Or something like that.

If you travel over to the CBC Book Club today you’ll notice a pretty fabulous contest that’s inspired by the mash-up trend mixing public domain books with the likes of zombies, vampires, androids, etc. Here’s an example that I created for the Book Club with a hat tip to Costas Halavrezos, Ben Boudreau and Eric Rountree for their help.

Oh, and the dachshunds. Let’s not forget the dachshunds.

Has anyone else been having trouble sleeping lately? I don’t know if it’s the weather, the time change or what but I feel like I’ve been on auto-pilot this past week due to lack of z’s. As a result, random thoughts have come to into my head. Sort of like the following:

AliasGrace: I think I’d like to be a philanthropist for a living.

Me: …

AliasGrace: What?

Me: What exactly do you think that entails?

AliasGrace: It’s kind of like a socialite except instead of spending money on yourself you spend it on other people. For charity.

Me: Where do you propose to get all this disposable income from?

AliasGrace: *shrugs*

Me: OK, then. You go on daydreaming while I get back to work. I do have bills to pay and a dog to feed.

AliasGrace: Yeah, you go ahead. I guess you’re just the socialite between us.

Me: ..!

I’m not the kind of person who usually “wins” anything, particularly out of the blue. I don’t buy lottery tickets or go in on the 50/50 draws at work. So, I don’t really expect random earnings either.

Well, about a month ago I received an e-mail saying I’d been selected to receive a free TASSIMO coffee machine.

Being a sceptic, the first thing I did was search Google for TASSIMO scams.

Hey, for all I knew, it could have been a cleverly disguised Nigerian 419 scam in which I shipped my personal supply of coffee and tea with the guarantee that I’d be swimming in a lifetime supply of caffeine at a later date.

Photo credit: DeaPeaJay from Flickr

In any case, after I was sufficiently satisfied that it wasn’t a scam I gave out my mailing address. About a week later, a huge package arrived at the door. Inside, was not only the coffee machine but a wide range of products from decaf coffee to chai latte to espresso and Starbucks brand coffee.

To be honest, my first impression was that it was a gimmick. The coffee, tea and milk (for lattes and cappuccinos) come in containers called T DISCs. Each T DISC has a bar code that’s read by the machine to pour the “perfect cup.” You simply fill the water filtration container, insert the disc and press a button. Within seconds, there’s a cup of hot beverage waiting to be enjoyed.

It’s almost right out of Star Trek.

Say, “Tea, Earl Grey, Hot.”

And it magically appears.

Almost.

The quality of the beverages ranges, possibly due to personal tastes. For instance, I find the latte milk far too sweet for my liking but the option to add hot water simply made the beverage taste, well, watered down. On the other hand, Starbucks coffee is exactly what I’d get if I ordered a black coffee from Starbucks. The cappuccinos are probably the most impressive of the bunch, particularly if you reverse the order of coffee and milk to create a macchiato (in a clear glass is best so you can see the layers).

The appeal of TASSIMO is in the ease of use. There’s really no mess of grinds involved and cleanup is pretty much as easy as disposing of the T DISC. Our kitchen already includes a coffee & espresso machine, an electric percolator and a French press. Clearly, the company knew what they were doing when they sent this package. Originally, I thought we’d try it out for a little bit and then I’d bring it to work. One month later and it’s still fairly well-used in our house, particularly by Cokebaby who has to work a lot of bizarre shifts.

My one complaint is the packaging. There’s a lot of it and not only does that create waste but it also weighs on my eco-conscience. The T DISCs are plastic and I believe non-recyclable. These, in turn, come packaged in boxes that are encased in more plastic. Does the convenience outweigh the garbage created? I don’t know. Probably not. It’s definitely the one thing I’d ask them to change about the otherwise great system.

I still drink my fair trade coffee and tea from Just Us! but the simplicity of brewing one cup versus one pot certainly has its appeal. For people who are constantly on the go or working in an office without the benefit of a large kitchen and appliances, I can see the real benefit in time and clean-up. It’s certainly not the haute coffee that can be compared to the likes of Kopi Luwak. But I’ve always questioned the validity of drinking something that’s come out of a civet’s rear end.

P.S. For the record: I’m sorry purveyors of Kopi Luwak coffee but, if you’re reading this and thinking of getting in touch to maybe sway my thoughts on the matter by sending freebies, I’m seriously not interested in trying it. Seriously.

So…did anybody notice I was MIA last week?

Sorry, peeps. I’m trying to manage my time while juggling a few other projects. This may take some adjusting to work out the logistics.

