If you’re like me and don’t have a wife to nag you about your bad habits, no problem. Habitforge.com will do the nagging for you. Based on a theory that it takes 21 days to quit an old habit or develop a new habit, HabitForge will send you emails for 21 days asking you to respond yes or no to the goals you had cited. HabitForge will then send your friends an email of your progress and of your success. That way, they can get in on the nagging too. If you mess up, HabitForge starts counting from 1 again.

But you’re right out of luck if you don’t have the habit of checking your email.

Nag for hire II—the Mandometer

Food Tube at Salon.com describes the Mandometer as a plate that scolds you. The device tracks your speed of eating compared to normal eating patterns, and tells you to slow down or speed up your consumption. It also weighs your food, letting you know when you are pigging out.

The Mandometer was developed as psychiatric treatment for anorexia and bulimia. Bless their little hearts: now the rest of us can be nagged into proper eating habits.

Resources

• Mandometer reviewed at MyDigitalLife
• Jess, a 21-day blogger
• Steven Aitchison on the so-called 21-day theory
• Rick Clark: Break a habit by making it a habit
• I am Luca blog

In Salon.com women writers continue to whine over male writers getting more attention in best lists and awards.

Some have been whining about this for years. Here’s a 1998 article, Are men better writers than women? reviewing the Harper’s piece, Scent of a woman’s ink: are women writers really inferior? The editors who write the titles could do with a little writing face lift.

And here’s a story about a woman writer who had a hard time making it until she wrote with a male alias. Why James Chartrand Wears Women’s Underpants? But, hey a real male writer would never say, “women’s underpants.” Panties. Babes wear panties. Even my 90-year-old mother wears panties.

With Monday around the corner, I thought of Meatless Mondays, a promotion by Earthsave to get us away from eating meat. In the spirit of Meatless Monday, I got out my vegetarian cookbook and found a recipe for filo filled with vegetables and feta and a little pesto.

I’ve never bought or used filo pastry before. Instead of following the directions on the Krinoz box, which says to thaw first, I pulled the filo box right from the freezer. Of course, filo doesn’t work frozen — it broke off in small pieces. Even when thawed, it appears to be a tricky thing and needs to be covered with a damp cloth so it won’t dry out while preparing the recipe.

I managed to make my recipe with the small pieces of filo. Mmm, good. Certainly worth the hassle. I’ll use the leftover filo to make apple strudel from the recipe on the box or maybe a spinach and feta filo. There’s lots of great filo recipes including the one pictured: Filo and Apricot Purses.

Resources

• See a happy cow at I Want to Hold Your Hand
• Recipe for Sweet Potato-Peanut Butter Bisque

The first time Javier Bardem appears on screen in Vicky Christina Barcelona, a lusciously photographed film set in Barcelona, he’s leaning against a wall in an art gallery looking forlorn. And, he’s wearing sneakers. The black top-white shoelace kind of sneakers that you see in a movie set in Barcelona about an artist picking up women for a ménage trios weekend. Bardem, in the role of a painter, exudes sex just as his character Anton Chigurh in No County for Old Man oozed evilness. The sexy ooze and the black top sneakers accompany Bardem in every scene he’s in. Except, of course, when he’s in bed.

In Vicky Christina Barcelona, Woody Allen explores the idea that fulfilment in a relationship or marriage is hard to attain. It’s unreachable for all the characters, except Rebecca Hall’s fiancé. Hall’s character thought she had it down, until she meets Bardem who cracks open her placid white-picket fence dream. Bardem’s character failed at marriage, but he and his ex-wife—played by Penelope Cruz—have another go at it when Scarlett Johansson’s character provides an interlude from violence and brings them back to love—or at least love-making. Cruz, also a painter, becomes a muse for Johansson who had taken up art photography. The two become lovers, and Johansson, already Bardem’s live-in lover, enjoys a quiet domestic life with the two artists. Until she gets bored and returns to the U.S with Hall.

