Archive for i am mean

On backpacks and PDA

It’s magical that Italians can pull off backpacks. However that’s not just the quirks of Milan.  

Take for instance this couple.  They got really frisky on the street; she grabbed his bicep then he grabbed the sides of her tummy – then he pretended to smack her on the cheek. The PDA here is not just for the young here, and it’s inspiring. 

Was it awkward? Yes, but he winded up for it and she recoiled as it it were a mega slap, but I’m sure she’s good at pretending she’s into that sort of thing. Perhaps it was her way of expressing, ‘yeah let’s carry out your weird kinks without REALLY carrying them out.’, but it could have been the drinking that carried on beforehand. We are outside of one of the only craft brewery in the city. 

Cheeky Sweatshops

I wrote on twitter:

eee! The print of an administrative assistant’s skirt has an unfortunately placed dragonfly. You cheeky chinese sweatshop

I took a “discrete” snap:

no blood in turnips… but they’re high in spite

We just had a lovely dinner. Pan seared sword fish – heavily buttered then set in a pan to create a crisp protein crust. Onion and bacon fried golden to crisp mingling with french-cut green beans. A warm bowl of wild rice pilaf, notes of grass and chestnuts in the steam. A simple salad of shaved carrot, radishes, and parsley dressed in olive oil and lemon juice.

I like radishes. Small red ones to the great daikon – peppery to sweet. However, this isn’t a confession of a husky boy. No, the fact is… Snuff hates radishes. I serve radishes because I like them and he hates them. I try to be nice and temper their spiciness with lemon juice but there’s nothing that will change his mind.

I don’t get complaints…
I know he’s picks around it…
I look at his plate knowingly…
He knows I know…
We’ve had a lot of pot roast this winter…
He always puts turnips in his pot roast…
I hate cooked turnips as much as he hates radishes…
I have a pint of radishes left in the fridge…

I suppose the earrings are off too…

Though the thought of a stodgy aging man snatching the wig off his head and taking off hoop earrings (or dangly bamboo) does conjure up thoughts of a gender bending knock-down-drag-out alley fight; alas that’s not what’s making the headlines.

Since the 17th century, british lawyers and judges wore white wigs, colorful judgy robes, and winged collars. Citing the price of wigs (US$800 to US$3000 according to Reuters) and the sheer fuddy-duddy-ness of it all, there has been a push to abolish the uniform. Announced Thursday Jul 12, the lads of law take their wigs off and slim their wardrobes down to one simple dress… err gown. Naturally, (as in what seems to be all British arenas of life) there is an opposition group who claim that the fancy dress exudes power and authority.

Happily, a compromise was struck and the ceremonial vestments will be donned in criminal courts. I say happily because despite our pay-to-play, litigious, “if it doesn’t fit, you must acquit” American legal system, we can boast that we don’t kowtow the artifice of wig-cum-respectus.

Reuters link here