Does commenting actually gets you some?

First of all thank you to the one person who left a comment here. I once run a blog with a much nicer layout, photos, all those mouseonover fancy CSS tags. I got lazy recently and with changes at my old mother server http://www.nomadlife.org, I have not have the time to spruce up this blog.

It will be done, however, as soon as I head back to good old Land of the Great White North (ie Canada) in a month. For the moment, Brazil is keeping me busy with its many party invitations.

So the food for thought I’m offering on the table today is: does commenting (on a blog, in popular social network websites, twitter, Livejournal communities etc…) actually get you some? You know, would posting a comment semi-intelligent (or heck, just saying the right things at the right time) eventually get people laid and stuff?

Now this is a serious question and I am actually wondering and my question is targeted specifically to those sites where one has the chance to interact with total strangers (so in this case I count Facebook as an out). The reason I ask is that being a member of Couchsurfing.org (CS) and a blogger myself, once in a while I see or even get (usually unwanted) solicitation for some more intimate get-to-know than I care for. And my question is then- what would be the stats of that? Would the guy do the approaching, or the girl? How much time does it take? What kind of conversations are involved? etc.

I ask because I have once done a lingustics project on conversations in real-time via MSN (yes, I studied once, in a place called University of Toronto). And recently I’ve been approached by a. a Lesbian via CS community b. some random guy apparently from Amsterdam, NL (! and no, you guys being in the finals of the World Cup won’t get you anywhere, sorry). To both I’ve taken the easiest and fastest approach- turning my back (ahem, virtually) on their comments and questions.

One of the most popular threads in the CS Toronto is actually this spanish/Latin guy openly posting a question in the forum asking if any girl would like to go to the museum with him and then potentially if everything goes well have sex after. That thread probably generated a sort of revival of the CS community in Toronto and sees a record high of hits and replies ever in any CS community I’ve joined.

Last I’ve checked the thread, the guy still didn’t get laid.

Thoughts?

Posted in Questions | Tagged | 4 Comments

If St. Patrick and Maradona plays a football match…..

So today I discovered something really cool about Argentina and Ireland which probably sounds lame to most, but it’s a very important discovery for me. The million dollar question: what does Argentina and Ireland have in common?

Ok, let’s see what’s NOT in common…

1. Irish men are mostly blond.
2. Argentinian men are mostly brunettes.
3. The Irish drink quite a bit.
4. Okay, the argentinians drink quite a bit too.
5. Ireland has St.Patrick’s Day.
6. Argentina has….Maradona.
7. ……

Clearly, I am very culturally sensitive and know a lot about Ireland.

Anyway, I think you lot ought to know about it. What does Argentina and Ireland have in common? Well my dear friends, the answer lies in their desserts.

That’s right, sweet stuff.

The Argentinian have this thing that is apparently world-famous:
Alfajores, a godsend delight very well-known in Argentina.


The Al-fa-hor-llles. Beautiful crispy-soft chocolate coated creme cookie thingy with gooey caramel in the middle. And I’m not one for caramel nor chocolate. After a year living in Belgium I basically have been shunning all forms of chocolatey existence except for Belgian chocolates. And in Buenos Aires other than feasting my visual self (i.e. eyes) on the men I most definitely rediscovered my love for sweets- the alfajores. Beautiful, magical existence, you can easily buy one at any convenience store or the world-famous Havanna chocolate/coffee place for 4 argentinian pesos (that’s like, 1 Canadian/80 european cents?/2 reais). I think for 3 nights in a row in Buenos Aires, amidst all the partying, I only ate one alfarojes per night as “dinner”.

Now going back what then does Argentina have in common with Ireland?

The answer, my friends, is the national Irish cookie, Jacob Orange Club.

I remember the first time I bit into an alfaroje there was something vaguely familiar with the taste and the feel. By that time I was already thinking…what is this sense of nostalgia? I mean come on it’s just a chocolate cookie. I am too old to cry on the streets because of chocolate. But then I realized that actually alfarojes taste almost the same as my childhood favourite sweet treat, the Irish Jacob Orange Club.

For those who don’t know (shame on you if you grew up and lived in Hong Kong and don’t know what this is), here’s a visual reference:



OMG. OMG.

This orange-wrapped orgasmic piece of orange-tinted chocolate cookie has vaguely the same feel and taste of alfajores. As a child, I was known by my parents to be one that couldn’t stop snacking (not that now I’m not), but hey, a kid’s gotta grow, you know. I’d say it’s my natural instinct getting in the way. Anyway, while I never have a sweet tooth, I was a sucker for Jacob orange club cookies and would probably be easily lured away by a child kidnapper if one were to come to me with a whole pack of it and say “whaddya think missy I’ve got some more in my car!”

Thank god back then people weren’t as cunning and all conniving.

Ok, the major difference of a Jacob orange club is that it is actually, ahem, a chocolate covered wafter with some caramel and orange in the middle. It’s a delight and does produce the occasional crumbs or chocolate smudge down the front of your shirt if you are not careful.