In this Woody Allen film, Javier Bardem upstages the director. Though it might not have anything to do with the film, but everything to do with the company I keep. My friends don’t seem to like Woody Allen’s movies. My women friends, that is, and so instead of asking have you see the new Woody Allen film, I say, Have you seen the latest Javier Bardem movie? Upon discovering I’m talking about the new Woody Allen film, one girlfriend complained that he doesn’t write interesting female roles. Aside from that statement being untrue—Vicky Christain Barcelona has four great female roles played by Scarlett Johansson, Penélope Cruz, Rebecca Hall, and Patricia Clarkson—I wonder why feminist-thinking women believe it’s the male directors’ role to make remarkable films about women. Casting himself in many of his movies, Woody Allen ensured his women characters possessed a higher sensibility. In this movie, the director has the good sense to stay out of it. On the other hand, some male friends don’t like Woody Allen films either. Not enough action. Too much dialogue. His movies are for women, one guy said. Woody Allen just can’t win.

But there’s plenty of us who like, and even love his work. For me, seeing a Woody Allen film is like going to see an old uncle, once a year or so. The pasty wallpaper and dusty unkempt rooms breathe comfort and ease. And as the decades roll by, the uncle’s stories, some common, some new, have a reassuring familiarity about them. When the film credits—set in the familiar white typeface Windsor on black—roll down the movie screen, I slide down in my seat, ready for a fine, undemanding visit.

Here’s a secret

In the film, the three lovers enjoy espresso made in the Italian Bialetti espresso maker. The Bialetti Moka Express model makes great regular coffee, too. The 3-cup model makes one small cup of coffee and the 9-cup yields 2 large cups. Bialetti sure beats the $1,000 plus coffee makers that Starbucks peddle.

I don’t believe in the after life, although I am bringing a change of underwear.
—Woody Allen

Resources

• Trailers dubbed in Spanish
• ELJU.EU
• http://vickycristinabarcelona.wordpress.com/
• Expedient MEANS
• The Art and Culture of Movies

Writers’ body parts don’t usually get media attention. The profile of Haruki Murakami in the Globe & Mail described a man with toned biceps and quadriceps. The interview was on the occasion of a new book, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, a memoir of Murakami’s running and sitting life. Murakami, a former jazz club owner and successful novelist prone to reclusiveness, took up marathon running to combat the sedentary life of writing. This resonated with me. As a production artist working at a computer for hours, the pounds are determined to keep an upward trajectory along with my age.

To say Murakami inspired me to start running is giving him too much credit. By the time I read Running, several things were already in place. For one, I’ve always admired people who get up early and run. If you run in the evening, I’m less likely to admire you. Two, I’ve always liked the sound of running. Three, I’ve recently scrapped bottom—my energy has been at a record low while my weight has almost reached a record high. Four, I can’t get the image of tubby people in hover chairs from the movie Wall-E out of my mind.

The day after reading Murakami’s book, I cycled downtown to the public library and found several books on running for beginners. On the way home, I bought a stop watch. The next morning, I typed up a 13-week schedule and hit the road. After the first week of training, I found a tangible goal—a 5k run/walk with the CIBC Breast Cancer Run for the Cure.

I liked the sound of Murakami’s life much more than the reading of it. At times, the writing is simple and repetitive. Murakami even breaks a basic rule: Don’t tell—show. He says he spent a lot of time polishing the manuscript. I felt embarrassed for the guy, but attributed it to the translation and wished I could read the author in his native language.

Critics have not been as kind. He’s called lazy by Geoff Dyer of the New York Times and clichéd by Michael Hingston of the Georgia Straight. Ouch. But as his perfect reader, my interest in his novels is perked. Murakami is on my summer reading list. Sort of.

