Return of the blogger

It occurred to me that I missed writing and then I remembered that I had a blog, whose name I couldn't even remember. I had to go searching through comment notifications in my Inbox to point me to my blog URL. Now, here I am, writing a post exactly 10 years since my last post! What are the chances?! 

No one reads blogs anymore so this will probably be like screaming into the void. Party for one! Time to play a song to celebrate. This song reminds me of my friend, Gerrenne, because she hated it. Be careful what you tell your so-called friends. 

Attention span further shortened

When I think of my blog, I feel guilty, because if Xiao Pangzi were a child, or kitten, or even a house plant, I would have been charged with failing to provide the necessities of life.

I think it is safe to say that I have abandoned Xiao Pangzi, even as I have picked up a new follower (hello to stickthatinyourjuicebox!).

Just as my failure to become fluent in Cantonese compelled me to become equally incompetent in French, I have decided to camouflage this social media atrophy with a Twitter account: twitter.com/xiao_pangzi.

So, I invite you to follow along, and if that fails, too, I'll try something more groundbreaking (ie homing pigeon, dinner conversation, etc).

Welcome to the lair, part 2

I have been a terrible blogger of late, and yet, I have managed to gain two more followers. Adhering to the promise of a welcome wagon, I salute Marlene and dilo3xpp.

Marlene is Brazilian, and enjoys Portuguese poetry. dilo3xpp appears to be into photography, electronic scraps, and Apple computers. I won't hold that last one against her.

It will be hard to cater to your interests, Marlene and dilo3xpp, especially since I have been such a lazy blogger. Poor NeroFiddled has not had his love of beer satisfied while following Xiao Pangzi.

I'm going to hope that you have a burgeoning interest in Toronto, and my latest obsession, biking in Toronto. I also watch a lot of TV and movies, and like to complain about public transit in Toronto.

If you have any requests, I welcome them. More blogging in the near future...hopefully.

Tour de Greenbelt: tour de fun!

When you're in love with someone, you try to spend as much time with them as possible. When the object of your love is a bike, you look for opportunities to go biking.

The Tour de Greenbelt events combine two things that I enjoy: biking in a new setting and eating fresh, local food. We signed up for tours of the Niagara and Durham Region, and each proved to be fabulous in their own way.

Niagara Region
I suspect that this was the most popular of the tours, because the Niagara Region has a good reputation for scenery. The fact that the tour started and ended at Henry of Pelham did not hurt either. There were a few steep hills, but the terrain was relatively flat though a constant head wind prevented a leisurely ride. The popularity of the region meant that we were forced to bike single file to avoid cars. However, the serving of wine and setting of white table cloths for lunch amongst the vineyards gave the whole event a certain cachet.

Durham Region
The event did not start with promise as the weather was chilly, and dark clouds could be seen on the horizon. Riders were met with a massive hill at the beginning of the course then came to realize that it was a symptomatic of a region made of up rolling hills. Yet, we were all in agreement with fellow riders that hills are preferable to head wind, of which there was none. The roads were better maintained than those in Niagara and emptier, allowing us to ride side-by-side, and the leaves had started to change colour, providing pleasant distraction from the hill-climbing. Rest stops featured delicious baked goods (Annina's Bakeshop and Café) and a corn maze (Cooper's CSA Farm and Maze), which was more interactive than the Niagara rest stops.

We are looking forward to next year's event, along with the Tour de Dufflet, whose motto, "Eat more cake, ride more bike" are words to live by.

My cat, Rusty (Epilogue)

Rusty's recent ailing health convinced me and the family that it was time to let him go. We contacted Millwood Mobile Veterinary Services, for a home euthanasia, and Dr. Behzad Farokhzad was dependable and courteous.

We spent the early afternoon outside in the backyard with Rusty, allowing him the luxury of enjoying the outdoors and the sun. Even then, Rusty was obviously in a lot of discomfort and pain. The outdoors was ultimately where we chose to have the procedure done.

I wrote a premature obituary for Rusty late last year, so I won't repeat myself here. He was not a nice cat, but he was very easy to love.

