One of the crazier things down here in Oregon (and of course, the whole USA) is that nutty imperial system of measurement.

How does a first world country still use a system of measurement devised before the discovery of science?

One of the first places i visited while staying here in the US was a local sports store by the name of GI Joes.

The way we have hockey departments back in Canada, they have gun departments. Even better though, is that you can get a case of soda in the very same place. Even better than that still is that you can buy a rifle for less than the price of an xbox.

That's freedom baby.

Cold. Hard. Freedom.

More than just my favourite spanish speaking boy band, it seems menudo is also a fantastic spicy tripe and hominy soup from mexico.

Living with new roommates helped highlight the extremes of some of my food preferences.

I like my steak blue rare, my fish raw, and my coffee strong like a cup of au jus (+cream and sugar).

mildly related, fergus henderson has a new book out that'll show you how to eat the whole animal. (thanks chris)

My self esteem problem stems from the fact that I'm worthless and nobody likes me.

I can't think of any woman i would want to do for reasons of sheer coolness other than janeane garafalo.

Best Pork Chops Evar!
Salt and pepper your pork chops while you heat the shit out of a good strong pan. Sear them quickly but don't let them cook.

Remove them from the pan and add in thinly sliced onion half moons and a whack load of diced apples (I used golden delicious + tablespoon of olive oil). Cook the onions and apples down until until they caramelize and soften (medium/low heat + pinch of cinnamon).

Add the browned porkchops back to the pan with a healthy splash of orange juice (I used dole orange peach mango). Cover and let simmer (stir a few times) until the chops are just cooked.

If you do this right you should totally score that night, even if it's just your numbed hand.

ttc girl: how can you hate kids when you are a big version of a kid ernie?
donkey vs monkey: I'm not a big kid. I'm a retarded man.

I'm in Beaverton, Oregon looking for good things to eat. Let me know what you got i gotta get and put it in me.

Or just email me if you're cute and want to make out.

Scrubs is hands down the best show on television today.

I'm not sure whether it's because I relate so well to JD and Turk's pre-adolescent antics, dr. Cox's ability to humiliate people, or if it's just that I would totally stick elliot in the pooper that makes me love it so much.

If this series doesn't show up on dvd, I will crap my pants in protest.

After a few months of training I finally ran my first 10km run today finishing with a 58:45 time.

Now it's time to celebrate with a meal of fried chicken.

Unrelated: inappropriate workplace attire.

Wait a sec... In the way of stand ins at the office, arch gets john kerry and I get the fat retarded kid from Story of Ricky?

Booooo I say.

MSN's search engine can't be all that bad, considering I'm the number one result for www.big boner.org.

In some sad local chicken news, Vancouver landmark Juicy Fried Chicken has closed its doors.

All I'll have now is a nuclear yellow juicy chicken t-shirt to remember them by.

Unrelated: without a national guard to enlist in to avoid being sent overseas, I've been drafted to serve at a foreign post for the next few weeks. Updates may be sparse, as our client may not want me wasting their money posting stupid bullshit to the internet.

If you see me lost in thought and wonder what I'm thinking about, it's most likely about food or boobies.

If I happen to start smiling for no reason, I'm thinking about both.

Why must christmas be so far away?

It seems people sometimes get the impression from my writing here that I may be an evil person, but I fear that I have been misunderstood.

When I see a cookie cutter yaletown resident with her yappy rat-size shit dog, all I want to do is punt that miserable creature as hard as I fucking can. A single unprovoked blow to send it sailing intro traffic only so that I may taste those salty mascara tears of sadness that are sure to follow such wild cruelty.

Despite that primal urge, I keep my foot in check daily. Clearly this demonstrates the unrelenting goodwill I have towards humanity.

Being the foodie that I am, I decided to give french-american fusion cuisine a shot tonight despite my general misgivings about fusion cooking. Usually I connotate "fusion" with watered down, so I'll often go straight for something as authentic as possible.

French-American cuisine isn't often talked about, but it's pasta options are recognized more often than not. The pasta in my case though was overcooked and mushy. The sauce lacked any fresh tomato flavor and leaned toward overly cheesy. The serving of meatballs was generous for the size of the dish, but the meat was ground overly fine and lacking a proper mouth-feel to it.

Overall the meal was a bit of a disappointment. Despite the fusion label the flavor and feel was old hat, but it should suffice when there's nothing fresh in the fridge to cook up for dinner.

See the food here.

Years ago, Michelina's took advantage of the oh so clevar (sic) similarity between their name and the subject of the dreadful song "macarena".

10 years later the company is still using the same song in the tv ads (now with a bugs bunny rip off) which brings me to the verge of physical violence with the closet person, child or animal I can find.

It wasn't cool when they ran the first ad and it completely enrages me now.

Going to a european buffet for lunch and packing every free cubic inch of space between my esophogus and colon with meat proved to be a poor choice when allen and I hit the pavement for an 8km run later that day.

I could feel the barbequed lamb and meatballs pressing against my heart screaming at me, making me painfully aware that my lunchtime gluttony would not be tolerated next time.

It's not that I won't go back there for lunch. I just won't go there on a running day.

I'm having a bit of trouble understanding the attraction to toasted panini sandwiches.

With the combination of the crusty bread and the toasting process, eating one is akin to chewing broken glass and razor blades. I can barely eat half a toasted panini without having meat stalactites hanging from the roof of my mouth. How they're so popular mystifies me.