Women of the Otherworld

One of the other projects I’m currently working on is something called (un) Death-Match. If you like books about the supernatural, may I turn your attention to this fun site and my first blog entry there? I’m supporting the werewolf campaign for the next couple months. More specifically, I’m defending one of my fave books of the genre: Kelley Armstrong‘s werewolf novel Bitten.

This post is going up much later than usual as a nod to the fact that there’s a full moon out tonight. Go to the site and post a comment there on why werewolves rule or tweet about it either @undeathmatch or using the hashtag #undeathmatch and you can be entered to win 1 of 10 copies of Bitten. If you miss out tonight, another “full moon frenzy” contest will happen again. Guess when?

Most importantly: vote werewolf and vote often.

If not for me, then do it for Tofu dog.

Every year Cokebaby and I try to get out to see at least one play at the Neptune Theatre. We’re not really ones for musicals so we tend to skip the performances of shows like High School Musical. For the most part we’ve been catching shows at the smaller Studio Theatre.

Fountain Hall | September 22 – October 18, 2009

Due to the e-newsletter that they send out, I caught a great two for the price of one special for the final performance of their first play of the season: The Game of Love and Chance.

Going into the theatre, I had only the brief description of the play to go by but it seemed like it would be quite fun.

Dreading the prospects of an arranged marriage, and desperate to know more about her anonymous groom to-be, a wealthy Parisian mademoiselle trades identities with her maid prior to the introductory rendezvous. When the monsieur in question also has the same brilliant idea, romance, comedy and mayhem unfold.

Contemporary language and magnificent period décor will blend as Marivaux’s 18th century masterpiece comes to life – let the games begin!

I have to say this opening play really bodes well for what looks like an amazing season. The acting was brilliant, costumes and set design stunning. Even the choreography of movements across the stage between scenes was wonderful.

Here’s a list of What’s on Stage this season:

Fountain Hall
No Great Mischief: October 27 to November 15, 2009
Sexy Laundry: January 19 to February 14, 2010
Rabbit Hole: March 2 to 28, 2010
Peter Pan: April 13 to May 30, 2010

Holiday Show
A Christmas Carol, the Musical: November 28, 2009 to January 3, 2010

Studio Theatre
A Beautiful View: October 13 to 31, 2009
Mesa: February 16 to March 6, 2010
Bigger than Jesus: April 6 to 24, 2010

If you’ve never been or rarely go to see a play check out my tips on theatre etiquette to which I’d like to add one more point: would it kill people to not wear a sweatshirt? I’m not saying theatre going needs to be some elitist kind of thing. Far from it. I just think that sweatshirts are made for a single purpose: sweating in. Not exactly theatre attire. You know?

For more information about shows, tickets and and subscriptions check out the Neptune Theatre website, Twitter, Facebook, or sign up for their online newsletter.

Today marks the first day back to school for many students. While I’m no longer getting a formal education or sending a mini-me off to do the same, this time of year usually gets me in the mood for one thing (well, besides wanting to lecture people on carpooling)…that’s shopping.

Photo credit: ashley rose from Flickr

I think it’s something ingrained from an early age when I looked forward to a new collection of binders, loose leaf paper, other school supplies and, of course, new clothes. In the past few weeks on my regular walk from bus stop to work, I’ve been passing by window displays with some really pretty things. One of which is a sweater dress.

A very short, close fitting sweater dress.

So what, right?

Well, since I hit the mid-30 mark in life, I’ve been a little hung-up on the whole question of what’s age appropriate. OK, maybe it’s still early to start thinking about that but I’m convinced there must be some kind of slippery slope to go from fashion savvy one day to prowling cougar the next. (Did I mention that Cokebaby is a couple years younger than me?)

Having worked in retail while in university, I’ve seen my fair share of fashion train wrecks. And I always seem to find myself in a work environment where there’s the one 50-something woman who seems to buy her clothes from Garage.

It’s not for me to judge. If you want to wear wool socks with your Birkenstocks, go for it. I’m sure I’m guilty of having committed a number of fashion crimes over the years (mostly on my way to bed). Maybe I’m just having a fashion crisis moment and just need to get a grip. It’s just clothing, right?

Well, here’s what some of the ladies on Twitter had to say about the subject:

How do you decide what's "age-appropriate" when you're shopping?

What do you think, ladies? Is there such a thing as dressing “age-appropriate” or should we wear whatever the heck we want?

