Okay, so I've seen the television ads about how good psyllium fibre is for you. (I've even looked up the clinical trials.) And I'm trying to be better about eating breakfast. So lately I've been starting my day with a bowl of honey-nut Cheerios and adding the requisite third of a cup of Bran Buds.

And here's the weird part: I really enjoy the bran cereal. I have no idea why bran gets such a bad rap, it's actually very tasty. Not that I thought so as a little kid when my mother would force me to eat it, but now? Nom, nom, nom.

Or maybe I am not the part of a horse I always thought I was...

And, to round off the weekend, I should note that I joined latsyrk, her husband, my brother, and his friend for Easter dinner. I made cornbread muffins and helped with the vegetables. The idea was not to make the pregnant lady do all the lifting and carrying. Of course, having a complete gimp as a kitchen helper probably wasn't ideal, but what are you gonna do?

It was a very nice meal.

Which I should not think about now because I'm hungry and have to stop for groceries on the way home. However, now we're all caught up.

Although a different cake this time.

The frosting recipe I used was a butter cream one from my old Canadian Living Cookbook, and I used the variation where you add a couple of teaspoons of instant coffee for flavouring. There's another flavour variation that uses melted unsweetened chocolate for flavouring.

I may have to try that one. I can get a pound cake or something from Sobey's and save me from having to bake another cake just to try out frosting. But come to think of it, we're having a mystery writers' meeting on Sunday, so if the frosting turns out, I can recruit my group-mates to eat the cake...

So, the party last night.

The cake turned out, and so did the frosting. I got a snazzy new cake stand and this is what it looked like:

( Pictures of my handiwork! )

There were about ten guests, which is an ideal number to eat a birthday cake: everybody got a fair-sized slice, with or without ice cream, and I ended up with a couple of pieces left for later, but not enough to make a real pig of myself.

( Leftovers. )

Since this was also a film club gathering (with some extra guests) we also viewed movies. thallid and deceptivelyevil arrived first and cast their vote, and this meant the first movie we watched was Reefer Madness, cleverly colourized from the 1938 (or possibly 1936?) original cautionary tale. We quickly realized the colouring had been done by affectionate potheads, because the marijuana smoke was every colour from green to purple to pink.

( Coneycat rants about anti-pot propaganga for a minute. )

The movie? Was brilliant, for a given value of "brilliant" that encompasses "bad acting, worse writing, and really, really funny dancing." These were the most energetic potheads you have ever seen. The writers of the movie seemed fatally confused as to the respective effects of, say, pot, peyote, and methamphetamines, and the kids in the movie kept acting like speed freaks. And then there was the FBI agent with the file cabinet full of "marihuana" cases. Agent: "We used to have about a file a year. Now--do you see those cabinets?" Random party guest: "The one on the left is devoted to Jerry Garcia!" Agent: "There are many sad cases. This one is especially tragic: a young boy who, under the effects of marihuana, killed his entire family with an axe." Random party guest: "That'll teach them to stand in front of the Cheetos!"

We learned a lot from the film. Mostly how not to write a screenplay. The first few scenes wouldn't play, but even so it felt like much longer than an hour.

And then, in order to get the full spectrum of the drug experience, we watched Festival Express. Again. It never gets old. I seem to have developed a pattern of showing two movies when I host this group, one to laugh at and one to watch. Which appears to work, judging by the reaction of the guests.

Or maybe they were in a cake-induced state of euphoria.

The "not a birthday party" message didn't seem to get across, and I was a little embarrassed at the percentage of attendees who gave me presents. Not that I plan to give them back. latsyrk, who is a genius, made this little darling:

( Let's call him Socks! No, wait, that's what I call my socks... )

And then, as people began to drift away, a few of us watched part of The Last Waltz for the Neil Young content and we called it a night.

I should definitely do this again next year.

The cake? Seems to have turned out.

I am off to purchase ice cream and assorted peripherals.

Then I make frosting. I'll let you know later how it all turns out.

And now I'd better go, since there's construction on the street next to the library here, some of the parking lot is closed, and predatory would-be patrons are prowling the parking lot, looking for somewhere to leave their cars while they rush inside to feed their library cravings.

Don't you love it when that happens?