In a desperate attempt to find out why I almost burst into tears upon biting into an alfajores, I found this amazing journal entry thingy from a site called “Nice Cup of Tea and Sit Down.com” which gave a very detailed, and excellent rendition of a 1980s born kid’s feeling towards the golden orange club:

Even 20 years ago the Club was a well established brand….. Two crisp rectangles of biscuit, a layer of orange cream between and all covered in a layer of chocolate so thick that in certain strategic places it could be bitten off in chunks.

Looking like a small chocolate ingot of gold the club biscuit exuded confidence and class. Finally the whole thing was wrapped in grease proof paper with a foil outer layer and slipped in a paper tube…..

How times have changed. Jacob’s were absorbed into Danone, a French food giant, and for reasons unknown, the Club biscuit was reduced to a mere shadow of its former self, in a fashion somewhat similar to the turning of King Posidon in the Little Mermaid into a small pale sea worm thing. The once proud boast about chocolate, that came so easily to a nation’s lips, was no longer to be heard. The two biscuits were reduced to one, the biscuit became thin and insubstantial, the orange cream squatting on top of it, the chocolate of course dwindled, the gloarious packaging, which lent itself to not one but two small origami dogs, became a cellophane sachet. I was personally too distraught to bring my self to even speak the name Club biscuit for many years. ”

You see? That’s another thing Argentina and Ireland have in common, other than desserts. They are both fucked royally by the French. Centuries ago France made various attemps in invading Ireland (please don’t ask me which ones, try wikipedia). Argentina is doomed to feel that they’re Parisian when well, they sort of are, but it’s almost a Paris of the past- though beautiful still of course. Anyway. Now the French won’t let go of both and decided to screw up the beautiful childhood memory of many (er, mine) which means bastardizing the Jacob Orange Club.

What’s worse now is that France didn’t even make it to the semi-finals in World Cup. Everybody’s f-ed by France, especially the French who travelled all the way to SSA and invested all that money to see their teams play.

I actually love Paris very very much, but hey, no place is perfect.

Posted in La Gastronomie | 1 Comment

Lining up for Infinity

According to the great Greek philosopher Aristotle, in our lives we spend an average of 1 hour per day lining up for things (right). Between bartering for 2 kilos of pesticide-free veggies with your neighbourhood vendor, waiting at the vending machine for your daily coke intake, supermarkets or (gasp) at clubs, you wait. You know you gotta wait if you want to get out/buy stuff/get in.

I read an article on Global Voices today about how the Japanese love queueing. My initial reaction is that they probably don’t love it, just got so programmed into doing it (sorry, Japanese people, I do admire and love your sense of routine) that it’s more of an automatic response. It’s like a Chinese going for rice with his quarter chicken meal at Swiss Chalet- what’s your side dish with that? Mashed potatoes? Oh okay, just gimme rice.

It’s in our blood.

Anyway, I got so inspired by the article (yes, I read it, and I really liked it, no sarcasm intended) that I traced into my amazing cerebral mass and made a list of things that I lined up for, of which I find mildly or relatively memorable. Here goes.

• Red Hot Chili Peppers concert tickets: 1 hour
• Red Hot Chili Peppers’ live appearance and performance at MuchMusic. I almost got John’s autograph: 1 hour
• Opening of Red Hot Chili Peppers’ concert at what they used to call the Air Canada Centre, Toronto: 3 hours
• Something off the dollar menu in Mickey D’s: 20 minutes. 10 if you are lining behind grade niners
• Monthly TTC pass (metro/bus pass) at the University of Toronto: min. 15 minutes, Max 1 hour
• Chinese supermarkets whenever they have BBQ pork fresh out of the oven: 15-25 minutes. 5 when you are behind a particularly chatty housewife. You lose your sense of reality while listening
• Plane ticket deals on sale via Ryanair or GOL Brasil: between 45 mbps to 100 mbps. Do dial-ups count?
• Watching my life go by while pretending to be classy on a sidewalk café in Paris: infinite (actually only 5 minutes)
• Boxing day shopping at Future Shop while hustling the sales dude to install Windows XP for me for free: 5 hours
• Scarborough Town centre, parking lot queue: FKLEKLEHFEUOAOIdiohd9329743@*(&(¨! You stupid biatch!!!!
• Roasted Honey Duck at Maxim’s Restaurant in Hong Kong (precisely the location across from SPCS in Causeway Bay): age 10, lined up for the daily roasted duck with my dad. He wanted to buy two, and they only sell 20 a day at 35 HKD per piece
• I lined up for duck. Time stays still when you line up for duck. • The ladies’ washroom, various countries/continents/cities: the total line up time comes up to approximately 25,457,896 minutes.

But lining up takes up a whole new league when it comes to China. Some spectators at the Shanghai Expo certainly concur: “But others, such as Gao Yiming, worry about the sheer numbers of Chinese people. Gao was resting after a day of lining up and tramping around the enormous site. The expo hosted 100,000 visitors Friday, but she pointed out that organizers are expecting half a million visitors on peak days.”

Trrrramping.

Posted in La Gastronomie | Leave a comment