Lisa is a 30mumble-year-old technical author, mum, avid cook, extremely amateur veg grower, novice knitter, and closeted graphic designer, who enjoys referring to herself in the third person. [more...]

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30 November 2004

have a holly jolly...um...whatever


My ex-neighbour man Mark brought up an interesting point about Christmas and how to refer to it if you're not Christian. I'm sure I'm going about the whole thing all wrong from both ends of the spectrum - not only am I not a follower of any particular faith (Christian or otherwise), I also don't find Christmas to be an over-commercialised atrocity. So, I suppose that puts me somewhere in the middle.

I've always loved Christmas, and I'll admit, I never considered the religious aspect of it. Maybe it sounds ridiculous considering the origin of the holiday, but the 25th of December didn't make me think about mangers, wise men, and swaddling clothes. As a child, I only thought about being well behaved for Santa Claus, opening presents, and going to my Grandparent's house for our big turkey dinner. The first Christmas ad on television was an exciting milestone, and I eagerly anticipated the onslaught of animated TV specials. I would wake up at 3am, desperately willing the time away until a more reasonable hour, usually bounding down the stairs before 6. I would check to see what Santa had eaten (my Dad always just took a few bites out of the peanut butter sandwiches and cookies I'd leave out, so that Santa could leave his "mark"), and if the reindeer had nibbled on the carrots and sipped from the basin of water I'd left out as well. If we were living in a house that had no chimney at the time, my Dad would make a point of leaving the patio doors unlocked for Santa. It was the best day of the year, even better than my birthday.

As an adult, I still get excited when the first Christmas ad comes on (although they seem to start up earlier each year, and yes, that's annoying) and I absolutely adore the holidays. I love putting up the tree, the house filling with the smell of fresh pine that didn't come from a bottle of floor cleaner. I cannot help but ooh and aaah when the outdoor lights go up and get switched on for the first time. I like buying boxes of Christmas cards; I even like writing them. I love the feeling of finding a good gift for someone, and I'm more interested in watching others open their gifts than what's under the tree for me. I look forward to getting together with friends, plying them with baked goods and having a cuddle with their kids. I cannot wait until next year when our son will experience his first Christmas, and later years when we can leave out snacks for Santa and the reindeer together. Christmas has a distinct feel to me, that can only be described as a general feeling of excitement that's only just slightly less extreme than the excitement I felt as a kid. Very slightly.

So at the risk of offending the Christians and the people who feel that Dec. 25th is an over-hyped abomination, I will stand up and say that I am agnostic, and I love Christmas. It's supposed to be a celebration, a spirit of giving and appreciation. Religious or not, it has always been a significant holiday to me and I think that's the whole point. Christmas is whatever you want it to be, whether it involves prayer and hymns, or dressing the dog up in reindeer antlers and consuming mass quantities of brandy butter.

'Tis the season.

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

29 November 2004

it's a sign


First we had the Virgin Mary on toast (sold on eBay for an astounding $28k), and as Ed pointed out on his blog, now we've got Christ on a fish stick. I've been checking my food items for signs of divine intervention, but sadly, the best I could come up with was two peanut rice crackers that had stuck together and sort of looked like buttocks.

These mysterious images on cooked foods stories reminded me of a friend of mine who got hold of a Goofy toast imprinter and thoroughly confused his father with it. He found a plastic implement that when pressed into a slice of bread, left an indentation of Goofy's face on it. It wasn't entirely visible when the bread was untoasted, which is how he managed to stamp an entire loaf of bread and put it back in the breadbox without his father noticing. Every morning when his Dad made toast, the image of Goofy would appear on each slice. He was convinced that Disney must be running some sort of promotion, and found it irritating that they had infringed on his usual commercial-free breakfasts.

So keep an eye peeled for any unusual patterns in your baked goods, images on patterns of mould growing on leftovers, and oddly-shaped vegetables. It could be your key to financial independence!

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

25 November 2004

i don't think i want fries with that


We were watching an American home makeover type program the other day, and the host was extolling the virtues of a particular smoker/BBQ. In addition to the fact that it was the size of a Mini Cooper, apparently it could deep fry two turkeys at a time.