To basket or not to basket

I recently acquired the Trek Soho S (seen above) in spite of the fact that I already own a Trek hybrid. My nine year old Trek 7200's 15" frame and seat post shocks allow me to sit ramrod straight and float over most pot holes, thus creating an experience comparable to riding an easy chair. With the addition of a pannier and bottle basket, the easy chair has become a minivan.

In spite of its comfortable and practical ride, I was frequently frustrated by my 7200's unreliable gears and groaned under its weight when I had to lift it. Last month, my wandering eye caught sight of the Soho S - a single gear, aluminum frame little temptress. When the Soho S went on sale at Sweet Pete's, I bought the cheapened little vixen.

Since purchasing the Soho S, I have been riding it almost exclusively. I enjoy how sleek and responsive it is. If the 7200 rides like an easy chair then riding the Trek Soho S is like being carried by a ninja.

Unfortunately, ninjas have no use for a heavy bike lock nor ladies purses. When the purse is too small to accommodate the massive bike lock, the lock ends up rattling on the handlebars. And if a pleasant surprise pops up in the form of a gift or a retail purchase, the Trek Soho S carries it awkwardly, much like a ninja would.

So, now, I look longingly at baskets, specifically, a woven rattan one. I picture putting my bike lock in it or my purse or even a new retail purchase, and my mind is put at ease.

But wait! What of aesthetics? Will such a sleek bike suffer a basket modeled after ones used in the 1800s? I am torn.

My grandmother

I got the news while checking my voice mail in one of those lifestyle stores. The message from my mother left no room for misinterpretation: "Your grandmother has died." My grandmother popped up in my mind then disappeared. My consciousness expanded to the clothing racks around me, the warehouse conversion, the neighbourhood then rewrote my entire world, a new world without my grandmother's presence.

I am embarrassed to admit that the tears I cry are for myself and not for my grandmother. In the last few years, she has suffered the loss of her once robust health. Hooked up to a dialysis machine twice a day, depending on a cane or walker, experiencing pain in her hands and feet, and repeat emergency visits to the hospital had robbed her of the independence that she valued.

Yet, she was a credit to her generation, the one that survived bombings from the Japanese with young children in tow. She never complained when her world became confined to the four walls of her apartment, the fourth wall made up of boxes of dialysis supplies. Her mind remained curious and her tongue sharp. She laughed at her troubles with exasperation.

So, you see, I cry because I will miss her. The woman who used to ram me into the wall in order to win a foot race to her apartment is long gone, but other losses are more keenly felt. The sight of her curly white head in the back passenger seat of my parents' car, which preceded the playfully sarcastic greeting, "How kind of you to have lunch with me!" to which I would always respond, "That's the kind of person I am." Our shared fascination with how fat my cousin, her granddaughter, had become. "Your cousin, she doesn't like to move but she likes to eat," was her blunt assessment. Her ability to speak to anyone in the limited English that she had learned in her 60s, though she chose to mock my husband in her fluent Cantonese, "You have no idea what I'm saying, do you? I could insult you and you wouldn't even know" to which my husband would nod agreeably. She gave the impression that old age was something to look forward to because you could get away with so much.

I will cry a bit more, especially during the funeral, then I will carry on because it will honour my grandmother's lifelong resilience. My grandmother was rather unsentimental about death, announcing the passing of a friend or relative with her singular use of the English word 'ended'. In that vein, I end my public display of grief here.

Yeuk Lan Chiang

1919-2010

Hopefully, a new low

I went for my annual check up recently and the doctor confirmed what I already knew.

Me: So, I think I gained some weight since last year, because I was injured and...
Doctor: Ha! The excuses are already pouring out! (reads scale then my file) Well, you did gain a little weight. That's okay.

My doctor's sudden return to sensitivity signaled that I had become a subject of pity because a weight gain of almost 10% is not "little".

Fortunately, I'm not the only one getting tubby, and since victory over others is a great personal motivator, I challenged fellow fatties to a weight loss competition. Our progress, or lack thereof, will be documented in a blog: http://thinspirationxxl.blogspot.com/.