Bloggers on Murakami

zidouta.com | Patrick Nathan

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Last week or so, I took a friend to the Cottage Bistro, a live music restaurant on Main Street, Vancouver, for a birthday dinner. The website indicated a motorbike event, so I called ahead to confirm the time and type of music. I was two months late with this dinner invite, so we decided to go ahead with our plans.

At the Cottage Bistro, I ordered the buffalo burger and my companion chose fish and chips. I don’t know how the venue managed to blow preparing rather simple food, but the food was a disappointment. And instead of blues, there was a heavy rock band. In such a small venue, the sound blasted me and my companion out of our seats and into the street. We passed a long line of patrons buying beer, and outside, parked motorcycles lined the street for a block or two.

Wanting to salvage the evening, I suggested we stroll down Main Street to find a place for dessert and a drink. Tucked away on East 6th off of Main, we found The Whip. We passed on a drink and shared a lovely chocolate dessert sweetened with strawberries.

I’ll never return to the Cottage Bistro to eat, but dropping in on a late Saturday afternoon for a drink and live blues, is still in the cards

Blues at the Cottage

Resources

The Whip Gallery Restaurant on Facebook

MartiniBoys.com gives The Whip a good review

Waking up on Sunday, the morning of the Tour de Blintz, my eyes met an intense downpour of rain. As I slid open the patio door, the sound of the rain was as heavy as a Tom Waits song. It was still early—5:30 am—and knowing Vancouver weather, a lot could happen by 9:30. I was an hour’s ride to the start of the Tour and by the time I arrived, the rain had toned down to a drizzle. Within a few minutes, the rain had stopped.

About 20 people, including a 3-generation family of five (on two tandem bicycles, one with a trailer for the little kid), enjoyed the leisure 45km Tour around Vancouver. We stopped at several

Jewish eateries for a sampling of food such as latkes and bagels with cream cheese.

The ride, and a longer, 75km ride the following Sunday, was hosted by the Jewish Museum and the Vancouver Area Cycling Coalition. Thanks to Greg Robinson at the Jewish Museum for organizing the tour.

The 2008 Tour de Blintz

• Enigma Restaurant
• Siegel’s Bagels
  
• Solly’s Bagelry
• Omnitsky Kosher Delicatessen
• Garden City Bakery

Cycling blogs

UBC Researchers to investigate cycling safety

Critical Mass Vancouver

Bike and beer

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Gee, I thought Steve Martin’s memoir Born Standing Up would be funny. What it lacks in humour, though, it makes up in tenderness. Subtitled, A comic’s life, the book focuses on Martin’s life and career as a television comedy writer and stand-up comedian. As the book jacket says, by 1978 Martin was the biggest concert draw in the history of stand-up. The rock-star comedian quit stand-up three years later.

Martin’s story is a portrait of discipline and hard work, punctuated by long-time difficulties with family relations, particularly with his father. On the comedy-circuit road, Martin was often alone and lonely. He eventually manages reconciliation with family and lovingly describes his last meeting with his 91-year-old mother. I cried more than I laughed while reading Born Standing Up.

At the height of his stand-up career, Martin wrote an outline for a screenplay and pitched it to Paramount Pictures. At the time, Carl Reiner was writing and producing the Dick Van Dyke Show. Reiner became The Jerk’s director and the movie’s success sent Martin into orbit.

With the same kind of impeccable timing as a comedic performer, Martin’s writing is a study in timing. Just when I thought I couldn’t bear hearing his struggles on this stage or that stage, he moves on. He never lingers too long anywhere.

Along the way, many people helped and inspired Martin. One vignette describes Ann-Margaret bringing Elvis backstage to meet Martin. With a Mississippi drawl, Elvis says to Martin, Son, you have an ob-leek sense of humor.

Steve Martin claims to be shy by nature. He enjoys how fame can be an icebreaker. But he also hates that fame destroys privacy. He is never comfortable when strangers act as familiar as old friends. So if you run into Martin, ignore him. He’ll really like you.