Deep fried turkeys?

Paul was on a telephone conference yesterday with our Ft. Lauderdale office, and someone mentioned that he was planning on deep frying a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner tonight. When did this trend start, and does a deep fried turkey actually taste good? Do you coat it in a crispy batter with seven secret herbs and spices? How on earth do you deep fry a 20 lb. turkey at home without the aid of an industrial fryer?

Truly, I'm perplexed by this concept. Someone please explain.

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

24 November 2004

kiwis can fly


My favourite Kiwis Jack and Heather are planning on moving back home next October. Part of me is very sad about this. They are the first friends I made in Cambridge, and I will miss them terribly. Part of me is quite pleased about this. Now we really have a great excuse to visit New Zealand and woohoo free B&B accommodation! (Or at least they can recommend a good place to stay.)

Over the past four years I've discovered that us ex-pat Commonwealthers have a lot in common. The English think we pronounce things funny, we cannot understand why people carpet their bathrooms and kitchens here, we can sympathise with each other's pathetic dollar, we are often confused with another nationality starting with "A", and we love the fact that we can vote and there's squat all the British can do about it. It's been great to not only have these things in common, but to be friends with someone here who knows and loves Montreal. Plus, there's nothing funnier than hearing a Kiwi bloke yell out "tabarnacle!!" at the office.

Through the miracle of modern technology, I know that we'll keep in touch. Still, I've never had close friends live that far away from me before, and that's going to be a bit weird. The next 11 months are going to be busy for all of us, but here's hoping we make the most of it. Oh, and we expect a large BBQ of some sort before you go - you guys are really good at grilling things.

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

23 November 2004

travelling vicariously through others


I never used to enjoy hearing about other people's travels or looking at their photos after a holiday. I'd nod and smile, and think to myself why on earth would you want to get on a plane for 10 hours and end up somewhere you don't speak the language and the drinking water is dodgy? When I started travelling myself, I finally understood what people meant by "being bitten by the travel bug". I started reading travel guides and books by Bill Bryson, and was actually interested in hearing about other people's holidays (on the most part - stories about two weeks in Ibizia aren't quite as fascinating to me). So when unique travel programmes pop up on television, I get hooked. Recently added to my viewing list is "Long Way Round" and "Billy Connolly's World Tour of New Zealand" (sadly, Michael Palin's "Himalayas" series has just ended).

"Long Way Round" follows Ewan McGregor (eeee!!) and his mate Charlie as they make their way east from England to New York on motorcycles. It's not really one of those shows that makes you want to head to the shop, buy a bike, and head out yourself; it's nail-biting and fascinating and makes you think "better them than me, and oooh isn't this sofa comfy?" The Billy Connolly programme follows the same format as his other world tour series; it's a travelogue interspersed with clips from his live shows. This programme really makes me want to spend an ungodly amount of time on an airplane to visit New Zealand, rather that let Billy enjoy it for us. Plus, I bet the drinking water in New Zealand isn't dodgy.

If I could go anywhere in the world (no expense spared and let's pretend that I'm not semi-heavy with child), I would go to Japan. It's partly a getting back to my roots thing, an interest cultivated by the brief glimpses into the culture via my family. Where would you go?

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

22 November 2004

what a bunch of turkeys


Do all Americans get two days off work for Thanksgiving, or is it up to the company you work for? I got an email last week stating that our Ft. Lauderdale office will be closed on Thursday and Friday for Thanksgiving. Two days off! A four day weekend! Why, when I was a child, we only got one day off for Canadian Thanksgiving. After we walked 23 miles through the snow in our bare feet, fighting off polar bears and irate baby seals (and you can't blame them for being annoyed, really), we'd get the Monday off to eat our frozen turkey dinner. The next day, we'd be back in the snow again, throwing leftovers at the polar bears and running as fast as we could to school where we'd be forced to learn French and play ice hockey. You Americans have it so good, you have no idea.