So as not to appear callous, we have tacked on a charitable element to the endeavor. Spectators are asked to bet on a competitor, pledging to donate an amount of British pounds, equivalent to the amount that the competitor loses, to his/her associated charity.

A foreseeable end to the competition was suggested by Royal Pinguo so, sometime in September, the biggest loser will be revealed...then beaten with pork hocks. Stay tuned!

Hard at work

Contrary to what my meager blogging may indicate, I have been busy writing.

After mastering the art of generating strong opinions within a lunch hour for the last five years, I decided to make myself more respectable by attempting to write fiction. My last foray into fiction writing was back in high school, when I was heavily influenced by J.D. Salinger. This was not a good thing. So, I signed up for an introductory writing course with the University of Toronto's School of Continuing Studies. It worked for Vincent Lam, so why not an underachiever like me?

My class is made up of people who work in finances, mothers doing it for themselves, and a party clown (not a derogatory statement but a fact). The writing is equally eclectic: the Muslim women use lush prose to describe the clash of East and West, the party clown wants to be the next J.K. Rowling, and a segment of the finances division has failed to meet the project deadline. Of the two remaining financial workers who did hand in their final project, one offered a story worthy of Harlequin, and the other modified a personal travel blog entry.

The latter student's year in Australia has been a well of inspiration with rapidly diminishing returns. Her stories run the gamut of traveling through Australia to encountering ticketing problems while attempting to leave Australia. In one story, the gender of her main character was changed but he still pranced to yoga class and traded bitchy looks with a travel agent.

The in-class workshop, during which the class offers compliments and constructive criticism for a single student's work, is one of the best aspects of the course. Still, it has made a strong case for the idea that procrastination does not make for good writing. In the first few weeks, the compliments flowed freely, but as we approach the end of the workshop schedule, a tension has descended on the party. The class struggles to find the bright side of what they have read ("You have a very original narrative voice.") and temper their criticism ("I don't understand what is happening here...here...and here.").

After my workshop, I edited furiously in order to meet the submission deadline for the Random House Creative Writing Award. Whatever the outcome, I am hooked on this new respectability, and the promise of fame and cash prizes will drive me to write long after my lunch hour is done.

Tour de Dufflet: do it now!

A part of Toronto Bike Month, the third annual Tour de Dufflet sounded like our kind of event: bike to all three Dufflet locations in one day to receive refreshments and delicious baked goods at each stop.

Joe and I, joined by Royal Pinguo and Flocons (who blogged about this, too), started at the Uptown location because gravity would carry us to the two other stores. After paying the $5 registration fee, we were presented with a Tour de Dufflet water bottle, an 'Eat more cake' button, then offered a choice of water or lemonade, plus any cookie or bar of our choice. Wow!

At the Uptown location, I chose the Lemon Lime Coconut Bar ("Tangy lemon lime filling and chewy coconut on a buttery, shortbread crust"). At the Downtown location, it was a German Brownie ("Coconut, walnuts & chocolate cake with a gooey layer of more coconut and walnuts combined in a buttery vanilla icing"). Finally, at the Beach location, I celebrated my saddle sores with a Lemon Meringue Euro Tart ("Tangy lemon filling in our Euro-style crust, topped with a cloud of meringue")

As we biked across the city, Tour de Dufflet offered unexpected attractions and detours. It became a real estate tour as Royal Pinguo and I admired the million dollar homes we passed, then a shopping tour when we arrived in the Queen West area, and, finally, we expanded the menu when we decided to stop at T&T Supermarket for all-day dim sum.

Having sweet rewards to entice us to bike across the city on such a beautiful day was a great experience. Tour de Dufflet ends June 30, but there is word of a cupcake tour, which has Flocons dreaming of something more manly like a hot dog stand tour - the quickest ride to obesity if ever there was one with a hot dog stand at every corner. Ride on!

Whatever works

Since taking on a vegetable and fruit binge regiment, our household seems to be hardier. However, nothing lasts forever, and Joe brought home some sort of illness from work last week. He had aches and chills, then a cold and cough combination. About a week later, my body gave up and decided to join in on the fun.

