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My (Real) Mom: So . . . you're just making "basta fajoelee?"
Me: No, I'm making bean soup.
My Mom: Yeah, "basta fajoelee." what basta you gonna put in it?
Me: IT'S BEAN SOUP!
My Mom: Yeah, that's what "basta fajoelee" is - you're just not putting basta in it.
Me: Exactly, so it's bean soup!
My Mom: Yeah well, you're still just not putting basta in it.
Me: Yeah well, you're still just a jerk! Do you even know how to spell "fajoelee?"
My Mom: I - uh - wait, I think it's "fagilio."
Me: "Fagilio." How is that fajoelee?
My Mom: Wait, it's "fagolio"
Me: Huh?
My Mom: Yeah, because in Italian you pronounce the "li" like "ooo"
Me: What? That doesn't even make sense!
My Mom: Yeah, well, I only speak the language, I can't write in it.
Me: I thought you said you taught yourself to read Italian!
My Mom: I did! I just can't write in it.
Me: How can you read and not write? that's doesn't even make sense. People speak but can't read or write, not read and not be able to write! You're still just making excuses.
My Mom: Yeah well, you're still just a jerk!
Short and to the point dear readers, I've a lot of work to do, because I've spent the better part of my Saturday not being productive, but reading about electronics, filling out police reports and visiting bohemes in cafes.
A week or two ago, some of the kids I "work" for told me they were involved in a kind of band-a-palooza, or battle of the bands, or concert, or synonym of some sort. Anyway, I said "where?" They said "here," I said, "Can I have a ticket?" They said, "of course, Weezee." I said, "Can I have another ticket?" They said, "doi." I said, "I'm old ain't I?" They said, "kinda."
So, after finding a friend/theatre-coworker/boss to peruse the show with, I was on my way to the GIG Theatre in where but downtown Kitchener. But before I left, I made a conscious effort to be a stand up guy and buy something nice for the sishuta before they went on stage; unfortunately I was immediately distracted by something that usually always grabs my attention: tea, and energy drinks. This time, the two came in combination, a tea based energy drink. Oh, man! I LOVE tea! But I hate energy drinks! What do I do? I thought. Better buy it- wait why was I here again? Hmph. Must have been to buy this energy drink. And I was on my way . . . to buying some generic USDA certified 100% naturally brewed energy drink called GURU. It was a dollar. And it came in a big can. And it was organic. And I'm all for beautiful designs appealing to my appetite of creative wants on any material thing, really. So that's that, but to the point, like I said I would be: this energy drink is good! Sweet, like any other iced tea in a can, but with the astringent hint of that medicinal flavour we all find and love/hate in any energy drink - only this time, it wasn't anywhere near as strong, and for an energy drink, that's a big plus! And to put your mind at ease, that astringent medicinal flavour, not a result of chemical, but of none other than my close, personal root friend, ginseng. So if you find it, pick it up and try it out. It's my favourite energy drink so far; and trust me, I'm riddled with enough of them at work.
P.S. don't worry, I still got the kids something.
So, GIG theatre, me, tons of underagers and some responsible parents/lawyers/chocolatiers, and friend. But just what kind of underagers? Well, the cool ones I came to see, those kids who wanted to be in My Chemical Romance but weren't allowed in My Chemical Romance, extras from the video for Black Parade who decided to branch out and try singing as a potential career option, and those bands who were created because one day one of the members came up to his friends and said, "Dude, listen to this! HGDYSHDKSWHDUSHDDGJH*PIGSQUEAL*GHJHJDHFDHJKC!!!" Wherein the other friend said, "DUDE! Bum slap the base on that!" And then created some shitty clichéd name like Pig Squeal, or Squeally Piggy, or Bum Slap Piggy, or Pig Slap, or Dude, Let's Be All Hardcore and Practice Guitar for Hours on End, Not Taking into Consideration our Inability to Sing at All Because it Will be Muted by Our Awesome Pig Squealing. That's one of my favourites. Anyway, I arrived early to say hello to the kids before they went up, a solid hour and a half before they went up, unbenounst to me of course. Anyway, to pass the time I wandered the theatre, asking where the green room was, being told I couldn't go into the green room, going into the green room anyway, opening the fridge and seeing what kind of food might be in the fridge and finding that there was only ice cream and beer in the fridge. I couldn't care too much about the emos in the green room, or if I offended them or not, because I wasn't the one wearing tight, plastic, checkered red and black pants - they were offensive enough for the both of us. Soon after I snuck around for a bit and courteously listened to some terrible yelling. Do I sound invective? Well, if Alexis on Fire heard them singing, they probably would have, in a moment of self realization and personal truth, stopped and asked, "Omigawd? Do we ACTUALLY sound like that? Do people actually want to sing like that? We're terrible people."
