White Chocolate Brownies

I was calling a friend racist as I often do. I think it was justified this time. She was comparing me to Sebastien the crab from the little Mermaid. Anyway, it lead us to ponder an inconsistency in the English language that I think is worth sharing. The conversation went like this:

DoctaC$G says:

and you're RACIST!!!

says:

speaking of that

i was considering making white chocolate brownies

think that's possible?!

i love white chocolate

DoctaC$G says:

Why white chocolate?

leave it to the man to take delicious chocolate and turn it white.

says:

its sweeter

DoctaC$G says:

anyway, it's possible, I think I've had it before.

says:

do you remember it being good?

DoctaC$G says:

I think I found it too sweet.

and of course at that point they're not brownies.

they're whities.

says:

LOOOOOL

HAHAHAHAHAHA

I wonder... Should white chocolate even be called chocolate anymore? Couldn't they just think of another name for that particular candy? You know that white chocolate only has to be 20% cocoa butter to be sold as chocolate? Doesn't sound like chocolate to me... Here I was going to make a joke like, "that's about as chocolate as Nicole Richie!" Or... "Lionel Richie!" But I decided that would be in poor taste as I am a fan of Lionel Richie and relatively neutral about Nicole. Did you know that grown Iraqi men weep at the mere mention of Lionel Richie's name? Yes, he's very popular in the Middle East.

But I digress... And by that I mean, I should be working instead of putzing around online. L8ter haters!

P90X

I've been pretty lazy the last year or so. I often fall asleep on the couch and wake up at odd hours, sleeping badly and then being tired throughout the next day. But just now I woke up to this infomercial for P90X, easily the best infomercial I've seen after that guy who cuts through a wall with his kitchen knives.

It's not a video workout. It's an extreme home fitness revolution that uses techniques of muscle confusion to get YOU absolutely ripped in just 90 days. As I write this an ALERT appears on the screen telling me that I can get a free pro-grade resistance band if I order in the next five minutes... I've never been so overwhelmed by a commercial before. I just wake up and you have that stony voice growling at you... "YOU CAN GET ABSOLUTELY RIPPED IN ONLY 90 DAYS ALL YOU NEED IS SOME DUMBELLS, A CHIN UP BAR AND A PRO-GRADE RESISTANCE BAND IF YOU ORDER IN THE NEXT 5 MINUTES." I am compelled to do exactly what the man says. It was the most effective infomercial I have ever seen in my life.

If you go to the website you'll see that the XPERTS (including motivational the Master of Motivation behind P90X, Tony Horton) teach you such workouts that include PLYOMETRICS!!! YOGA X!!! KENPO X !!! AB RIPPER X!!! and even X STRETCH!!! WHAT THE HECK IS KENPO X????? WOOOOOAAAAAAAH!!!!! Maybe it's just late, and maybe I'm just tired... But I want all of this hardcore extremeness to be part of my life TODAY.... X! I want music like this ringing in my brain for the rest of my life!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZciY7ymPmU

When I walk into the lab, I want this music to play the moment the door opens. Not even from a stereo or anything, it will just be God turning on some kind of divine soundtrack that follows me around wherever I go. I want my co-workers to say, "Chris!!! I can't hear myself think!!! you're too hardcore and extreme!!!" As I pipette 10 microleters of HF buffer into a PCR tube.

I'm going to go from Tim Horton to Tony Horton in just 90 days!!! P90x MOTHA #t%!@!!!

Then I imagine as my motivation wanes, I'll go from Tony Horton back to Horton Hears a Who. :-( Exercise is such a drag. I'll think about it tomorrow though. Where am I going to put a chin-up bar in my apartment?? Bah... The rush has worn off... Thank you for being a part of my short lived dreams of becoming absolutely ripped.

*yawn*

Dichloromethane-Man, Dichloromethane-Man, does what ever Dichloromethane can

I do complain about Concordia from time to time. But we've had good times and bad times. Among the good times, is a recent experience I had in the lab. I was working with a chemical called dichloromethane, a toxic organic compound that is highly volatile. The liquid was in a bottle with a strange pump fastenned to the top. When I figured out how it worked, I was so excited I didn't realize there was a rubber cap blocking the spout. I forced down the plunger and was splashed with dichloromethane.