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

19 November 2004

honey, i blew up the toaster


It was like Guy Fawkes all over again in the kitchen this morning. I put my bagel into the toaster and after a couple of minutes, sparks started flying. Flaming embers burst out of the top of the toaster (oooooh! aaaaah!), a loud "BANG" followed, and then the smell of burning electrical goods. The kettle socket on the other side of the kitchen went out in sympathy. Gathering my smouldering bagel, I crept over to Tosha's desk and asked her to let the office know about the exploding toaster, and headed downstairs to use the other kitchen. So for those of you who were inconvenienced by the whole affair this morning, I do apologise.

Hmm. My bagel tastes a bit funny.

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

18 November 2004

multitasking


I have discovered that it's really difficult to conduct an interview when you've got a baby clog dancing inside you and you have the worst heartburn ever*. Concentration was impossible and the poor guy probably thought I needed to pee because I couldn't sit in one position for more than two minutes. Luckily, most of our interviewing will take place in the next few weeks. Interviews in January might have been a bit challenging, especially if my water broke in the middle of it, for example. There's just no graceful way to get around that, really.

*(I knew that Mexican meal would come back to haunt me, but it was worth it. And I'd do it again.)

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

16 November 2004

bore the world


So at 8:00 this morning, my clock radio goes off and I wake up to the opening notes of the new version of "Do They Know It's Christmas?" on Radio One. Maybe it's because I had only just woken up. Maybe it's because I'm old enough to remember the original from 20 years ago. Maybe it's because I'm a cranky broad. I just didn't like it.

I think it pales in comparison for a couple of reasons: it lacks the big name factor that the original had (Will Young vs. Spandau Ballet, for example), you can't really tell who's singing each line, and oh my good god, the rap in the middle of the song. Words fail me. The 1984 version was so exciting because wow, it was Duran Duran, Boy George, Sting, Bananarama, and a bunch of other people we all knew singing together on one track! (Okay, I admit I had no idea who Status Quo were until I moved here and didn't realise they were the two old geezers in the video until I watched a documentary about it a few weeks ago.) It was Christmassy, catchy, and it was a unique concept. I think a lot of us old timers expected that same jolly feeling we got listening to the chorus of "feeeeed the worrrrrld!", but instead got a couple of overmixed refrains with a wailing electric guitar in the foreground. And does anyone outside of the UK know who the Sugababes are? Or Busted?

Yes, it's nice to see celebs raise money for a worthy cause, especially if they're not doing it to revive flagging careers. It's better they put together something like this rather than take part in cringeworthy television antics such as "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here" or "Celebrity Big Brother" (Jack Dee excepted). Does it provide an excuse to put out a mediocre bordering on dire song?

Well, at least Mr. Blobby probably won't get the Christmas number one again this year.

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

15 November 2004

happiness is...


...having leftover roast beef from last night's dinner for today's lunchtime sandwiches. Extra super duper happiness is having a husband who made the roast beef dinner for you. Mega extra ultra happiness is having leftover gravy (that your husband also made) for tonight's sausage and mash dinner. Indescribable happiness is knowing that there are homemade brownies in the fridge waiting for dessert.

I am a simple gal. Forget diamonds, bring me roasties.

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

14 November 2004

another reason to go visit Scotland


Smoking is going to be banned in enclosed public places in Scotland, which I think is going a bit overboard (places that are only used for the consumption of drinks don't need a smoking ban, in my opinion) but definitely a step in the right direction. So that leaves the English and the Welsh with a decision to make, and hopefully it'll result in a ban in restaurant smoking here at the very least. Now again, let me stress (for you new readers or those of you who Googled for something totally unrelated and ended up here - hello, by the way) that I am not a rabid anti-smoker. I smoked with great joy for over 15 years and only quit because it was affecting my health; not because I didn't enjoy it. What I never agreed with, even when I was a smoker, was inconsiderate smoking - something I posted about a couple of weeks ago.

