to see, but she has some very fierce gold eyeshadow extending into a gold cat-eye. Her hair is also really cool: all the rhinestones are little Goody twisty hair gems that I got for cheap at Walmart.

Wherever we go for our next adventure, we shall be sure to look just as fabulous.

Yom Kippur on Jerusalem Time

I’m in Montreal, but this year, I fasted as if I were in Jerusalem. I didn’t look at a Jewish calendar when I signed up to run another 5 km run and alas, The Night Race happened to begin right when Yom Kips 5574 ends and even I know that it’s not a genius plan to run after 25 hours of no food. So I fasted by Jerusalem time and was thus be able to eat five hours before I ran.

Lighting up the Day of Atonement!

Maybe my solution isn’t totally rabbi-approved, but I’m okay with that. While I recite Hebrew blessings over the Chanukah candles and dip apples into honey ever Rosh Hashanah, I’m not really that Jewish. I was raised in a very secular home, and patrilineal descent means that many Jews don’t consider me to be a Member of the Tribe.

But it’s still important for me to fast each Yom Kippur. I don’t attend synagogue, meditate upon my actions or values, or debate Torah passages with learned scribes. In fact, this year, I binge-watched New Girl and did some physics homework (hurray for 100-level science classes!). If there is a god, I don’t think s/he would be that pleased with me, but I’m not fasting for some divinity whose existence I doubt. I’m fasting because I want to feel a connection with the generations of my relatives who did believe in Yahweh or in the sanctity of the 613 mitzvot or in the camaraderie that suffering/minor hunger pangs can create.

The Return of Insomnia: Activities to Get You Through the Night

Occasionally, there are blocks of days in which I find it impossible to get to sleep. This weekend has been one of those blocks. A few days before I left home to return to Montreal, I started falling asleep much later than I normally do, even though I was waking up at the same time that I always get up at. The night before my departure, I was up until 4:30 AM. My 7 AM wake-up has never been more cruel.

There’s nothing really wrong with me: I very rarely drink anything caffeinated, I exercise regularly, I’m in good health. It usually occurs around times of higher-than-usual stress, like exams or other worries. Not sleeping obviously adds greatly to my stress, so it’s a bit of a bummer that my body considers insomnia to be an appropriate response.

But my occasional insomnia has allowed me the extra time to do a number of things that I might never have stumbled upon if I had not been up half the night. Maybe I should be writing the next Great Canadian Novel instead, but I always feel brainless and exhausted when I’m in the throes of insomnia. I can accomplish no great work. Instead, I do things that relax me, and don’t make me think too much. Here are some alternatives to vegging out in front of your computer when insomnia strikes. There are only so many gossip websites you can check for updates, but there are a million projects you can accomplish on a night of no sleep.

1. Learn a new skill

It was supposed to be a cat, but it looks like a mouse!

Learning to tat is one of my proudest accomplishments. After scrolling through a couple of tutorials on the internet, I made the loosest, stringiest piece of lace that I have ever seen. But good gravy, what a thrill. I’ve since moved on to more professional pieces of edging, and some fun, useless pieces like the mousecat above.

I can remember when I was a kid, that I asked my mom how to make fabric with only a needle. She thought I meant weaving, or knitting, or crocheting, but I was adamant that only a sewing needle could be used. I tried endlessly to knot pieces of string into this ‘fabric’ that I knew existed. I’ve since learned that what I was trying to emulate was needlepoint lace. I still can’t do that (that’s for another block of insomnia), but tatting (using a special kind of needle/spool hybrid called a shuttle) gives me a sense of satisfaction that I have finally accomplished what I spent my childhood wondering about.

2. Primp

 

My mom only did my hair in two hairstyles as a kid: two mega-high pigtails, or a simple braid. I don’t remember wearing my hair loose very much, because it always got in my face that way. Before my insomnia started, I had no idea how to do my hair. I got so sick of it always hanging in my face that I chopped it all off in high school and wore a pixie cut or a short bob for years. Now that my hair has grown, I’m faced with it always hanging in my face again. Insomnia nights provide ample time to learn every braid ever invented, and to primp my hair into all the retro pinup looks I can imagine. I may be exhausted, but good gravy does my hair look great.

