Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Nutrition Labels
The trouble is with them, they all lie. You want to know how much sodium is in a can of Campbell's chicken soup? Well, they fudge and hem and haw and generally try to confuse you.
The recommended daily -- DAILY, for a fully-grown adult -- sodium intake is 2300 milligrammes.
I don't have all the info, but just TWO TEASPOONS of Bovril chicken broth is 930 mg. About two and a half times that is your entire recommended daily intake.
Fat content -- let's not even go there. A packet of potato chips, salt and vinegar, comes out to a whopping 341 mg of sodium and 14 grammes of fat for THIRTY ONE CHIPS.
A single can of Coke contains 45 mg of sugar -- that's ELEVEN TABLESPOONS OF SUGAR IN A CAN.
But the numbers lie. They always disguise it as "per portion of xx mg" which always confuses the average consumer. 17 G fat on a can of soup, but when you read the fine print, that means a quarter of the whole fucking can. FIFTY-SIX GRAMMES of fat for a single can of soup. That's more than two Big Macs with the cheese piled on.
It's like airline advertising. $120, Montreal to New York! What they don't mention is the extra $230 taxes, nav fees and airport taxes, per person.
It's fucked and I don't like being taken for a sucker. We should take the fuckers down like the cockroaches they are.
The recommended daily -- DAILY, for a fully-grown adult -- sodium intake is 2300 milligrammes.
I don't have all the info, but just TWO TEASPOONS of Bovril chicken broth is 930 mg. About two and a half times that is your entire recommended daily intake.
Fat content -- let's not even go there. A packet of potato chips, salt and vinegar, comes out to a whopping 341 mg of sodium and 14 grammes of fat for THIRTY ONE CHIPS.
A single can of Coke contains 45 mg of sugar -- that's ELEVEN TABLESPOONS OF SUGAR IN A CAN.
But the numbers lie. They always disguise it as "per portion of xx mg" which always confuses the average consumer. 17 G fat on a can of soup, but when you read the fine print, that means a quarter of the whole fucking can. FIFTY-SIX GRAMMES of fat for a single can of soup. That's more than two Big Macs with the cheese piled on.
It's like airline advertising. $120, Montreal to New York! What they don't mention is the extra $230 taxes, nav fees and airport taxes, per person.
It's fucked and I don't like being taken for a sucker. We should take the fuckers down like the cockroaches they are.
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| Generic bag of barbeque potato chips This is a kid-sized bag |
Friday, October 29, 2010
Okay, Frogs Are Lower On The List
They're much lower on Nick's fuckwad watchlist because they're defying fucking Osama Bin Laden. They might be Frogs, but sometimes they have balls. Sarkozy may be a womanizing cretin, but banning burqas certainly ranks up with my measurement level of balls.
Score today on the level of assholes:
#1 North Koreans
# 2 Germans
#3 Japanese
#4 Russians
#5 Frogs (Up in the rankings!!! No, sorry, DOWN in the rankings!)
#6 Brazilians
#7 Americans (Yes, I'm one of their sorry asses)
#8 Chinese (well, they just can't help themselves)
Of course you don't count monkeys like the Taliban and Jihadis. They don't count here. They're always at the top of the list of assholes -- no bother to ever change that.
Score today on the level of assholes:
#1 North Koreans
# 2 Germans
#3 Japanese
#4 Russians
#5 Frogs (Up in the rankings!!! No, sorry, DOWN in the rankings!)
#6 Brazilians
#7 Americans (Yes, I'm one of their sorry asses)
#8 Chinese (well, they just can't help themselves)
Of course you don't count monkeys like the Taliban and Jihadis. They don't count here. They're always at the top of the list of assholes -- no bother to ever change that.
Gino Vannelli: Rock Concerts.
Gotta admit, I was psyched for this one. Gino doesn't come to Montreal too much any more and I wanted to catch him.
Mistake number one: paying $160 for two in the the top tier.
Mistake number two: Salle Wilfrid Pelletier.
Mistake number three: Brigitte not really being into Gino.
Mistake number four: a lousy assortment of crappy songs performed completely differently from the originals, and a crappy band with stupid horns.
Mistake number five: high-school students ordering me not to go in or out during songs.
Mistake number six: bar closed. Bar closed at Salle Wilfrid Pelletier.
Mistake number seven: finding out our favorite bistro was closed after leaving halfway through the boring concert.
Non mistake: Kissing and making up after a disastrous evening. I will never go to a rock concert again.
Mistake number one: paying $160 for two in the the top tier.
Mistake number two: Salle Wilfrid Pelletier.
Mistake number three: Brigitte not really being into Gino.