I may have gotten a drop on my hand. DCM, is so volatile it evaporates in seconds. I kept my cool, and looked up the safety information online. It attacks the central nervous system. That just happens to be my favourite nervous system. The MSDS (safety info) says in case you get some on your skin, you should rinse for 10 minutes with soap and water. I did that, but still wondered about my precious entral nervous system. Would the freak lab accident enhance my central nervous system to super-hero esque levels, giving me psychic powers?? Or would my IQ dwindle to the level of slack-jawed yokel??

I began to rant and rave as I often do, when someone suggested I call Info-Sante, perhaps hoping I would fret to them for a while. Sadly, I forgot to dial "9" for outgoing calls and I ended up getting in touch with a frenetic woman who worked at some kind of Concordia Emergency line. I excused myself, telling her it wasn't my intention to call her. Nevertheless, she asked me what hapenned. I made the mistake of telling her.

Lady: "Dye... cloro... what???"
Me: "Oh, it's okay, I just followed the directions online and..."
Lady: "An agent will be up to see you in a moment."

An agent??? I told her it wasn't necessary but in less than 5 minutes one security guard was in the lab looking around for a chemical spill. I told him there was a small splash and whatever was spilled probably evaporated before even hitting any surface. Two more agents came, one with a first aid kit, asking for my name, my supervisors name and the name of the reagent that I spilled. They were looking around the lab desperately to find the chemical spill. You can tell that before arriving they were anticipating a glowing green puddle, with red steam rising from it. They were dissapointed and asked if there was any burning on the spot where I had spilled DCM on my hand. I said no.

This didn't stop the 3 burly security guards from escorting me to the Concordia clinic where we met up with the safety officer from the chemistry department who deals with hazardous spills. He promptly went online to retrieve the information about what I had spilled (which I had already done). Following all that excitement there was a detailed report to fill out and a series of jokes about me dying, having my hand amputated and losing all of my skin pigmentation like Michael Jackson.

Good times. I came back to the lab where I was laughed at, nevertheless, impressed by the efficiency of the security guards. Does anyone remember when they suspected someone might have a gun in the school. It didn't take more than 10 minutes for them to muster a swat team, helicopters and snipers (only to discover that the potential assailant was carrying kendo sticks). But, it's good to know how efficient the security here is. Thanks to the men and women and Concordia Secuirty. I make jibes about Concordia, but at least we're pretty safe. That being said, next time I spill a chemical on me, I think I'll just suck it up and rinse with water.

GIMME SOME MORE!

Most people who go to the Sushi chain of restaurants called Kanda will normally attest to one thing: Those people are just plain rude. It doesn't matter which one you go to. They'll argue with you about your order after bringing you the wrong things. God forbid you ask them for a glass of water to wash down their salty rolls. But most sickenning to me was the strange goodbye that one of the hostesses gave our group as we were leaving. It was said with as much contempt as she could muster, as if the very words would end our lives.

But bad service is pervasive in our society, whether you're taking the bus or asking someone in the twisted beauracracy of the University to reimburse you for money that you're entitled to. But it was to my horror that one night after eating at Kanda, they calculated our tip into the bill. That was the first time I had experienced that. Exactly how does that work? How is it that they suddenly decide that for any group larger than 10 people, they can suddenly add 15% to your bill and call it a "tip"?

What is a tip anyway? You go to a restaurant and there are waiters and waitresses who are already paid to bring you your food. Why are they entitled to more money, on top of their salary, as if we the patrons haven't already paid too much money for a meal? Where do they come off asking for more?

I sometimes imagine where this concept came from. I imagine some old, rich man, probably an ancient Egyptian pharoah, pleased by the uncharacteristically good service of a waiter, giving the man a few extra gold coins for a job well done. "Thank you good sir! This eating experience was exceptional! Here's a reward!" Or perhaps he was just trying to show off to a good looking waitress. "Why thank you madam! Might I add your buttocks are looking rather firm and perky today! Perhaps some money will make me seem somewhat more endearing to you!"

Whatever his motivations, this man has changed our world forever. Whereby a tip may have originally been a reward for exceptionally good service, it has now degenerated into a standard, whereby good service isn't even prerequisite. As long as you are a waiter, you are entitled to a tip. If you bring the wrong dish, spill stuff, if you're rude... You can still expect a tip. Every waiter, taxi driver, beggar lives in a world of, "I know I'm already getting paid for my work, but I WANT MORE!!"

Yeah, so do I. But I already know what will happen if I put a jar on my lab bench... Even if I take a marker and lazily write the word, "Tips" on it. Perhaps I could write, "Haven't eaten for days!" The result would be the same. An empty jar.