3. Revamp my wardrobe cheaply

I made that blouse! I made those slacks!

I won’t say what age exactly, but I sewed and crocheted little outfits for Beanie Babies until an embarrassingly mature age. That was the extent of my sewing until the first year of university, when I got sick of how poorly a lot of ready-to-wear clothing fit me. I decided to take in some shirts, and eventually, emboldened by the successful alterations, to make a few of my own from scratch. Using a really groovy 70s pattern-drafting book as a guide, I made my own patterns and made some terribly ugly blouses. I even wore these blouses, because I was so proud of them. Now I tend to stick to vintage patterns and amend them as necessary. The shirt shown above, for example, is supposed to be a dress. I just left off the skirt. I did draft the pattern for the slacks in the photo; luckily, I left out all the weird details and frou-frou embellishments of my awful blouses and the slacks turned out well.

I sew by hand mostly, because I can do it at night without waking up my roommates with the roar of a sewing machine. Stealth insomnia!

4. Read all my childhood favourites

This is what I ended up doing during my latest bout of insomnia. It felt nice to read a couple of childhood classics on the night before I left my childhood room. Children’s literature is an underrated and under-appreciated genre; some of the best books that I have ever read have been written for children. Authors can get away with creepy or heartbreaking storylines that would never get published for adult readers, because it would be too disturbing or depressing. But kids will eat that stuff right up. In rediscovering your childhood bookshelf, go beyond the obvious (I’m lookin’ at you, Harry Potter) and find the weird, important little books that you might have forgotten. This summer, I made it through:

Jacob Have I Loved by Katherine Paterson

Coraline by Neil Gaiman

The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare

Inkheart by Cornelia Funke

Number the Stars by Lois Lowry

The House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer

Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery

If I Just Had Two Wings by Virginia Frances Schwartz

The Breadwinner by Deborah Ellis

With Love from Booky by Bernice Thurman Hunter

Post-Wisdom Teeth Extraction Foods

When I got my wisdom teeth out in mid-August, it was a fairly painless procedure. Oh sure, I was popping codeine for a few days, and it was awful to swallow for the first few hours (hey there, numb lower lip & buckets o’ drool), but I sustained no nerve damage and was up & at work by the Monday following my Friday extraction. What was challenging, however, was mealtime. You can only drink so much pear juice, fizzy water and iced peppermint tea before you crave something slightly more solid, and even yogurt and applesauce doesn’t cut it after a day or two. But some foods do, even if they are mush!

ONE: Vegetable Mash
Get your green on with the help of a high-powered blender. I went for broccoli and cauliflower — one small head of each — and steamed them until they became tender. Pop the veg in a blender, add a cup or so of almond milk, and blend until you don’t have to chew in order to swallow.

TWO: Whipped salmon
The Boy’s mum actually made this for me — one day post-surgery, I had the strongest desire to doze in her beautiful garden, after which she fed me the salmon and zucchini-bean soup — so I haven’t the exact recipe. But I believe it’s just a can of salmon blended with some mayo. If you don’t want it so creamy, swap the mayo for tomato sauce.

THREE: Mashed Potatoes
Yes yes, I bought my mashed potatoes from the lovely Westerly restaurant on Roncesvalles, but if you’re a better planner, it’s dead easy to make your own, and if you want more variety, try a sweet potato or winter squash mash.

FOUR: Scrambled Eggs
These were a little tricky as it takes forever to chew with your front teeth alone, and I ended up asking the Boy to transform the eggs into an unappetizing mush (not pictured). But it was filling!

Other ideas: hummus, soup, yogurt (or cultured coconut milk), ice cream (or soy alternatives), popsicles, baby food.

Call of the Wild (& White Fang)

The Boy is outdoorsy and can carry canoes. I enjoy lazy long lie-ins on real beds. Nevertheless, we went on a little canoe trip last week in the Southern Corridor of Algonquin Park (Access point #9, Rock Lake, to Clydegale Lake via Pen Lake, and back), and it was a lots of fun! Well, the Boy did far more work than I (my main job was to pump water; he set up tents and tarps and cooked in the rain, and even sorted out a groundsheet situation without having me leave the tent), but he’s been camping since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, so it made sense. But one day, I will learn!

