2pm TiLT – Oct 6, 2016

Today I Learned That I am super awesome at making code phrases. The dog is in the purse. The DOG is IN the purse. THE DOG IS IN THE PURSE!!!

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2pm TiLT – Oct. 5, 2016

Today I Learned That. Well. That I’m stronger than I thought, and I can make hard choices. Yesterday I learned that time has no meaning and everything is spinning atoms, but today I learned I can still move forward. Also backwards. Also sideways

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2:45pm TiLT – Oct. 3, 2016

Today I Learned That time has no meaning. Or something. Apparently Doctor Who has a spinoff. My alarm clock hates me. I’m exhausted …

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2pm TiLT – Oct. 2, 2016

Today I Learned That wedding makeup is no fucking joke. I woke up with a set of fake eyelashes stuck to my pjs.

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2pm TiLT – Oct. 1, 2016

Today I Learned That it’s possible to break, and bend, and be who you need to, when you need.

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2pm – TiLT Sept. 30, 2016

Today I Learned That UV light is no fucking joke. Is it possible to get a cuticle sunburn?

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2pm TiLT – Sep. 29, 2016

Today I Learned That family, regardless of how they earned the title, will always have your back. Until they push all your buttons and make you want to set something on fire. Then they’ll have your back, and your sides, and your hair, and your eyebrows

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Gra bong & Khao yum.

There is nothing worse then the person beside you ordering food that looks better than yours.

Except for when that person isn’t actually part of your dining party.

Not squash fritters. So sad.
We ate the fritters so fast I didn’t get to snap a picture. So instead: CAKE!

I work close enough to Khao San Road that it’s actually a little sad I had no idea it existed. Once I started asking around, I consistently got pieces of advice: order the squash fritters, and get your name on the list early so you’re only waiting an hour for a table instead of two. Someone should have also given me a heads up about the communal tables.

I’ve been lucky enough to do a fair amount of traveling, and when I have, I try to eat at places I’d never have the chance to at home, Needless to say, I did not dine at the Kenny Rogers Roasters when I had the chance in Singapore. But I’m used to that more European style of seating – your table is for you and your dining party; you are very separate from everyone else. Which is helpful, not everyone needs to know about your 50 minute Backstreet Boys conversation.

I really enjoyed Khao San Road, the food was great, the service was pretty fast for how many people they had seated, and I could not believe how hard it was for me to stop eating from the plate on my left, which did not belong to me or anyone I was with. Handsome Guy with Glasses, I know your date declared your crispy rice salad “too crispy for human consumption”, to which you agreed, but you looked sad when you realized that also meant you could no longer continue to eat it. Stick with the fritters, my friend – I’ll share.

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Dress-Up Day.

When I was a kid, my favourite show was Polka Dot Door. It ruled.


One of my Mom’s favourite stories about me is also about Polka Dot Door, thanks to many, many weekday afternoons of watching it with me. Polka Dot Door was a kid’s show on TVO, a channel in Ontario, Canada that, in the 1970’s, was starting to take a sharp look at the format of children’s programming. A team of writers, directors, and educators combined forces and created a giant 7 foot tall kangaroo, covered in multicoloured dots, named Polkaroo. By the 1980’s, Polka Dot Door was one of the most popular programs for kids in the province – and with good reason: it was a well designed, brilliantly executed, creative show that expanded the imagination of a generation.

And at the age of 4, I had discovered its biggest secret.

The show worked like this: there were always two adult hosts on screen, usually a woman and a man, and at one point during the show, one of them would quietly disappear*. Seconds later, after the remaining adult asked “Where’s Host #2?!?”, Polkaroo would appear out of nowhere, and act out silent clues to get the audience to guess a word based on the day’s theme. Once successful, Polkaroo would disappear, the other host would return, and would always say “The Polkaroo was here? And I missed him again?”

At which point I would turn to my Mom and say “You know Mom, I think that guy is the Polkaroo.”

My Mom claims that is the point she knew I’d be trouble going forward. I like to say it was clearly an example of how brilliant I was at a young age. These days we split the difference. I like to think I was a smart kid, and that I was picking up on the inner workings of a show designed to blow the minds of 4 year olds. I also like to think I wasn’t the only one – I had the pleasure of watching an improv group do an incredible sketch based on the very concept Polka Dot Door used to disguise the comings and goings of a giant polka dot kangaroo. It was magical – even after I had to explain it to the Irish Lad sitting beside me, it somehow made the whole thing more hilarious.

I still get excited when I see the Polkaroo – and when I think back on time spent with my Mom, I remember learning songs and games that helped me challenge my brain at a young age. Who knew a giant mostly yellow kangaroo would be such an inspiration.

* I always wondered about that – while I was watching as a kid, it was always the male host, but in earlier episodes, both hosts would take on the role of Polkaroo. There’s no explanation as to why – anyone have an idea?
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There are times when I’m entirely positive that cooking is the very best metaphor for life.

You try to stick to the recipe set out for you, you end up substituting ingredients for things you either a) already have or b) sound far less gross than nutritional yeast (trust me on this one), one of the middle step goes horribly wrong and you’re positive it’s without hope as you poke at your weirdly pink tomato-based sauce with a stick, then some time goes by and magic happens, and you’re suddenly looking at a delicious meal that makes you seriously proud.

At this point the only difference between my life and the barley I made for lunch today is that I’m not coated in grated parmesan. Not yet anyway.

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