Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Google search term

This is the Google search term entered by a small gray kitten, alternately called "Rambo" and "Motherfucker", as she stood on my keyboard:

;lllllll76666664444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444444498888888rffffffjg5-=======================================hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrrrjklllllllllllllllllllllllll,,00000000000000,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,n

It's the worst search term I've ever seen. Cats can't use the internet.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Grim curiosity


I've always had a grim curiosity for the outrageous things other cultures do to Mexican food. There is nothing more satisfying than, upon hearing about some abominable taco ingredient found in London, sadly shaking the head and murmuring "Jesus".

Passing by Sombreros Mexican Cantina on Beach Street last night, I decided to check out New Zealand's take on taqueria fare. Bracing myself for a miserable dining experience, I marched up the two flights of stairs that lead to the restaurant and was promptly seated.

The items listed on the menu seemed pretty standard--though there were adorably precise descriptions of each dish, like for example the "Burrito", described as several ingredients encased in a flour tortilla tube. This I charitably chalked up to the fact that the place is frequented by international tourists unfamiliar with Mexican cuisine--so, fair enough. I suppose we all had to have a burrito described to us at some point in our lives.

It was not until I got to the prices that things turned a little weird.

I'll just out and say it: the burrito cost $NZ26. That's $US21! And this wasn't some huge dinner plate with all sorts of sides and extras--it was just one burrito. My mind spun as I tried to imagine what kind of ingredients it contained, or what size it must have been, to justify such an outrageous price. Even taking into account the higher price of food in New Zealand, this was utterly insane.

I ended up going with the Two Tacos dinner, which at $NZ16/$US13 was no bargain but at least within the realm of reasonableness. Without looking at the drinks menu, I also ordered a Corona.

The waiter eagerly took my taco order but balked at my beer selection. "We do have Corona, but you can get that anywhere. Why not try one of these?" he asked, gesturing somewhat proudly to a section of the menu with Mexican beers. "Have you ever had a Pacifico?" Again: adorable.

Examining the beer prices, I was surprised to see them priced nearly all the same--even Tecate, which in San Francisco had been the hipster step-cousin of Pabst Blue Ribbon and reliably as cheap. Not so in Queenstown--here it would set me back $NZ8.50/$US7, along with the others.

Resisting the urge to lecture this young man about imported Mexican beers, I stuck with my Corona order.

Some time later, my food arrived. It was a plate consisting of two chicken tacos, with shredded lettuce on one side and on the other, rice. The tacos were drizzled with a salsa that seemed to consist mostly of tomato paste and most certainly wasn't fresh. The rice was also tomatoey, more like a Spanish rice concoction, and had peas and carrots mixed into it. Finally, the tacos had your standard chicken and cheese, and--though the quality of the meat was not all that great--this part they seemed to have gotten right.

The meal was terrible but, seeing as how this was principally a cultural fact finding mission, I marked it down in the ledger as a success, paid, and happily bounded down the stairs from which I came.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

The spreadsheets of old men

Pull up a chair, dear reader, and warm your socks by the roaring fire. Relax and let my grandfatherly presence wash over you. The sonorous voice, the bifocals, the smiling eyes peering over them, the cardigan pockets audibly bursting with Werther's Originals--all these things put you at ease as I read to you from a gigantic tome called "How Awesome My Spreadsheet Is".

For this is no ordinary spreadsheet. It must effortlessly record purchases made with USD, NZD, and AUS currencies, yet also normalize all expenditures to a single currency. It must distinguish between card and cash payments and yet also record cash withdrawals and credits. Its numbers must dance and its formulas must provide the music! O!

But alas, the spreadsheets of old men are of little interest to the young. I see you've already drifted off, readying yourself, no doubt, for tomorrow's adventures. Perhaps that's as it should be.

I spend a few minutes reading the formula in D2, silently taking in its beauty. And it is not long before I, too, grow sleepy.

I set the tome aside. Then I drape a heavy blanket over you and tuck it under your chin. The story will have to wait for another night, I think to myself.