I learned how to set up the tent once we returned to the city! Perhaps I’ll be more useful next time.

It rained almost the entire three days, and the water was too cold to swim comfortably, but it was super pretty paddling along miles of densely forested shorelines, not even spying another canoe for hours at a time. And even though it was so wet and windy, I felt even more Canadian — you can Internet your life away in Los Angeles or London or Mumbai, but you can’t canoe through uninhabited wilderness in most other countries.

The view from our Pen Lake campsite.

While we were paddling on the second day, I commented to the Boy that the island in the distance never got any bigger and it seemed as if we were going nowhere. Ever the experienced canoeist, he told me to look at the shore, and lo and behold, the trees on either side of us did seem to swoosh past. The Boy went on to say that it was a metaphor for life — get caught up with where you want to end up and you’ll miss the details of each day, but if you focus on those details alone, you can forget where you’re going. Is there a book on Camping Philosophy?

But perhaps the most exciting — and Canadian — part of the trip occurred before our second portage on the first day, between Pen and Clydegale Lakes. We were approaching the end of the lake and the Boy spotted a little black bear cub walking across the dam. I’d just read a news story of two Nova Scotian women who’d run from a bear for three hours, so I was terrified. I did not want to do the portage (do you “do” a portage? So not up on my camping terminology!) and begged the Boy to let us paddle back and camp on Pen Lake. But he said no: You have to book a campsite by lake, and if we took a spot on Pen, some other group might be out of a home for the night. Ugh, morals. And so, armed with a paddle, I scurried after the Boy as he carried the canoe and barrel the 300 metres of the portage (I managed to carry the pack).

I’m very impressed that the Boy can carry a canoe. And me. And a tune.

We didn’t spot the bear again and needless to say, we weren’t eaten, and it does make for a good story, but I’d be very glad to stay away from Monsieur White Fang forever more. Although that does mean the next trip should be further into the wild (fewer people = less waste = less to attract bears).

Sympathy Mashed Potatoes

Mad props for The Westerly on Roncesvalles! I got my wisdom teeth out yesterday and after OD’ing on pear juice and almond milk, was craving actual food by dinnertime. Some menu-surfing told me that a few of The Westerly’s dinners came with mashed potatoes, and the Boy called up to ask if we could order an extra-large side of them. Not only did the wonderful Westerly agree, but when we picked them up, the ‘taters were on the house since “it sucks getting your wisdom teeth out.”

The potatoes were delish — smooth (big plus right now), creamy and generously proportioned — and now I know where I’ll go for my first post-chipmunk-cheeks dinner out! I’ve only brunched at The Westerly before, but I cannot wait to try their pan-seared trout.

Running to Rap

A few weeks ago, I ran my very first race since high school cross country meets. It was a sweltering 30+ degrees, but Patrochris (another member of the Classics nickname crowd, natch) and I ran all five kilometres, powdered paint thrown at us every so often. Proof:

 

But such a glorious athletic feat requires eons of training, or at least a half-hour run thrice a week. And while it’s lovely to sprint by and smell the flowers, smile at other runners and listen to the rumble of traffic and faint chirps of birds, listening to music can ease the agonies of running uphill.

I’ve gone through several phases of running music –– Lady Gaga and Katy Perry, public radio podcasts, Tchaikovsky symphonies –– but right now, I love running to rap. It’s nice to have your ears bombarded with so many words, distracting you from your laboured breathing and clouded-by-sweat sunglasses. And so here are my top nerdy-girl rap choices:

Epic Rap Battles of History – Do you want to hear Einstein and Hawking face off (“Albert E equals MC squared”), or maybe Cleopatra and Marilyn Monroe (“You’ll lose this battle like your bout with barbiturates”)? I love them all, but am currently enamoured with the battle between five figures from Russian history:

Nikki “2k” Muller – I bought her EP after watching “Ivy League Hustle (I Went To Princeton, Bitch” on YouTube twenty times straight. It’s golden, and may make you “summa cum loudly” too.

Rachel “Thug Lite” Bilson – Summer Roberts becomes a doctor, moves to Alabama and raps.