Men, do you have the same hang-ups? For instance, is there an age where you start tucking your shirts in or is that just crazy talk?

P.S. I splurged and bought the dress.

Photo credit: karola riegler photography from Flickr

Lately, I’ve been meeting a lot of new faces due to the Halifax Twitter community really putting the emphasis on social when it comes to social media. There’s even an entire wiki dedicated to the events around town, and it keeps growing. From Third Wednesdays to Halifax Chicks, random tweetups and even Pupp-E play dates (that’s right, my dog is a social media geek too), my Google Calendar is kept pretty full.

That brings me to the dilemma of making introductions. You see, I only came out of the anonymous blogging closet earlier this year. Most people I’ve met online know me by my Twitter handle: @Alias Grace.

So, I’m left in social situations with the awkward introduction of, “Hello, I’m Alias Grace a.k.a. Kimberly.”

And, after an appropriate amount of introductory conversation, inevitably I’m asked: why Alias Grace?

Here’s the long and short of it. When you’re blogging anonymously, you want a name that’s easy to remember yet reflects who you are. Or at least I did. The following is a breakdown of my thought process:

1. First and foremost, I’m a bookworm;
2. I needed an alias;
3. My middle name is Grace;
4. One of my favourite books is Margaret Atwood’s Alias Grace (hear me reading an excerpt on Seen Reading).

With the help of points 1 and 4, I was simply able to combine the other points into a name that actually had rhyme and reason. And it stuck. Not only that but I kind of built a brand around it.

Working in the online world, I know that finding information through internet searches is key. Google “Kimberly Alias Grace” and you find me. Try the alternative and you’ll just find a UK pop star who swears she never inhaled.

But here’s the rub: a short while ago, in conjunction with the launch of her upcoming book, the real Margaret Atwood appeared on Twitter (see point 4 above).

ZOMG!

This bit is where Frankenstein’s creature comes into play, right? Particularly since the character of Grace Marks in Atwood’s book is a convicted murderer, based on a real person. However Ms. Atwood, if you’re reading this, yes I would squee like a fangirl about that fact alone, but I can promise you that it’s not in an I’m-your-number-one-fan Misery kind of way. I’m just a geek girl bookworm who has been extolling the virtues of reading and literacy through social media (but in a nice way so as not to upset the villagers).

Me > Frankenstein’s creature.

I promise.

That all being said, it’s a whole other ballgame for CocaCola if my husband Cokebaby ever joined Twitter. You might want to hide your bottles now, polar bears.

Your turn. Do you have a nickname or online handle? If so, what’s the story behind the name?

After spending several days in the quaint town of Williamstown in a great B&B, connecting with locals who actually knew Cokebaby’s family, it was time to move on to another area of Ireland.

En route to our next accommodations we stopped in to check out The Craggaunowen Project. Now, there are plenty of living history park examples in Canada. Black Creek Pioneer Village in Toronto (showcasing life in early Ontario) and the Fortress of Louisbourg in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia (the largest reconstructed 18th-century French fortified town in North America) are among the ones I’ve visited.

Should I have prefaced that with a “nerd alert”?

Perhaps.

A view from outside the walls

Nonetheless, I found Craggaunowen to be one of the more interesting spots we visited while in Ireland. Because it was raining, most of the costumed “locals” (i.e. high school drama students) decided to duck out so we were left to wander the wooded pathways and scenic recreations on our own. There was one exception: a young woman at a spinning wheel who knew all manner of things about dyes. For example, back in the days of yore there was a berry with purple juice used as dye to create orange through oxidization. Cool, right?

There were also wild animals (behind fences) like sheep and wild boars. And a ring fort. And a replica sailing vessel that was used to actually sail to Newfoundland. And for the tourist in every traveller Craggaunowen had one of the best, if not smallest, gift shops we’d come across. Definitely one of the more relaxing, fun and educational highlights of the trip for me.

Moving right along though, our next hub that we’d use as a base of operations for our day trips was Limerick.

Did you know that Limerick has earned the nickname of “stab city” by the rest of Ireland? No? Neither did I. Until a few weeks ago, that is.

Rick Steves (whose books I happen to like very much despite the really horrid hand-drawn maps) didn’t even bother listing it as a place of interest despite there being a number of castles in the vicinity; for future reference, not being listed in a reputable guide book might mean any number of things but sometimes it doesn’t just mean “off the beaten track.”