On Friday night, we went to our favourite curry house which is supposedly entirely non-smoking. What we didn't realise is that while the restaurant itself is non-smoking, the bar area where people sit and wait for their takeaways isn't. Guess where our table was located? Yes, it's me again, the smoke magnet. Shortly after our waiter took our order, I wondered aloud why I could smell smoke. Paul pointed out that someone was having a cig whilst waiting for his takeaway, and we noticed the ashtrays sitting on the bar, about ten feet from our table. Well that's a bit silly, we remarked, and got back to another conversation. The smell got a lot stronger, I looked over and spotted two men sitting by the bar smoking and waiting for their food. After they finished their cigarettes, in unison, they both lit another. Now the restaurant was filling up with smoke, to the point that it lingered in my hair and clothing the next day. Getting a headache and trying to enjoy (and taste) our starters, they finally got their food and left - only to be replaced by another smoker waiting for his takeaway. What is the point of having a non-smoking restaurant if you allow people to puff away to their heart's content right next to the tables? This is what I mean by inconsiderate smoking, or the lack of considerate smoking rules. I know for a fact that it's a hell of a lot easier to go without a smoke for a meal or go outside a couple of times to sneak a cig, rather than sit through an entire meal breathing in someone else's smoke. Get smoking out of restaurants. Full stop.

If you elect me for Prime Minister, I promise smoke-free restaurants and chocolate for all. I thank you.

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

11 November 2004

better now, thank you


I'm not quite as tetchy today, and I owe it all to owning a pet. Seriously, you cannot be miserable when you have a pet at home who will love you no matter what kind of stinky mood you're in. There is nothing more therapeutic than giving your pet a hug (except if you happen to own a tropical fish or tarantula, perhaps) and watching how incredibly goofy they can be. Take Jasper, for example. You can give that dog a rolled up envelope from a piece of junk mail, and he will march around the house wagging his little doggy ass off as if you've just given him a million bucks. What lesson can we learn from this? Take joy in the little things and incidentally, junk mail envelopes are pretty tasty.

It's also hard to stay in a bad mood when you've got an overexcited developer standing next to you, shifting back and forth excitedly remarking, "I'm being annoying, aren't I?" Yes you are, but bless you, you're just so cute I don't actually feel like beating you with my stapler. I am sure this is some sort of chemical reaction to impending motherhood; small, irritating people* are somehow much more tolerable and even slightly endearing.

And it's Friday tomorrow. The week is looking up.

*(Disclaimer: the particular developer I was referring to isn't actually irritating. Don't get all huffy.)

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

10 November 2004

especially for you


Sharon Osbourne once said that she put dog poo in Tiffany boxes and posted them to people she wasn't particularly fond of. Given the annoying situations I've had to deal with at work lately, I am very tempted to follow Jasper around with a little plastic bag and create some gifts for those who irk me. Tiffany boxes probably won't interest people who work in IT, so I think I may have to use alternative packaging such as XBox game cases and boxes from Amazon.com or play.com.

No court would convict me. It's the hormones, you see.

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

09 November 2004

clear as mud


Most of the time, I love my job. No really, I do. Then there are days like today when a CPR (an internal request to fix a problem) arrives in my inbox to the effect of, "I don't like the words in this dialogue box. Change them." Right. So I email this guy and ask him to please be more specific, and the response I get amounts to "I dunno, it's just yucky." Oh, alrighty then.

Let me elaborate on this further by pointing out that the person who raised this CPR is a test engineer* - it's his job to test the software and provide useful, detailed information when he finds something wrong. I like test engineers; I married one. I don't like people who can't be bothered to do their jobs properly. It vexes me greatly.

And here I am with no chocolate within reach.

*(not from our office, don't get all huffy.)

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

04 November 2004

i do get there eventually


Honeymoon pictures can now be seen here. Sorry that the pictures are a bit small; I'm running out of disk space and I had to reduce the images.

Trip diary coming soon...ish.

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

02 November 2004

oh, pluck it


"Is that a grey hair?" Paul asked as he looked at the back of my head. "A what?!" "I think you have a grey hair." "Pull it out! Pull it out!!" And with one tug, Paul laid the colourless strand of hair in my hand as I stared at it in disbelief. I've never had a grey hair before. Ever. When I go to the hairdresser's, they often ask if I dye my hair (it's very dark) and I proudly tell them that it is all natural. I have no need to dye my hair, for no grey hairs have I. Hah! I laugh at you, Miss Clairol! But what will become of me now that I've sprouted this old lady strand of hair? Is this a sign of things to come? Or can we chalk it up to pregnancy weirdness? Let's opt for the latter.