So my friend came, and we waited. Spoke to the cool kids' cool parents, and waited for the kids' set. Somehow or another I was introduced as a chef; somehow or another I was asked what cooking school I went to; somehow or another I felt like a huge, giant, phony - at least until I told them I was merely a cook with a passion for food. A lawyer and I hit it off pretty well - he also liked food- his secret dream was to be a chef, or at least that's how I like to remember it. And then I got thirsty again.
By this time we had twenty minutes before our kids' set, so we booked it into the streets looking for some cafe, any cafe; I parkoured off of some cars like Jackie Chan and my friend walked calmly behind me, telling me how he'd like to someday ride over cars on rollerblades. Anyway, this brings me to my second drink of the night: Sol Maté - Just energy, no jitters. They forgot to mention, just a fancy bottle, no good taste. My friend told me before hand they weren't the best tasting beverages, but somewhere along the line the sound of his voice, or the meaning in it, must have been muted by my weakness for tea and pretty things (as mentioned). So, I bought it, and this is what it tasted like in a nutshell. Have you ever eaten pumpkin bread? Well take that in all it's nutmeggy, spicy pumpkin glory, put it in a blender with carbonated tonic water and strain it through some muslin cloth, squeezing hard to get as much flavour as you can out. Then drink it, and then realize that carbonated tea beverages don't always work as well as man conceives; but at least he tries. Will I buy it again? Not for the 2.50 I was charged. At least it was organic. Bah! What does that even mean anymore? Okay, back to the band!
In my honest opinion, not because I know the kids, not because they were the only girl band, not because they didn't scream loudly and painfully, not because all the 15 year old boys were secretly crushing on them, moshing in front of them because they wanted to impress them, and definitely not because their bass player was a 30 year old man who played with such awesomemnity that he burst into flames like some crazy elemental with his awesome riff action (and not because they gave me a free pin); but, because they actually made good music. My friend was especially impressed because he said, unknown to me, that they were mixing measures in their songs, which is apparently hard, and very good for 14 year olds. I dunno, I'm no music critic, I can't taste music, nor can I eat music -well, I suppose that's debatable. But, I know something that will smash your face when I hear it. And they were SO much better than the other bands there that I had to blog about it. They were so good, that instead of continually talking about how awesome a band of two twin teenager girls and their elemental bassist is I'm just gonna plug them for the rest of this entry. . . right now, so that you have to either go out and buy a CD, or listen to their music out of curiosity.
COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE COURAGE MY LOVE
. . . is awesome.
♥ Weezee, #1 fan.
The GIG Theatre
137 Ontario Street
Kitchener, ON N2H 3W5
(519) 342 6796
Mommy: Why you watch the ladies? Why don't you go out.
Weezee: No, Mommy. I can't. They have to leave first.
Mommy: You chicken? Why not?
Weezee: Because Mommy, we're not allowed to be seen by them.
Mommy: What! Why not?
Weezee: Cuz . . . customers think all the cooks are Asian.
Mommy: Tssshhhh. bullshit. I tell you. You human. You are equal. We are all equal.
Weezee: I know.
Mommy: Do you? You scared to go out. You think they better than you? No wayyyy! You equal. You think because they pay for us to make food they better than us? You think because a person dressed better than you they better? Because you not dressed well, you not good? I tell you, when I go out to hotel or restaurant, when I get time, I never go to four star. I go to FIVE STAR. I work hard. No one know how much money I have. No one better than me. We are equal. You see them out there, they not better. You don't know who they are, what they do.
Weezee: I know, mommy . . .
Mommy: You chicken? Be more confident. We are humans. Humans are equal. I don't worry about that stuff! My English not perfect, I not care! Mommy still talk to everyone 'dee dee dee dee!' No one better than me. We all equals. I not afraid. No one better than you! You go out there, you let people see you, you see people. We are human - we equal!
So the Buddha said.
Mommy: Whuu! I been up since 9. Mommy glad you're here, baby. Me and Daddy go to bed late last night!
Weezee: What time did you go to bed?
Mommy: We go to bed at 3:30.
Weezee: Mommy, why'd you go to bed so late?
Mommy: We went to a party. I'm a pawwwwty animal. Haha. Mommy is a pawwty animal! You want coffee?
So, again today, I wonder how the hell that woman has so much energy? She went to a party? And she stayed up until 3:30 am! And worked the night before! Probably the whole day! from 9 to 11:30 at night. All I did was tutor some kid for 3 hours, get lectured by a 17 year old about what I'm gonna do with my life for the same amount of time, and attempted to apply for an internship that I probably won't even get! What's more, I fell asleep at like 9:30 in front of my computer. There's a way to spend a Saturday night.