One night while walking toward a pub by the water, where I had my sights on oysters, we noticed the area was starting to look sketchy with boarded up windows and graffiti. That’s when an even sketchier looking man walking at a quick pace toward us. Then, all of a sudden, a lead freaking pipe falls out of his pants! I guess it’s kind of embarrassing for that kind of thing to happen to a hoodlum so he just kind of picked up his belonging and scampered off.

It was later that night, after ample warnings to do otherwise, that Cokebaby’s brother-in-law ventured off on his own. He came back telling tales of almost being egged by kids hollering out a window and then subsequently being chased down the street by another group of young hooligans.

After that point, we stayed within the one-block parameter of our hotel, which was also close to the Garda (Police) Station. Even still, when we went to a bar the next night, Cokebaby and his brother ordered a pint each and a half-pint each for the ladies, sat down, and quietly advised us to drink quickly due to the crowd of skids at the bar who had made some loud, skiddy remarks.

Finally, one morning Cokebaby got into the car and a spider had built a web in front of his seat hoping for a record kill we assume. Even the arachnids were hardcore!

I wound up partially rewriting a Guns N’ Roses song that got stuck in my head during this leg of the trip:

[Don't] take me down to the scene of stab city
Where the thugs are mean and the crimes aren’t petty
Take me home (Oh, won’t you please take me home?!?!)

Overall, the experience in Limerick certainly wasn’t the highlight of the trip. To do it again, we’d probably rethink even just using the city as a place to sleep because of the whole going out after dark thing. But maybe we just had a rash of coincidentally unpleasant experiences in the few nights we were visiting…right?

Coming up next week: Getting the hell out of Dodge. But first, some more sites. Then we head to the bustling city of Dublin and the mysteries of Newgrange.

As I mentioned in a previous post, our last vacation was spent travelling with Cokebaby’s brother and sister-in-law in England with the intent of meeting up with Cokebaby’s sister, brother-in-law and their two kids en route to Ireland.

From Google Maps

Our destination in Ireland was just north of Galway in a quaint little place called Williamstown. According to Google Maps it’s approximately 768 km from London.

The plan was to meet at Holyhead via train and then take the ferry across where we’d then cab it to Dublin airport to pick up our car rental and then drive across Ireland to our B&B. A longer day of travel could not have been planned.

With the availability of cheap flights offered by the likes of Ryanair why, might you ask, did we take the ferry across? Apparently, because it’s romantic. Also, Cokebaby’s family made the same crossing almost exactly 22 years before and this was a revisit of that trip so I had to compromise.

News flash: I get seasick standing in puddles.

I thought I’d be fine because bigger ship means less motion right? Wrong.

As soon as the ferry left the dock the motion sickness set in. Thankfully, someone had a Gravol pill handy. Although it made me feel groggy and doped up at least I wasn’t going to throw up the overpriced meal I consumed on board.

We landed in Dublin several hours later to the rainiest day we would see during our entire trip. By the time our crew got to the taxi stand there were none to be had. After waiting the requisite amount of time (between trying to call a cab company and speaking with a desk clerk) we finally made our way in two cabs.

Our cabbie, though a seemingly lovely man, somehow decided it was appropriate to throw in some disparaging remarks against Nigerians during our suddenly uncomfortable ride to Dublin airport. Obviously, he never received the e-mail from that Nigerian accountant offering a tidy sum of money for sending an advance fee that his company needed urgently.

We traded the cab in for our own vehicles at the airport. Now here’s where the fun began. Driving on the other side of the road, even for passengers is not a laughing matter. We were all nervous, no, scared to death of somehow finding ourselves driving into oncoming traffic. The “A-Team” as we referred to ourselves, came up with an instant plan.

First, everyone in the vehicle was in charge of ensuring we were on the correct side of the road. This charge was especially true during turns where we would chant “turn left into the left lane” or “turn right into the left lane” where appropriate.

I put myself in charge of posted speed limits and other road signs and Cokebaby was the navigator. Even still there were a couple of occassions where a turn was made wrong (but thankfully corrected quickly and without oncoming traffic being involved).

Here, for your viewing pleasure, is a quick video we took to illustrate the incredibly narrow roads and obstacles we faced while driving in the Irish countryside:

Up next: Castles galore and more!

Today on the dog blog we look at the age-old, instinctual habit of scent-rolling. For anyone who doesn’t have a dog in their life, this behaviour is defined by the disgusting need for a canine to smear really strong smelling things on it’s body (the source of which is usually something horrific). But what does it say about me when Tofu has decided to scent-roll in my hair?

In other news this morning:

I'm just saying...