As usual, neither of us have any intention of visiting a doctor. Joe's ailing enters its second week and he relies solely on our single box of Contac Complete, of which, only the limited supply of Nighttime pills provide any relief.

I have decided to take the opportunity to explore alternative methods of self healing.

Alcohol - I, once, successfully made a cold disappear after an evening of beer drinking. Ever since that single occurence, I have been unable to duplicate the results. Mostly, when I drink alcohol, my cold gets worse because I become dehydrated, but in an alcohol induced haze, at least I become indifferent to how terrible I feel.

Junk Food - Greasy food definitely makes any illness worse by adding vomiting and diarrhea to the list of symptoms. But, what about sweets? I stuffed myself with turkish delights (from Turkey) and a few chocolate chip cookies last night. This morning, no improvement. Bonus: no weight gain either; my sweets binge appears to have made up for whatever weight loss I might have suffered otherwise...in back fat.

Echinacea - I have read various reports debunking echinacea as a natural cold remedy, which I am prone to believe because herbal remedies don't go with my wardrobe. However, when my co-worker offered me echinacea tea, I couldn't resist. As of this moment, it appears to have worked. My throat no longer feels scratchy, sore or flemy, and my nose is no longer runny. Admittedly, my cold symptoms were just beginning, so my immune system might just have rallied itself. Until the results can be duplicated, consider them unscientific...then generalize that assessment to this entire exercise.

Sporting Life 10K post-mortem

So, I actually succeeded in meeting my Sporting Life 10K goal, stumbling past the finish line in just under one hour. However, my elation ended when records revealed that this was my slowest Sporting Life 10K ever.

Otherwise, the race was a good experience with ideal weather conditions (16C and overcast) and staggered start times, which prevented the congestion that plagued previous events. If only the event organizers would improve the look of their dri-fit t-shirts.

The short-lived afterglow smothered by disappointment has, in turn, been consumed by a nagging need to prove myself. The Toronto Challenge 5K is a favourite of mine because, at $20, it is so affordable. My personal best on the course is also my fastest 5K finishing time: 24:20. I will attempt to beat this time on June 13, 2010. As in a mid-life crisis, the fitting response to a new low is an outrageous new high.

10K training update + Okay Okay Diner

Activities over the last five weeks suggest that I've lost that hunger to beat a predetermined race finishing time and beat my body into submission in the process.

I have run about twice a week for the last five weeks, but the runs have been sloppy affairs; 30 minutes here, 8 km there, mostly by myself but occasionally accompanied by a disgusted Joe. I finally went for a run with a group of over-athletic overachievers last Thursday, during which my eyes roamed desperately for a red light. The only person who approves of my floundering is Flocons, who is pleased to find a fellow advocate for pit-stops at fast food chains along the route.

Traditionally, I have not done well in the Sporting Life 10K, in spite of the downhill course, because I tend to train poorly over the winter. In light of my history, prior and recent, I will be very happy to finish the Sporting Life 10K in one hour. In anticipation of disappointment, I am going to look forward to the next race. Which one to do next?

Hunger had nothing to do with my experience of the latest stop on my Leslieville culinary journey.

Okay Okay Diner (1128 Queen St. E.)
Their pancakes were amazing: fluffy but with substance and packed with flavour. Hence, shoving the flapjacks into my cake hole at record speed was no chore, as my lunch companion and I attempted to eat our way out of the freezing patio as quickly as possible. Still, I wish the pancakes came with some sort of accompaniment like fruit or vegetables, even if it would have prolonged our suffering.

Me, my mother and "Steven and Chris"

My mother does not have any passionate hobbies but she does enjoy watching TV. So, attending a live taping of "Steven and Chris" for her birthday seemed like a great idea. I got us on the guest list for the final show of the season with the hope that car giveaway madness à la Oprah would ensue. However, it was neither as frenzied nor as fabulous as one would hope.

There was the usual tension that sets in when you haphazardly corral a large group of single minded women then create a bottleneck to their common desire - a good seat. Apparently, it was the biggest audience of the season; the unfortunate overflow audience members were forced to sit in the aisle, and vacate their seats after every segment to allow props to be wheeled in and out of the studio. The rest of the audience were seated so comfortably that they barely registered a pulse when not prompted to enthusiasm by the director. The exception to this were the awkward few who insisted on doing the seated two step to the dance music that blared from the speakers in between filming.