But I'll be reasonable. It wasn't all fun and lame. There is some back story to this otherwise mediocre blog entry - like crying babies, obscure phone calls with Russian Grandmothers, and doors in houses where Russian Grandmothers probably keep crying (deformed monster) babies. But I'll be even more reasonable still. That's only a very small part.
One of the "youths" at the "youth" theatre I volunteer at forgot their wallet after a rehearsal; so, naturally, me, being the trouble maker that I am, volunteered to take the wallet home, hold on to it, and have the actor/actress call me early Saturday morning before I managed my prerequisite 11 hours of sleep after the usual Friday night of work (only a part of my usual 11 hour shift), debauchery, and early morning winding down, usually to some European game show called "Sexy Car Wash" - the name pretty much speaks for itself.
Anyway, call me they did. Needless to say, the conversation was an hour longer than it should have been, and an hour earlier than it should have been too. But it was kinda nice, and to be honest, I'm kinda hopin' I get more. Now it's just a question of finding more forgotten wallets.
I hadn't been out to eat in a while, and by a while I mean one week. Out to eat where you ask? Well, I had passed a place on the outskirts of town called Afro-Bistro several times, and had a hankering for small empty places lit by the seediest red lights you could imagine, and the ladies of the night that probably frequented them - probably for some kind of delicious combo platter including rice, ox tail, and a trick or two. Unfortunately, my friend was stuck studying midterms all weekend, and I was stuck on the phone with a 17 year old. A 17 year old who wouldn't, for the life of me, let me bring her her wallet until I admitted why I wanted to bring her her wallet. Which was, apparently, to see her. What's more, I had (with all intentions) called her "kiddo," which she, on the verge of 18, didn't like too much. Specifically because she was turning 18, sometime soon I'm sure (I should have checked her wallet). So, for the next 30 minutes or so, a little bit after being forcibly put on the phone with her grandmother (which probably wouldn't have happened if I hadn't asked what she had been cooking), I ended up spending a good portion of my morning begging the person on the other end to let me bring her wallet to her. Was this a bad breakup? It felt like one. Only I didn't know there was a relationship to begin with, only a wallet I really wanted to return. Apparently, I did want to see her. And talk on the phone for a good hour or so, yelling back and forth, ignoring the bike in the garage and the breaks that needed fixing, and the kid that I needed to get to to tutor, preferably by bike, because my car, which I affectionately nicknamed the Blue Bomber, finally blew, and was hauled to the junk yard the night before. And while I should have been thinking of a productive way out of the situation, all I could think about was sushi and inviting this kid out for sushi in order to get the wallet to her, which, now that I look back on it, has no basis in logic whatsoever. But it worked. And I eventually got the wallet to her. And I eventually got yelled at some more, by her - a 17 year old - for picking her up half an hour late, in the cold (in a car this time - not mine).
So, after some stellar arguments yet again, Tokyo drifting down the mean streets of downtown Kitchener, after stopping off to pick up some groceries (for me mam), and after getting kicked in the heel for taking too long to choose a good MSG free brand of oyster sauce, we were well on our way to choosing where, if anywhere, we wanted to eat that had dead fish. I said Niko's Niko's, she said Ye's; I said tomato, she said, "Fuck you, I want Ye's." That's where I drew the line. The kid would have to pay for her own meal, and "rock, paper, scissors" me for food locale. Unfortunately, I lost. So Ye's it was, and Ye's I will tell you about; though I'm sure you've been to a generic, sub-par, all you can eat sushi place, at least once in your food blog reading lives.
Ye's: an Anagram for "Ey"
Ye's Sushi has two locations: one in the nice, wholesome, sprawled town of Waterloo, Ontario; the other, in the mean streets of downtown Kitchener (beside Waterloo), where homeless like to meet up with friends and talk about who they beat to death with goonie sticks, and alcoholics who like to take time to sit on the street's benches and reflect about the beauty of dusk against the cityscape, all while vomiting furiously. I say it all the time folks, Kitchener is real. And the place with all the best food holes.Now, not to say that Ye's is a bad place, but I would have preferred to write about some place better. And not so generic. That is, Ye's used to be awesome - when it first opened, for its first couple of months, three years ago, when there was no demand, and friends and I could demand every flavour of ice cream and weren't charged for each can of coca-cola that we could knock back - yes, a Hong Konger's dream. UUUU!! And it used to have cool neon signs, and red booths to sit in, a strange buzzing noise, and loud clangs coming from the the kitchen. Now that's character. Now that's gone. There's no obnoxious neon signs - well, there might be one; there's definitely no red booths, and silver diner-esque tables. And that strange buzzing noise? Drowned out by all the people the place is crowded with, which proves that Ye's does well - but that doesn't mean it is well. It's all you can eat, and that's enough to sell anyone who likes to eat. But is it enough for someone who really likes to EAT? Ye's is a restauranter's dream, a foodie's disappointment; overwhelmed by it's own popularity and expansion, catered to faux fads of Asian interior design: bamboo trims, soft cream colours, fung shui, a lucky cat or two - nothing really Japanese about it. Except for the one really tiny picture of Hokusai's Great Wave Off Kanagawa, and the Mandarin speaking wait staff - wait, what? They could at least speak Cantonese - I hear Sushi is uber-popular in Hong Kong - it's true. All my Hong Kong friends told me.