Mistake number four: a lousy assortment of crappy songs performed completely differently from the originals, and a crappy band with stupid horns.
Mistake number five: high-school students ordering me not to go in or out during songs.
Mistake number six: bar closed. Bar closed at Salle Wilfrid Pelletier.
Mistake number seven: finding out our favorite bistro was closed after leaving halfway through the boring concert.
Non mistake: Kissing and making up after a disastrous evening. I will never go to a rock concert again.
Sushi Dreams
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| The dreams, the dreams . . . |
Last night I had a powerful, almost Earth-shattering sushi dream. I was slavering over these dishes and I'm sure I was murmuring in my sleep . . . "Tobiko . . . hai, tobiko to maguro . . . tekkyumaki (combination tuna and cucumber) . . . wasabi oi (lots of wasabi) . . . chuu-hai kudasai (a vodka-like drink with vaguely lime-juice) . . .
I swear, the dream wouldn't go away. Just kept repeating itself.
So I guess I'm not quite done with Japan just yet. But since my favorite sushi place in all of Montreal just up and moved away I'm at a loss.
I guess meanwhile, the dreams will just have to do.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Germans
Dein bundesvolk. Ich liebe nicht dem Deutschlanders.
I know I'm mangling the language, because I never really learned it, but deep in my bones, I hate the Germans. So the ranking now is Germans, the Japanese, and the French as a close third.
The Italians really haven't annoyed me as yet. In fact, I quite like them, even though they were turncoats in the Second World War. I mean, Mussolini? How about tagliolini? I don't know quite what it is about Italians . . . a general pleasantness that is the complete opposite of the French, a suspicious bunch who are likely to turn traitor as a wolverine with a buddy mouse.
I used to denigrate the Québecois because of their ridiculous accent, but I found out from my months in France that the French are more ridiculous. The posturing, the elitist attitude. Québecois are much more friendly, personable and generally nice.
So here's the score: Québecois win, hands-down; Germans are at the top of the hate list, followed very closely by the Japanese, and the Parisians gaining ground.
I'll update you as the race goes on.
I know I'm mangling the language, because I never really learned it, but deep in my bones, I hate the Germans. So the ranking now is Germans, the Japanese, and the French as a close third.
The Italians really haven't annoyed me as yet. In fact, I quite like them, even though they were turncoats in the Second World War. I mean, Mussolini? How about tagliolini? I don't know quite what it is about Italians . . . a general pleasantness that is the complete opposite of the French, a suspicious bunch who are likely to turn traitor as a wolverine with a buddy mouse.
I used to denigrate the Québecois because of their ridiculous accent, but I found out from my months in France that the French are more ridiculous. The posturing, the elitist attitude. Québecois are much more friendly, personable and generally nice.
So here's the score: Québecois win, hands-down; Germans are at the top of the hate list, followed very closely by the Japanese, and the Parisians gaining ground.
I'll update you as the race goes on.
Monday, October 25, 2010
John The Brave
by Nicholas Robinson
There was in olden times a road
That led through vale and glen
T'was marred and cracked by battle scars
And feared by mortal men.
But on it one day rode a steed
Whose rider, dark and tall
Feared naught but Heaven's fiery wrath
And that not much at all.
He rode upon a dangerous quest;
And all around the land
His name was known as John the Brave
For he only had one hand.
T'was said it had been lost long since
In battle with his brother
And in this fight his kin had cut
The fingers from his other.
But one good leg had John the Brave,
And being strong of mind
T'was less than an annoyance that
Sir John was also blind.
And though he could not speak or hear,
And could not move his head
It mattered not to John the Brave
That some men thought him dead.
And though his steed was made of wood
And could not move an inch
It mattered not to good old John
It mattered not one pinch.
So on his wondrous beast he sat,
Croaking wordless wit
While village children ran around
And pelted him with shit.
There was in olden times a road
That led through vale and glen
T'was marred and cracked by battle scars
And feared by mortal men.
But on it one day rode a steed
Whose rider, dark and tall
Feared naught but Heaven's fiery wrath
And that not much at all.
He rode upon a dangerous quest;
And all around the land
His name was known as John the Brave
For he only had one hand.
T'was said it had been lost long since
In battle with his brother
And in this fight his kin had cut
The fingers from his other.
But one good leg had John the Brave,
And being strong of mind
T'was less than an annoyance that
Sir John was also blind.
And though he could not speak or hear,
And could not move his head
It mattered not to John the Brave
That some men thought him dead.
And though his steed was made of wood
And could not move an inch
It mattered not to good old John
It mattered not one pinch.
So on his wondrous beast he sat,
Croaking wordless wit
While village children ran around
And pelted him with shit.
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