Steven and Chris only revealed themselves to the audience when they were cued to do so before the cameras. There were sweet nothings and hugs for a special few, but the rest of the audience were pretty much ignored by the hosts until they were ready to bid us farewell. If I were to choose the friendlier half of the duo, it would have to be Chris, who was entertainingly flamboyant, even in between takes.

Perhaps the disconnect between the hosts and the audience was caused by the wall of cameras that separated us. An overhead monitor showed audience members what was happening a mere 15 feet in front of them. Add the set ups for each segment, which lasted longer than a commercial break and inflicted audio torture what with the aforementioned dance music, and I found myself wishing that I was watching "Steven and Chris" in the comfort of my own home.

My complaints are all my own and probably don't reflect my mother's experience. When guest chef, Lynn Crawford, showed up to promote her new show, "Pitchin’ In", I was a little alarmed at how excitedly my mom laughed and applauded. It is not a side of my mother that I am used to since I failed to become a doctor or any professional of note.

Seeing how much my mother enjoyed herself, I soberly suggested attending a live taping of "CityLine" in the future, which my mom said would be agreeable to her. The things I do for love.

Le cry

I bought a fabulous pair of Vivienne Westwood / Melissa shoes (seen above) while in Bangkok back in December, and have been waiting for the an opportune moment to show them off. With a high of 13C forecast today and no rain in sight, I thought the moment for my shoes to shine had arrived. Unfortunately, like a party thumb trap, the shoes have tightened in direct relation to my mounting despair. The Melissa company website states that their product "does not really stretch – any type of give will be negligible."

I will experiment with tights, baby powder and possibly foot binding in a bid to keep these shoes. If all options fail (or not) I will console myself at the One of a Kind Spring Show & Sale (March 31 - April 1, 2010) by buying some stylish clothes to draw attention away from my limping. Nothing works quite like cracking open the wallet for frivolous purchases to fan away the tears.

How to blend into Leslieville

Liev and Naomi: "This Leslieville neighbourhood feels right. Too bad we're Hollywood stars who can afford better than a mere $450K house."

Having settled into our little house in Leslieville, Joe and I ventured forth into the neighbourhood to survey the area. We quickly became aware that we were lacking the key characteristics of a local:

• a coffee from Red Rocket Coffee
• a dog
• a baby in a Bugaboo or a stroller of equal prestige and price point
• a pale complexion

All of these will prove challenging to acquire, even the first one since Joe drinks bargain coffee and I drink milk.

Of course, I'm being bitchy; Leslieville already feels more comfortable than our previous abode, which was practically becoming a university dorm. It's nice to find a wide selection of good restaurants and boutiques within walking distance, which is what enticed us to the neighbourhood in the first place (see The Leslieville Guide). We're slowly eating our way west, and the selection of wares are similar to what can be found on Queen West, but at more affordable prices.

The commute to everything, even the supermarket, has not proven to be a great hardship. Traveling on the streetcar to work has allowed me to just sit and listen to CBC Radio One for a longer period of time than my previous 12 minute walk - something that is tantamount to a spa experience in my mind. The supermarkets are further than a five minute walk but there is so much more selection at lower prices.

As the weather gets warmer, my assumption is that our experience of the neighbourhood can only improve since we will make forays into Ashbridges Bay or sit on a patio nearby. We will become true locals, even without a coffee, a dog, a baby and a bottle of SPF 100 in tow.

For rapid weight gain

Between the stress of work and the new home, I find myself eating rather indiscriminately. Consume left over pasta salad twice a day for four days straight? Why not? The result is predictable.

If you are ever in a weight gain competition, include the following on your grocery list:

• instant noodles
• Häagen-Dazs
• whatever else adds poundage quickly in the sumo wrestler rolling level of We Love Katamari. The game designers had it right.
  

A paint primer

For three weekends in a row, Joe and I have been painting our new house. It's a tiny house, one that has elicited descriptions like "cute" and "cozy" so this non-stop occupation comes as a surprise to us.