To be honest, I've never really cared that much about aging. When I was 25, a friend's girlfriend used to warn me of the perils of becoming her age - the ripe old age of 30. "When you get to be my age," she'd always warn, then she'd go on about having to slather yourself with lotion and sit under large floppy hats when you're out in the sun. So 30 came and went, and really, it wasn't terribly eventful. My face didn't fall off, my skin didn't turn to scales, and in fact, life got a hell of a lot better. I never understood people who described themselves as "approaching" a certain age, with a distinct tone of dread. When you're 35, I don't think you can really say that you're approaching 40. Even a 5 year old is approaching 40; they'll get there one day. To me, approaching an age means you're about to celebrate that particular birthday in the coming year. So, I'm approaching 36 and I'm not that bothered about it.

Except if that grey hair comes back with more of its friends, then I'll be annoyed.

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --

01 November 2004

it'll catch on, one day


We got around 6 or 8 trick or treaters last year, so I thought I'd pick up some miniature chocolate bars just in case we got some again this year. As I was sampling a few on Saturday, Paul pointed out that they are supposed to be for the kids. I pointed out that this was our son's first Halloween and he has dressed up as a football, and ate five more chunky miniature Kit Kats. I attempted to carve a more intricate pumpkin this year with a Finding Nemo theme, however my clumsy hands and inferior carving equipment led to the untimely collapse of poor Nemo's face. "We can stick a candle on the windowsill instead," Paul suggested.

So on Saturday, the doorbell rang. "Trick or treat!" shouted the little blonde girl who lives across the road and her two friends. "Um. You do realise that Halloween is tomorrow night?" I was answered by perplexed smiles and hopeful hands holding plastic bags. I threw a large handful of chocolate in each bag and said they could come back again on Sunday night if they liked. They shouted their thanks and scampered away.

On Halloween night, our first trick or treaters rang the bell at around 5pm. A father pushing a stroller stood there with two small children, as they held out bags and mumbled "trick or treat". "You're my very first trick or treaters of the night!" I told them with great enthusiasm. Blank looks, father continues to stand there saying nothing. "Erm. Here you go then," I said as I handed them some candy. One kid said something to me, but I couldn't understand a word through his oversized mask - which didn't seem to matter as the father was already halfway down our driveway trying to escape the crazy foreign lady who dares to speak to strangers. "How odd", I said to Paul. "The father didn't even say hello or smile. You'd think he would have been a bit friendly to someone giving his kids free chocolate". "We're English", Paul explained. Which really did sum it up.

I think I mentioned this last year, but it seems like most of the kids who come round aren't actually enjoying themselves. Trick or treating is a relatively new concept to the British, and as it's not a tradition yet, I think that children are rather confused about the whole thing. They know if they go to enough houses they might get some candy, but they're not entirely sure why - or if it should be fun. It's a great shame; I feel like they're missing out on the excitement of Halloween. Some might argue that going door to door and demanding candy is all part of that American "give us something for nothing" mentality, but to me, the candy was secondary to the fun of trick or treating. I remember some parents would make us do something like tell a joke or sing a song before we'd get our candy, some would put up elaborate decorations with spooky sound effects and jump out of their bushes at kids as they approached the house. We'd dress up at school for the day and have costume contests and stuff ourselves with candy apples. It really wasn't just a matter of ringing bells and getting little packets of squashed crisps, it was an entire day and evening of excitement.

We got around a dozen kids this year (compare that to the 133 kids my Mom and Dad got last night in Toronto), all of them actually dressed up this time, and no surly teens rang the bell at 9pm demanding candy without bothering to put on a costume. I think it's getting better, but as I said to our friends Micky and Susan last night, I might have Halloween parties and invite kids over when our son is old enough to get into it, rather than take him out trick or treating. At least that way, it might actually be fun for him.

Before I forget, I must have a question answered that's been bothering me for years. What do Francophone children say in Quebec when they go trick or treating? No one ever could tell me what the French (Canadian - I realise they don't do Halloween in France) equivalent of "trick or treat" was. Someone please enlighten me.

[posted by: Lisa Durbin] --