And restaurants where you actually have waiters are bad enough, but have you ever been to a restaurant where you just go to pick up your food that has a tip jar? Have you ever been to a depanneur that had a jar for tips on the counter?!? At that point it's akin to begging. I mean, what is a person asking for tips doing beyond what they're otherwise supposed to be doing? Similarly, a pan-handler is doing exactly what they're supposed to be doing. Essentially we live in a world where people expect that if they are adjacent to any kind of receptacle, be it a jar, a hat, a fanny pack, anyone crossing their path should feel compelled to put money into it. They don't even have to be doing anything extraordinary. They could be singing, playing the guitar, or just sitting there looking dirty and bedraggled.

I'll tell you one thing, the day I see a bus driver with a tip jar, is the day they'll send me to jail for assault or worse.

Greggaphone

If you've known me long enough you might be familiar with a particularly bad joke that I tell with some regularity. Someone will say, "I'll give you a call." Then I'll ask, "On the phone?" To which the other person, baffled will respond.. "Yes." Then I'll ask, "Telephone or Saxophone?"

I attempted this joke on MSN talking to Vrej. Unfortunately I wrote "SaxA instead of SaxOphone." Anyone who knows Vrej knows that for him correcting spelling errors and grammar is as good as any auto-erotic recreation available on the internet. "Saxo " appeared in my msn window within seconds. While he went to clean himself up I wondered to myself, "I wonder where the word Saxophone comes from?"

A quick internet search yielded an answer that sounds almost made up. In fact, the inventor of the Saxophone was one Adolphe Sax who patented the invention in 1846. He was the son of Charles Sax who invented the less popular, Saxhorn.

The point is, if someone had asked me where the word saxophone comes from, that is probably exactly the story I would have invented, except I would have used the name, Steve Sax and he would have been trying to invent an auto-erotic device that one could use in the public without being noticed. The various openings and keys had the unfortunate side-effect of producing a sound that we now recognize as the saxophone, a fact discovered by his late mother Sandrine Sax, who walked in on him while he tested his new invention and died of a heart-attack. Though not inconspicuous enough to be used for its original purpose, the sexhorn produced a beautiful melody and the sound was soon pervasive in American music culture.

Foul Mouth (parental discretion is advised)

The other day in the elevator, I found a colleague holding a bunch of containers filled with food. They teetered precariously and I couldn't help but make the most obvious of mock aggressive gestures and pretend to knock them over. He asked pitifully, "Why would you do that??" I responded by saying, "Why? Why??? Because f**k that!!!! that's why!!!" Then I giggled my motha f**kin' ass off!! The man waved awkwardly and left.

Call it stress, call it insanity, but these days I can't help but give into what I will call, playful displays of aggression. This usually manifests itself as a playful punch... sometimes a playful kick... But most often, it manifests itself in a litany of carefully chosen swear words, not unlike the disgraceful display illustrated above.

When I was young, I didn't used to utter a single swear word, and would rarely even say the Lord's name in vain. As I grew older, I began to use gateway swear words like, "eff" or "damn." This soon evovled into an all out cussing streak, whereby I go out of my way to fit swearwords into my speech. Why? I find it funny for some reason. I first realized I had a problem when I let out a particularly foul curse word while a little girl ran by.

Swearing is a pretty filthy habit. It makes me sound like a real cretin. Why, oh why do I enjoy it so much? I want to blame rap music, movies... Certain friends... I've tried to stop. I even have a swear jar at home. But that doesn't really work. I don't really enforce it. Where's the motivation? Putting money in a jar doesn't seem like a penalty. It's my house.. my jar... So what am I losing?

In short, what I'm saying is, I can't stop. There is no cure for what I have. Even if I curb it for a month or so, I'll hear some charming use of the eff word and then I'll be back to my bad habit. I am at all times 1 rap song, 1 R rated movie, 1 vulgar friend away from regressing to the degenerate language of the street. My most recent return to swearing was after taking a particularly inane facebook quiz. What vicious animal are you? My result was, "Jesus f**king Christ you're a f**king bear!" Man, I laughed and laughed. Then I pondered how incredibly blasphemous it is when people incorporate the eff word into Jesus' name. Then I wondered to myself why people say, "Jesus H. Christ!!" What does the H stand for? Herbert? Harry? Hug?