But dear readers, I digress, it's all about the food isn't it? Not the fact that I was crammed into a corner beside a table packed with two or three families and their kids, all of whom kept giving me a one over with their strange shifty, baby eyes. Forget the fact that I had no chopsticks, or that me and the 'devoesjka were strangely surprised when we got food we were positive we didn't order. My favourite part though was sitting back to back with a really really big man - who I'm confident was eating alone - and feeling the convulsions in his spine when he swallowed. At one point, I think our chakras aligned and the food actually went down easier.
For the first time in a while, I liked Ye's sushi rolls . . . alot, which is strange because I'm usually such a strict food traditionalist/facist. Raw fish rolled in rice? How unorthodox! But you know, I could have very well felt that way in comparison because the sashimi itself was less than spectacular. White tuna was so wet that it almost felt soggy (how? I dunno) and the surf claim was so dry that maybe, just maybe, if I had combined the two together, and mashed them up into a kind of sashimi pâté, the situation might have jived better. The fatty tuna, too, also had its fair share of problems; but hey, no one expects top quality toro in an all you can eat sushi buffet. No one also expects there to be gray where white should be. The octopus (which was a new item offered on the menu - on weekend's only) was a pleasant change, not as tender as I would have liked it, but at least the suckers made a pleasant little face that said, "hey, how's it going? Your date looks pretty." She wasn't my date octopus, though it would have been nice.
Aside from all this, I'd say anything hot and fried (deep or not) is a good bet; nothing out of the ordinary, but something you can put your lips around. I swear, the kid must have eaten like 10 pieces of shrimp tempura. When it really boils down to it, any buffet is really hit or miss; that's part the fun of eating at them, guessing if you're gonna get something good, that and the crying babies, and the gratuity you pay for not finishing what you order. Awesome.
I would have eaten more, unfortunately someone had a curfew at 7 o'clock on a saturday night. And I was more or less tired of being asked what I intended to do with my life, and why I was 24 and still living at home. I'm almost positive at one point the conversation reared in the direction of me always playing my electric twanger. I was so delirious, I prayed with all my heart Twisted Sister would bust through a door, or wall, or anything and just start shouting, "We're not gonna take it!"
So, after attempting to say, like the Russian's say: "Yanayilsa," poorly written of course, I was "on eating" - eating as much as I could before the kid literally got up out of her seat, went to the register, paid, and complained. She'll make some man very happy someday, if not me.
So that was that. Found a wallet, returned a wallet, ate some sushi, dropped off "young woman," was offered tea by polite Russian Grandmother, politely declined out of teenager's embarrassment and angst, found out teenager didn't tell mother she was with responsible, Onizuka like character, looked like a creeper, and missed a stellar opportunity to discuss Chekhov in the original Russian. I did however, get to see a creepy door that Chekhov probably wrote about and predicted, and that I should not write about at all, it's creepiness being explanation enough.
Will I ever go to Ye's again? Well, let's just say, someone would have to lose a pretty big wallet.
Спокойной ночи и приятных снов!Ye's Sushi103 King W,
Kitchener, ON N2G 1A7
519-568-7566
583 King Street North,
Waterloo, ON N2V 2E5
519-888-6066
Mommy: Mommy is tired. I here all day, you guys have to work for me.
Weezee: We do work for you, Mommy.
Mommy: Oooooi! Silly boy.
Weezee: Do you want me to get you more coffee, Mommy?
Mommy: I don't need coffee. I don't get energy from coffee. I get energy from my heart.
