I'm in my home town. I love to come home for a lot of reasons, but one reason its always nice is because, coincidentley, or not, my dad and I have read the same book, or a book by the same author, or a book about the same thing; which is nice. I love talking books. I like to really get into it, you know. And it feels so great when you recommend a book and the person you recommended it too was as moved by it as you were. I can talk hours about books.
So that's what I was doing tonight. My dad and I talked for ages about Ann Patchett and her two wonderful novels, The Patron Saint of Liars and Bel Canto. He'd just finished one, and I the other. Over a few pints, I told him how much I wanted to turn the Patron Saint of Liars into a movie, until I heard its already been done. God damn. The sun was out, a random lady complimented my outfit; it was a wonderful evening.
Trouble is, I can't find anyone who isn't 30 years older than me who is reading the same stuff. Or you are, but we don't think to talk about it.
You see, I'm a girl who lacks a hobby. No one thing interests me terribly. I'm not great at anything, I'm not a "something" or other fanatic. But I do love to read. And I really love to talk about what I read.
So, in honour of my promise to myself to start doing (just in general... you know, like do things, be pro-active) I want to start a book club. It's summer, lets read!
If you're interested (my two readers) spread the word and buy a book.
Heres what I've just read....
Michael Cunningham's By Night Fall http://www.michaelcunninghamwriter.com/books
Ann Patchett's The Patron Saint of Liars http://www.annpatchett.com/
Tim Winton's Breath
and Sara Gruen's Water For Elephants
Breath was spectacular. Water for Elephants took me some place else. Patron Saint of Liars was exhaustive and By Night Fall I will never re-visit , but never forget.
But I have a lot more to say about each.
So, whatya say. Lets talk books.
What are you reading?
Read a review of Breath here
Friday, May 20, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Well. Ha. Well, well. I just read my last post. "Deal with it when I go home..." ??? What was I thinking? What I would do to take back some of that ludacris indulgence. I really packed it on down there. Nosssssssa!
But I wouldn't really take it back if I could. All those warm nights at Tony's with cold, sweaty beer bottles and a hot sweaty husband. Those early Sunday mornings in bed with a pastel in one hand and a glass of caldo de cana in the other. Im happy with lovely memories and a few extra pounds. Better than skinny with nothing to blog about right? Maybe.
I've been reading blogs like crazy lately. Mostly fashion blogs, but a few wedding and food ones too. I love ManRepeller and StyleMePretty and Grilled Cheese Social. Check em'.
I just love how one blog leads to another, and another and another.
I'm going to see what comes after mine.
Good night, my two readers, good night.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Eat
Im back in Brasil. And there have been many wonderful moments and discoveries and all those great feelings you expect to experience in a foreign country. But theres one thing Im doing like Ive never done before. Eat. Eat alot, all the time. Its not that the food is fantastic and I just cant help myself. Its just, well, I never refuse whats offered to me. But now that Im reflecting, someone should have just offered me a fatter ass and some thigh jiggle on a platter, and saved me the nights of bloating and burping.
Brasilians dont eat like Canadians do. They dont calorie count, or monitor portion control. They eat when theyre hungry and do so until theyre full. Breakfast, or cafe de moyen is taken when you wake up. Fruit, coffee with lots of sugar, and some bread. Never much more. The magic happens at Amoso, or lunch between 2 and 3 pm. This is the real deal. Piles of rice and beans and beef and more rice and more beans and bread and fried cassava, fried plolenta, fried banana, fried chicken. Its all washed down with fresh fruit juice mixed with piles of sugar.
After amoso, I think to make sure the fat reaches even my feet, a long nap is standard.
When you rise, fresh coffee is next, and its usually accompanied by fresh buns spread thick with butter. After an especially good nap, I have two.
I dont know what it is. Ive never indulged like this before. Im not obsessed with my weight, and I dont count the calories in my celery sticks, but Ive never eaten with such reckless abandon. Its wonderful.
Dinner, or genter comes late. Never earlier than 9pm. Its usually left overs from lunch. But if its a special occasion, or just a lovely night, a bbq is likely to happen. That means the most tender juicy beef your tastebuds can imagine. It means cheese on a stick that gets all crispy and greasy on the outside and melty and devine on the inside. It means more rice. It means more beans. And it always means beer. Itiapava, Brahma, Skool, Bohemia.... Drink, eat, drink, eat. Late into the night.
My boyfriend likes to eat at Tonys Pizza after he skateboards. If we dont order a three cheese pizza and devour the whole thing, we eat Pastels- fried pastry with melted mozzeralla and other yummy things oozying around inside.
And what do you think I say when he asks me if I want another one....
On the street you can buy fried potato balls with cheese in the center. You can buy thick pastries with gooey cream cheese. The hot dogs have an entire seperate meal served on top of them.
So, I eat and I eat. Because I wont eat like this at home. And because it feels wonderful.
I will deal with the my fatter ass when I return to my self obsessed nation. Treadmills will be easier to find than pastels.
Brasilians dont eat like Canadians do. They dont calorie count, or monitor portion control. They eat when theyre hungry and do so until theyre full. Breakfast, or cafe de moyen is taken when you wake up. Fruit, coffee with lots of sugar, and some bread. Never much more. The magic happens at Amoso, or lunch between 2 and 3 pm. This is the real deal. Piles of rice and beans and beef and more rice and more beans and bread and fried cassava, fried plolenta, fried banana, fried chicken. Its all washed down with fresh fruit juice mixed with piles of sugar.
After amoso, I think to make sure the fat reaches even my feet, a long nap is standard.
When you rise, fresh coffee is next, and its usually accompanied by fresh buns spread thick with butter. After an especially good nap, I have two.
I dont know what it is. Ive never indulged like this before. Im not obsessed with my weight, and I dont count the calories in my celery sticks, but Ive never eaten with such reckless abandon. Its wonderful.
Dinner, or genter comes late. Never earlier than 9pm. Its usually left overs from lunch. But if its a special occasion, or just a lovely night, a bbq is likely to happen. That means the most tender juicy beef your tastebuds can imagine. It means cheese on a stick that gets all crispy and greasy on the outside and melty and devine on the inside. It means more rice. It means more beans. And it always means beer. Itiapava, Brahma, Skool, Bohemia.... Drink, eat, drink, eat. Late into the night.
My boyfriend likes to eat at Tonys Pizza after he skateboards. If we dont order a three cheese pizza and devour the whole thing, we eat Pastels- fried pastry with melted mozzeralla and other yummy things oozying around inside.
And what do you think I say when he asks me if I want another one....
On the street you can buy fried potato balls with cheese in the center. You can buy thick pastries with gooey cream cheese. The hot dogs have an entire seperate meal served on top of them.
So, I eat and I eat. Because I wont eat like this at home. And because it feels wonderful.
I will deal with the my fatter ass when I return to my self obsessed nation. Treadmills will be easier to find than pastels.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
If people ask
tell them nairobi is fucking crazy
everyone is incredibly hospitable
you had the time of your life
you'd go back in a heart beat
they should go with you
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