(The prowling, I mean. And the popularity of the library. Not losing part of the lot. But it's temporary.)

I think progress has been made on a couple of big-project fronts, but I'm still pretty relieved the only major activities on my schedule this weekend involve getting ready for the party.

I need to get to the barn and do laundry at some point as well.

Damn. One of these days work and the weather will be sane at the same time. In the meantime... cake!

Inspired by the last couple of birthday parties I've attended, I'm sort of throwing myself one this weekend.

Okay, it's not really a birthday party.

It's a "help me eat my cake" party. Because I like to bake and my birthday has become my excuse to do so. Only... well, then I have a cake, right?

I need to get a cake stand so I can do the thing properly. I found a recipe for home made butter cream frosting last year that frees me from pre-made icing which just is never as good.

And the same folks who came to the other parties, for the most part, are coming to this one. So barring catastrophe, this should be fun!

In case anyone was wondering, the chicken with Dijon/ginger/honey/cayenne/cinnamon sauce and cinnamon chicken actually turned out to be fairly palatable. In fact, I plan to make it again.

My brother, my cousin, his cousin, and a couple of their friends went out to a local bar called Bearly's last night and invited me along. It's one of those places I see in The Coast (local free paper) and think, "I should check that place out sometime," but never have. (I should check it out mostly because because Garrett Mason plays there regularly and people who know these things tell me I have to check out Garrett Mason, but I digress. Actually he's there tonight and tomorrow, but I'm already booked.)

Anyway, last night was blues, sorta, with one Andrew Gillis on harmonica and vocals, accompanied by a guitarist and a drummer. My cousin knows more about music than I do and he noted that they kept trying to fold jazz or something into their blues material, with mixed success. He liked their straight blues, though. I wasn't feeling it especially but maybe I was tired.

However, we also had ribs, and those were fabulous. Definitely worth going back for those.

Perhaps next week, when the music will be provided by Theresa Malenfant.

I may just stop for Chinese food on the way home. I definitely need to get groceries, but I will probably leave that for Thursday, when I'll be getting the place ready for my parents' return from out west.

In the meantime, a nice combo plate sounds like a good idea.

And in fact, they do. (At least the honey-nut ones.) But you know what tastes really great? Plain bran! In hot water! Yum!

Just ask Mitzi. Last week one of the girls fixed a bran mash for her gelding, and since Mitzi was in the alleyway getting brushed, she decided to offer some to my girl. Out of the end of a sweat scraper. It looked like Mitz was eating it from a spoon. And boy, you should have seen the look on her little face!

Yesterday, the same kid gave Mitzi pink peppermints, so she has now been elevated to the status of Best Girl Ever in Mitzi's eyes. I guess I'd better make with the bran mashes if I want to keep my horse!

But it will probably do so later tonight, in which case no Hell's Kitchen for me. I'm probably home for the evening making banana bread. The question is, if it's still dirty out tomorrow, will I be going anywhere, or will I end up eating it myself?

I'm sure my brother will help me if necessary. He's nice that way.

In the new television ad for Wendy's chicken sandwiches, is that "Blister In the Sun" they're playing in the background? It always makes me think of Bob Hallett from Great Big Sea.

And speaking of fast food reminds me, I saw Supersize Me on TV a few weeks ago. By the end I was convinced I would never be hungry again. I don't eat a lot of McDonalds anyway, but yuuuuuuuuck.

However, the show didn't just talk about McDonalds. At one point there was an interview with one of the Baskin-Robbins heirs (I can't remember if he was a Baskin or a Robbins), who spoke about the high incidence of obesity and heart disease in both families, and linked it firmly to the vast amounts of ice cream consumed by them.

The funny part was, I'd been watching the movie going, "Uh-huh" and "That makes sense," but when I got to that part I could feel myself getting all stiff and defensive and unreasonable. DON'T SAY BAD THINGS ABOUT ICE CREAM!! ICE CREAM IS GOOD FOR YOU!!!!

On calmer second thought I figured, yes, ice cream is harmless and one of the finer things in life if you eat a small bowl a couple of times a month and have a cone or two in the summer like I do (actually, most summers I just think about having an ice cream cone, and the possibility is often enough.) Mr. Baskin or Mr. Robbins was talking about ice cream as a basic food group, which probably isn't good. But still, I had to laugh at myself afterward, because I got really mad for a second.

