Adventures with kitchen motors

A few months ago I broke my blender jar, which pissed me off quite a lot because I use my blender a lot. I went on the net and found out that replacement jars cost about as much as a new blender. I thought about buying a new blender. I made do with the Cuisinart stick blender (which is great too, by the way). I kept the old base. Why, I don't know. Part of me hoped I would find the right blender jar at a thrift shop. Part of me wanted to give it to someone to make an awesome bike-powered machine. Part of me was just stewing about it. It's been sitting there for months. 

So... today I'm walking home, and I see a Black and Decker blender jar on the sidewalk right down the street from my place. There's a sign: "à donner". No base. I rush it home (taking care not to break it) and try it out. IT FITS. What are the odds? This has been a life-changing experience. I have new faith in the universe. Things have been made right. Yes.

The above post appeared on Facebook on March 6, 2013. Within 5 days, a whopping 48 people had clicked "like". I guess heartwarming stories about kitchen appliances are more consensus-building than tales of mustard, shots of completed puzzles or indiscriminate slapdowns. I have learned something new about humanity.

Non-compliant sonnet for my Mum's birthday

The butterfly alights upon
A boulder formed when Earth was new
I chase my tail around the lawn
And fall face first into the dew

My thoughts aswirl, my mind astray
I realize, my eyes see clear
My Mum is having a birthday
Let's eat some cake! Let's give a cheer!

A sweeping bit of pith and rot
This final couplet: It is not.

New York: Days 7, 8, and 9

Saturday.
We reserved our rainy Saturday to check out galleries in Chelsea, of which there are about 300. I am earnestly hoping that my art-loving pals for the day are not interested in visiting all of them. David knows the galleries well, so we decided to let him lead. This was an excellent move. From sublime to weird to downright silly, Chelsea has pretty well everything. And considering the crap weather, it was a perfect way to spend a Saturday in New York.

A gal with large unidentified pink plushie stayed in step with us for a while, carrying her oversized friend from gallery to gallery. She let me take her photo. Here she is.

What happened after that? I think there was a forgettable meal at a restaurant that we chose simply for its proximity because of the torrential downpour. And then we walked. Again. For miles and miles. Okay, maybe it was about a mile. We ended up in the West Village.

The evening portion of our Saturday started at a place called Groove. What was at first an excuse to just sit down a bit and enjoy the suspiciously cheap drink specials and peculiar atmosphere turned into a totally hilarious evening of good old touristy fun. The band did energetic and rude funk/r&b covers of a whole bunch of everything, including Pink Floyd. Plenty of extended solos, swearing and heckling the audience. If this place existed in Montreal I'd probably avoid it on principle (tourist-ridden, mandatory minimum purchases, overcrowded, etc. etc.), but we had a great time and I'm no longer too cool to admit these kind of things.


Sunday. Sunday was a stay-away-from-Manhattan day.

Brooklyn Flea

We got up late, took a few Advil and headed out to the Brooklyn Flea. Disappointing. Crappy overpriced Mexican food for breakfast. Lots of bicycle-themed items but nothing that really caught the eye. Yoda hookrug! Furniture made from reclaimed wood! Michael Jackson puffy stickers from the 80s! Lots of irony. Irony abounded. Bleh.

Monday. Last day. It's been a blast, but we're ready to go home. Since our flight isn't until evening, I propose that we head to the beach before departing. You would think that at my age I would already know this: sitting under the blazing sun without any shade for several hours without having applied lots of sunscreen all over is asking for trouble. Yep. Burn baby burn. But it was lovely to swim in the ocean, which I hadn't done for quite a while.

Rockaway Beach