Late Wednesday night I was IM'd as soon as I had buckled down to study my already mediocre Japanese speaking abilities after a long 4 month stint of not studying at all. I was asked if I wanted to come along to a jam session that my friend frequently attended whenever he had the chance, or energy, after work. To be honest, I didn't take much convincing; if these were my more prudish, studious days, I probably would have put up a reluctant internet fight and refused in the end, keeping my nose to the grindstone. But, those were better days, and my god was I tired of reading the same Japanese "baby talk" over and over again -especially after 4 months of not reading it at all. So hey, I figured I was young and moderately reckless/irresponsible, and that I'd give wherever the place was a shot. I've been to a lot of food holes in this city, and when I go to any place that seems generic and a place where university kids tend to flock on a Friday night, it seems almost unorthodox. But hey, I'm all for adventure, especially on a Wednesday night when absolutely no students go out, especially to the mean streets of downtown Kitchener.
So, I met my friend at a Dairy Queen, and like the immature teenager that I am, ditched my mom's car in the parking lot, and got into his, booking it to the venue and arguing the whole way about why Weezer is awesome/not awesome. I took the Weezer is not awesome side (don't let my name fool you).
So, we arrived, we parked, and we made our way inside the old Still Bar and Grill now named Bobby O'Brien's Irish Pub; but it didn't matter to me much, it was my first time in the joint. I know, I know, you're thinking: Weezee, you've lived in this city your entire life and you've never been to the Still? Nope, sure haven't. The average hamburger, wrap, and pizza just ain't my thing, especially when I can make them at home with more than stellar results. I'm sorry, but if there's no Chinese man cooking over a hot wok and spitting into a yellow bucket at his feet while frying up my mainland meat, then I'm just not too interested. But don't worry, food may not have been the night's saving grace, but the people certainly were (oh, AAAND the music too!)
My friend had explained to me that the ritual jam session, taking place every Wednesday night at O'Brien's, was popular among local musicians, and that O'Brien's was the place to go to talk, meet, and make any kind of connection in the area. I had explained to my friend that I wanted to marry an Irish girl once and have a restaurant called L---- O'brien's (until I discovered it already existed). Lucky for me, I'm not a musician; when I was introduced to one however, I was mistaken for an actor, because if I wasn't a musician, why was I even there? Strangely, because I love riding coat-tails. Stranger still, the man who asked me if I was an actor bore a strange resemblance to Bruce Willis. And when he got up on stage to sing yet another blues set, I couldn't help but feel a little paranoid, quickly looking around the room for Matthew Perry and a hamburger that had mayonnaise on it but wasn't supposed to. Aside from the food, which is reasonably priced (or averagely, I should say), what did catch my fancy, were the drinks, which didn't taste watered down in the least; I was pleasantly surprised.
I was even more surprised when I realized the age demographic in the place; not to say that it was a bad thing, but when I first entered the room, I thought I may have been the youngest person there. Luckily, I was proven wrong by some 14 year old. "Wait a minute!" I said to my friend, "Why are there kids here, amongst the old and semi forgotten?" "Well, asshole," he explained, "they let minors in on Wednesdays because of the jam session" (How humanitarian). Aside from the odd 14 year old, the night seemed to have been catored to an older crowd, but it was early, and it was Wednesday, and 14 year olds need to jam too, and get some awesome jam experience with Bruce Willis lookalikes, and Chad Kroeger wannabes (and lookalikes - because, oh yes, there was one; and it was eerie. So eerie in fact, that the restaurant's old distillery/garage door/hockey bar atmosphere (clean though it may be) seemed a little too close for comfort. A little too naturale. And when Chad Kroeger decided to get up on stage with his teenage band-mates and sing yet another cover of Sublime's "What I got," all I could do was pray, and hope that Bruce Willis would come in, take the mike from the kid and say, ala Joe Hallenbeck, "This is the two-thousands, you just don't go around singing cliched Sublime covers! You gotta say something cool first!" Ah well, you take the good with the bad I suppose. The older the musicians, the better the set, is all I can say. The music was well worth the listen, how could it not be with so many professionals flocking to one spot? At least they're legitimate. It would be better if they didn't allow minors on Wednesday nights though; at least that way you could filter out all the crap, and ass kissers. Luckily (and I use "luckily" a third time) the really old people dancing on the floor distract you enough from whatever cacophony might come outta the mouths of the inexperienced, whom I'm sure will all be awesome and better than me someday. But never better, NEVER BETTER than Mel Brown. EVER! If only Pop the Gator was still around (pssshhh, like I'm even old enough to know what that is!).
So that was the night, we left considerably early, drove back to the Dairy Queen I had parked my car at and talked about Ben Folds, Sufjan Stevens, John Wayne Gacy Jr, and ghosts, and then got really creeped out.
Bobby O'Brien's
125 King W Kitchener,
ON N2G 1A8
(519) 743-5657
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