Anyway, here are some videos of some people swearing that I enjoy.

1) I Hate Huckabees

2) Arty Lange Sings

3) Bad Santa

4) A long skit with Black Guys swearing about chicken

Doctor Gregg on drugs

I saw a commercial the other day for a drug. We've all seen them, "If you suffer from a flaccid phallus, take these pills." Followed by a disclaimer listing the possible side effects which are usually far more serious than what the pills were initially supposed to treat, "These pills may cause blindness, dementia and death. Consult your doctor if you experience any of these symptoms."

We have all since become numb to how incredibly dangerous these drugs are. However, the commercial I saw that night was actually advertising for a drug to be taken with other drugs. It claimed that if you are suffering from depression AND are already on anti-depressants, these pills would help you cope with depression.

Now I may not have no fancy degree, but if you need to take drugs, to improve the effects of drugs you're already taking, aren't you in a hell of a lot of trouble? I won't even make the obvious observation that if in fact two drugs are better than one when it comes to depression, why don't drug companies just combine the drugs into one super pill?

Somewhere along the line I can only assume it has something to do with money. And I'm not going to pull a Tom Cruise and claim there is no such thing as depression but I think we all need to take a long hard look at what drug companies are doing. Yes, it is possible that some people might need drugs to help some problem they might have. But it seems to me, if in fact depression was as widespread a mere 50 years ago as it is now, what did people do to cope then? Did they just keel over and die? Fifty years from now, will people ask, "What did people on anti-depressants in 2009 do to cope with depression if they didn't have anti-depressant repressants?"

Think about Ritalin, a drug given to kids to help them behave. Having worked at a summer camp I've seen children on ritalin. There is a chilling detachment in their eyes that seems like something out of an eerie science fiction story starring Haley Joel Osmont (ironically before his trouble with drugs).

All this to say, back in my day we had a drug to help children behave. It was called a beating. As always, I am wont to bring up how badly behaved I think kids are nowadays, having no kids of my own and in many ways being a kid myself. But man, kids are badly behaved. I am always amazed when I see a kid look their mothers right in the eyes and scream and swear at them. But today's liberal society will tell you, its wrong to spank them. Pump them full of drugs.

I reiterate, beat your kids. If not for their sake, then for the sake of the teacher's I saw recently, getting scolded by some punk 14 year old who wanted to smoke on school grounds. Do it for the crotchety old men like me on the bus who have utter contempt for 14 year olds who stagger onto the bus reeking of marijuana while they curse and swear at their equally unsavory friends over the cell phone. And if you don't have the hutzvah to kick your child's ass when they need it, send them to the army where someone will do it for you. I was speaking to a friend of mine who knows a psychiatrist for teens. I'm told the job often boils down to prescribing drugs for rich kids who have just gotten bored. Perhaps bored with a life that has become too easy and maybe even too pointless.

So now to cope with life, we need to turn our children into existential philosophers rambling to psychologists about their boredom or keep them stoned out of their mind? Isn't it just easier and more useful to beat them? I mean, what's the consequence? Hypothetically my child is going to call the cops and have me arrested for abuse? You know what, when I have kids, they're getting spanked, I don't care if it's illegal. "Yeah? What? You're going to call the cops? After I feed you, clothe you and put a roof over your head? Go ahead then. I'll go to jail I don't give a f**k! No rent! Free food! I don't have to buy drugs for spoiled children. Enjoy life in a foster home!" And as Russel Peters said, there's still plenty of time to beat the kids as the cops are en route!

Might I suggest that in many cases, depression and bad behaviour are the jails we make for ourselves when opulent society has deprived us of our boundaries. And perhaps perscription drugs are the guy in your neighbouring jail cell, wearing a doo rag, who manages to get you cigarettes from the outside world, a fickle pleasure to enjoy while in a jail cell that might kill you in the long run anyway.

Call me old fashionned, but I think this is one instance of capitalists creating a need where none existed previously. I fail to believe that evolution has failed us so badly that we have no natural ways to cope with depression and badly behaved kids. Please, tell me there's something in the food that's screwing us up. Tell me we need to play less X-box, watch less tv and do more chores in the yard. Tell me that we are trying to fullfill spiritual needs with shopping or some other vapid, materialistic diversions. But don't tell me that millions of people need drugs as badly as they need food. Or even need drugs to cure the effects of other drugs they may already be taking. Drugs to cure the effects of drugs? That certainly sounds like science fiction to me.