Martin says he lost a hyphen when he quit writing television comedy. No longer a TV comedy writer-comedian, he’s earned many more hyphens: comedian-actor-author-novelist-screenwriter-producer-musician-and perennial Saturday Night Live host.

What bloggers and critics say

By mistake | A brisk read | New York Times | Slate.com

Steve Martin as The Great Flydini

You never know when you might win something—and I was glad I had my panniers on my bike at the wrap-up party of the Bike to Work Week. I won a gift basket from Vancouver’s Yale Rhythm and Blues Club including a bottle of wine, VIP passes, CD and t-shirt. Thank you Yale Club.

Vancouver cyclists were really lucky this year. We had great weather every day during the 2008 Bike to Work Week. Over 1,700 new riders participated. The BBQ at Science World—okay, Telus World of Science—included music by the Bicycle Shed Ensemble and entertainment by the B:C: Clettes dance group. The sound system was propelled by two people pedalling stationary bicycles and food was provided by M&M Meats.

While flipping through the new issue of Momentum magazine, I noticed a great item for rainy days in Vancouver—an attachment to hold the umbrella (see photo above). I need to find a local retailer.

For more cycling information, visit Vancouver Area Cycling Coalition.

Coming Cycle Events

June is Bike Month—50 events

Tour de Blintz, June 8 & 15, 2008

Slow Food Cycle Tour of Agassiz, BC, August 9, 2008

If you rather not cycle, how about building your own online Kaleidoscope?

In his role as a television film critic, David Gilmour always struck me as a cranky opinionated guy who thought the world revolved around him. Not surprisingly, I wasn’t drawn to his memoir about a three-year period he hung out with his high-school dropout son watching films that Gilmour chose.

One evening, at one of Vancouver’s best Indian buffet diners, I unwrapped a birthday present revealing the cover of The Film Club. At first glance, I was relieved the book wasn’t a self-help title, the type one or two friends are compelled to give. I thought, yeah, I’ll read this sometime.

For several months, my copy of The Film Club sat on a shelf in my living room with its cover facing up. One night, tired of watching re-runs of Law & Order re-runs I picked up the book to accompany me into the tub. As I settled in the warm water with the book, I quickly concluded that the role of writer was a better fit for Gilmour than film critic. Maybe that’s what was wrong with him—Gilmour, a writer locked inside the body of an art critic.

The book’s bio indicated that not only had Gilmour written a few novels, but one novel had won a Governor’s Award. And his TV show, Gilmour on the Arts, won some kind of award. Too bad, I thought, I had tuned him out for the crime of being opinionated, when ironically, that’s what he was being paid to do.

While reading The Film Club, I started to skim the references to movies as I found the delivery of so many—some known to me and some unknown—difficult to absorb. As I continued reading, I skimmed more, thinking the book would be a handy reference later if I ever wanted to watch old films (and it’s nice that the book includes an index of the movies discussed).

Sometimes it felt as if Gilmour was dropping names a bit too much—particularly David Cronenberg’s—relying on those former film critic connections to up his credibility. And sometimes the telling of the son’s romantic and sexual explorations ran a little on the creepy side, reminding me of Gilmour, the former notorious womanizer.

Perhaps it was a little too intimate. Perhaps at times a bit too tender. The story portrayed a man running against time and wanting to help his son grow up, but also perhaps fearing the loss of an important role. Was fatherhood slipping away? Not likely. And Gilmour’s unusual educational model—the films—was a brave approach, something some readers (bloggers and critics) found offensive. The Film Club turned out to be a good thing for both father and son.

My accidental reading of this Gilmour book put his name on my reading list.

Resources

CBC’s Evan Solomon positions David Gilmour as provocateur. And Gilmour announces his has given up writing novels—because he has found happiness.

Brian Fawcett’s review of The Film Club

A blogger who really didn’t like The Film Club backed with good reasons

A blogger who, unlike me, wanted more film stuff

A review with photos of father and son and links to interview with David Gilmour

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