Five food rules for Janice, by Scott

My friend Eric tagged me to do this little project, and as it's the end of a long day I've turned over the keyboard to Scott to complete the task. Here are the Rules provided by Eric:
1. Link to your tagger and post these rules.
2. Share 5 food facts about yourself.
3. Tag 5 people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them)
4. Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment at their blogs.

Herewith are the 5 facts about Janice, by Scott:
Number 1. Rice is better than anything else.
Number 2. Janice would happily kill anyone to get a stick of rhubarb.
Number 3. Even though carrot cake is an affront to civilized society, Janice will eat it anyway.
Number 4. It always tastes better if Scott washes the dishes.
Number 5. Clockwise! (as in, dishes should always be served in this direction.)

Ok, my tags are a bit tricky because I don't have many blogging friends left after Eric and Mika reached out to them all. But I'm up for the challenge. So Cheesefairy, let's hear what you've got. Jacq, you've got a website full of kids photos, adding few words wouldn't hurt. And anyone else listening... time to start typing in the comments section!

I *heart* Van

Like pretty much everyone in Vancouver, I enjoy yoga. I've even managed to introduce Scott to the idea, and we've started downloading video podcasts and following along in our living room. I'm pretty sure the neighbours think we're nuts, must start remembering to close the blinds first. But I digress. That's not the problem. My current problem is the complicated and kooky language of a lot of yoga instructors. I thought I was alone on this but Scott's much more hardline against fuzzy descriptions and instructions. Phrases like "spiral your thighs towards one another." ...What?? Or how about, "increase the space in between each of your ribs." What again? Neither of these movements are possible for me without extensive surgery. But the complication continues: it can take as long as 30 seconds for an instructor to describe "mountain pose." Which, really, is just standing on your feet. Seriously. What?

Which is why I've been waxing on and on for months about a guy named Van, a yoga instructor in Whistler that I met when I dropped in for a class while in the resort back in November. Honestly, I've been talking so much about Van that it's starting to border on obsession. And it's all because instead of telling his class to, "pretend a string links the top of your head to the sky," he just says, "Stand up straight." And instead of saying, "bring your left toe in line with your forehead while turning your heel inward," he just says, "Step forward." Ah. Now that's a breath of fresh air.

Looking like hell

I just got home from a day that began at 7:30am with a breakfast function and ended an hour ago following a cocktail and dinner event. Clicking on my blackberry while running between venues, I read Daniel Craig's blog post below:

http://www.danieledwardcraig.com/blog/2008/02/is-looking-like-hell-occupational.html

And lest you still think it's a glamorous world, remember that at 11pm tonight after all the guests left, myself and a few cohorts still in business suits were disassembling complicated 7-foot display units from a convention centre ballroom before finally stumbling home. (And don't even get me started on the intricacies of tonight's seating arrangements.)

As I type, the truly strong among us are still - I'm sure - at the bar. I salute their courage.

As for my weekend? The highest excitement I've got planned involves staying in my pajamas as long as possible, curled up with a good book.

The 2010 games have started touching my life in a lot of ways right now. I love that feeling that the Olympics brings, usually a shiver down the spine, a feeling of something bigger than myself. But that's presented an odd problem.

A number of times now I've been in a professional setting watching the "Celebrate the Possible" video highlighting the games. It makes me cry. That's a problem, because when the lights come up, I'm usually seated next to Someone Important. The video is lovely and moving; luckily I usually can hold it together to the end.

But the ante has been upped: recently I watched the torch relay video for the first time.
Holy Smokes, Bullwinkle! Open the floodgates! I'm done in for.

I can't find the video online but imagine this: slow and inspiring music building to a crescendo (something by Coldplay: "Fix You", I think). Scenes with people running a la Chariots of Fire, carrying the torch. Then people passing the torch. A few shots of people lighting the torch. And then people crying, absolutely and completely overcome with emotion, just sobbing, with the torch. And at the parts that people are really crying, slow it right down, so you can see it - frame. by. frame. Guaranteed, the lights will come up and I'll be barely holding it together.

Ack. At this rate, I will be in tears a lot between now and 2010.

Complicated, and a bit like counting sheep. Or worse, herding cats.

As you know, the Winter Olympics are due to arrive in Vancouver in February of 2010. Recently, I listened to John Furlong, CEO of the Vancouver organizing committee, address a small group of individuals. He commented that the Olympics are "One of the most complicated things a country can choose to do." I quite like that thought. Because the more I think about it, the more complicated it gets.

So on the days that I think my world is complicated, I'll try thinking that through. And thinking,"Whew." Because whatever I need to do, it'll be easier. Easier than trying to get thousands of athletes, from hundreds of countries, speaking dozens of languages, to their specific events on time... and then pulling off the events themselves. It'll also be easier than coordinating the movements of hundreds of thousands of spectators, to a myriad of just-built venues, assigning them each with a seat, and getting them all to behave.

And just about when thinking about all that makes my head start to spin, my own day will start looking much, much less complicated indeed.

A crappy gift from a stranger

This weekend, walking down Main Street with a friend, we came across a very cute shiny, red, shoebox-size, heart-shaped box, shielded by a open clear-plastic umbrella, which in turn was festooned with hearts cut from red construction paper. On the hearts were written notes, such as, "A gift for you", "open me!" and "a crappy gift from a stranger." It was a bright, happy, note of colour on an otherwise grey and damp street.

I was quite curious but my friend was not: she was more distracted by the nearby jars of knitted olives-with-pimentos in the window of the wool shop (also an interesting curiousity, no doubt. Guess the number of olives and you can win a jar full!)

I know you're all itching to know what was inside as I was, but I'm sorry to say I didn't open it, for a number of reasons: (a) the friend was on a shopping mission and had no time for random red boxes (b) given the 'crappy gift' reference I was a little afraid of what I might find inside the box, and (c) the whole package was so pretty that I didn't really want to rip into it and spoil the presentation. Really. I mean, it was all tied up with ribbons and bows, so there was no sneaking a peak before leaving it for the next passerby.

By the way, there was a coffeeshop across the street. I suspect the Stranger, finding him or herself desperate for entertainment due to the TV writer's strike, and had decided to create an experimental art project over Sunday coffee.

Because who needs reality TV when you can put a shiny red box on the street and watch that instead?

Anyway, that gift remained unopened until the right recipient came along. Hopefully someone who was having a really bad Sunday, but that wasn't me, 'cause my Sunday was pretty good.

Gift enough, right?