A final junk food note: as Mitzi and I were walking back into the barn after our longeing session on Sunday, I heard a shriek from inside the barn. When we came inside Grey Horse Girl asked me, in some agitation,

"What happens if a horse eats a Pop-Tart?"
Me: "You'll probably just have a happy horse." Realizes why she's worried. "Was it chocolate? I don't think chocolate is a problem for horses. They feed it as a treat in British horse books."

Grey Horse Girl was relieved, and Grey Horse was smug, but I think in future his owner will keep her snacks even farther from his stall when his door is open and his stall guard is up.

Come to think of it, though, I've watched those documentary shows about British vets and there have been a few times when dogs are brought in after eating boxes of chocolates, and the big concern seems to be the wrappings instead of the chocolate. Is British chocolate less harmful to dogs than North American chocolate or what? (I have always heard the more and darker the chocolate and the smaller the dog, the bigger the risk, but I've never heard the Atlantic Ocean had anything to do with it.)

Okay, I let my cats lick the bowl when I have chocolate ice cream, but only a lick or two.

Oh, and final food note: Vladimir and Angel have been getting along much better lately, even to the extent of Vlad doing some sneaky face-washing when he thinks nobody is looking. But the other night he was looking at her with the giant-pupils mighty-hunter look, so I had to watch him carefully.

Which is only appropriate for this post because Coney had a giant-pupils mighty-hunter moment of his own the night before, when I was having a bowl of ice cream with berries on top. As soon as he smelled the tender flesh of his natural prey, the elusive raspberry, Coney went into stalking mode and I thought I was going to have to lock him in another room until I was finished. Only the damn cat looked so wild I was a little afraid to touch him.

Nothing like a savage feral (elderly) vegetarian to get your attention.

I talked him out of pummelling me and stealing my snack, and then let him have all the syrup from the bottom of the bowl, and we're friends again. But still.

...but we're going to the Seahorse tonight to see GH & SH. By "we" I mean me, a library school classmate, and his wife. Because if there is one thing every rock band likes to see at their shows, it's a whole lot of librarians.

I understand the Novaks will definitely not be playing but, as I've said before, I think I like them better on record anyway. And my friends don't seem too disappointed.

I just hope when the temperature drops that the roads don't get too horrible. This being Halifax, it's hard to predict whether that will happen until after it does, so I'm not going to worry about it.

All this plus Turkish food for supper. Yay!

I nearly just had an "inventing potato salad"* moment here at my desk. I have a little plastic container of peanuts and raisins to snack on, just because it seemed like a good idea to bring both items and one container was easier to stuff in my lunch bag.

So I was nibbling on these and it occurred to me that raisins and peanuts are a really nice combination. I felt very clever, until the little voice in my head said, "And you know what? You could add sunflower seeds and other dried fruits and then give it a really cool name like, oh, maybe trail mix!!"

(The little voice in my head is a real bitch sometimes.)

*"Inventing potato salad": one night the brother who now lives out west was drunk and hungry, and because the only things in the fridge were a pot of mashed potatoes and half a jar of mayonnaise, he mixed the two together and was delighted with the cleverness of the combination--until his room-mate pointed out that he had just invented potato salad. (The room-mate could be a bit of a bastard sometimes, especially if awakened in the middle of the night to taste a new food.)

Yes, of course I have stolen this incident. Since Jordy doesn't enjoy looking like an idiot I have given the incident to Kenny, who is happy to tell everyone he knows about the night he invented potato salad.

Seriously. I was a little late at work last night and by the time I got home I figured I'd better beat it to the barn. I decided to longe instead of ride, and turn on the arena lights to see how Mitzi handled shadows.

Surprisingly well, it turned out. Anyway, it was nine when we stopped longeing, nine-thirty when I left the barn, and about ten when I got home again.

To find a message from my farrier that he'd be out to trim the girl today. This afternoon.

So back I went to leave a note and his money, since we operate on a cash basis and good patient farriers do not grow on trees. I got back home at eleven and essentially dined on chips and half a bag of sour Skittles.

I've got to start planning my meals ahead of time or something. And maybe invest in a microwave.