The crash course in house painting has made us cynical experts so I pass along some product reviews that we may all benefit from our unexpectedly extensive knowledge base.

Behr Premium Plus Ultra
This product is supposed to save both time and money by serving as paint and primer in one. We actually used the product on both primed and un-primed walls; Behr Premium Plus Ultra Drywall Primer on the darker walls, and none on the dark beige walls. The primed walls required two coats whereas the unprimed walls required four so I question the marketing claim. The paint consistency is quite thick and sticky, hence even application of the paint required attention and extra elbow grease. Add to this experience the unexplainable blue vein that kept bleeding through the creamy white on dark beige and you have a promise from Joe that we will never use Behr again.

Benjamin Moore Moorestyle
Professionals are a fan of Benjamin Moore and we understand. We purchased a dark and a light colour in the mid-range line, and applied the paint to walls primed with the Behr Primer. Like the Behr paint, two coats of the Benjamin Moore were applied on top of the primer, but the experience was completely different. The Benjamin Moore paint went on like butter and the ease with which we achieved even distribution made us feel like skilled professionals. A second coat of the lighter colour was not really required but we decided to apply it anyways, since we had half a can of paint left and nothing to use it on. Our contractor refers to Benjamin Moore's top of the line, Aura paint as "angel piss"; we can only dream of a paint job that is comparable to receiving manna from heaven.

Valspar Ultra Premium Color Changing Ceiling Paint
A friend recently recalled the nightmare of painting her ceiling in which she was foiled by neck cramping and the inability to tell which areas had already been covered. The moral of the story is to hire a professional to paint you ceiling, as she did. For Joe and me, the take home message was to buy a ceiling paint that goes on purple then changes to white as it dries. The Valspar Ultra Premium Color Changing Ceiling Paint does indeed change colour, though it initially did so too quickly to serve us much good. After a more heavy application of the product, we were able to avoid looking like a repetitive French farce. The paint is more watery than either the Behr or the Benjamin Moore paints, but appears to do the job of evening out the colour of the ceiling in one to two coats. However, the worst aspect of the Valspar is the pungent odour; in contrast, both Behr and Benjamin Moore paints are subtly sweet smelling, which has its own disturbing health implications. In combination with the neck strain, the Valspar made me nauseous and I passed out in the middle of the job (thinking that it was cute that I was taking a little nap, Joe simply continued loading the Valspar onto the ceiling).

Up next: how to lose and alienate friends in the process of moving.

Excitement at the door continues

We have received three deliveries from Front Door Organics so far and it has been very satisfying. To date, we have consumed almost everything that was sent to us, including unfamiliar vegetation like collard greens and celeriac. Unfortunately, a grapefruit, a few beets, and a parsnip shriveled up before we could muster the enthusiasm to eat them. The second delivery grapefruit currently sits dejectedly amongst the more popular fruits in our crisper.

Based on the three boxes of organic fruits and vegetables that we have enjoyed, I can conclude that organic means undersized as many of the produce are smaller than what I am used to seeing in the gleaming aisles of the local supermarket. However, the freshness of the fruits and vegetables has only improved the taste of our lunches and dinners, hiding our lackluster culinary skills. This only confirms what I have long suspected about professional chefs and their insistence on fresh ingredients. With a fresh organic apple and some BBQ sauce, you, too, could be Bobby Flay.

Public shame in place of self control - Part 2

The results of the "How should I punish myself?" poll are as follows:

Harry's Spring Run Off 5K (April 3) 25%
Mississauga Marathon 5K (May 15) 25%
Toronto Women's 5K (May 30) 25%
Toronto Women's Half Marathon (May 30) 25%

Gee, thanks.

Equally fruitless were the comments that alternated between responders prodding their own fat or encouraging me to maintain the status quo.

So, I'm going with none of the above and signing up for the Mississauga Marathon 10K on May 15. It starts at 6:30pm, which is a bonus for me because I am not a morning person. For now, I predict that I will finish in under an hour, but I may aim for a more competitive time if shamed into doing so. Training kvetching to come. Stay tuned!