Well, it's been a while since I started this, but upon my return, I was delighted to see that the votes had finally tipped towards a clear winner. Thanks again to everyone who voted, and double fine thanks to everyone who commented. And, the winner of the Evil Ball:
Let's hear it for subtitles! It's Captain Shrovewreaker!
And now, here's the new Captain Shrovewreaker adventure, for your enjoyment. I realise that not all the notes in the song are on-key... can we just pretend that it's in character for him? Thanks.
Incidentally, did you notice the bruised and battered visage in that final scene? That's how I looked as I ducked into the Safeway Sunday afternoon, looking for a last-minute prop. Naturally, the only person I could possibly meet like that would be the Chief of Security at the Greenhouse.
A wee bit of explaining was necessary... but I think I've regained his trust. We'll see what happens when my ID card expires, I guess.
Showing posts with label breakfast. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breakfast. Show all posts
21.2.07
I like to shrove it, shrove it.
So, yesterday was Shrove Tuesday. I hadn't been very concerned about the day before, but being able to come in to work an hour late because of "religious observations" at a pancake restaurant tends to bring on the deep spiritual thoughts. Believe you me, pancakes eaten when you're supposed to be at work are delicious. Maybe I should have skipped more classes in university? Ah, regrets.
Incidentally, I really like the word "shrove". You don't order shroves at Smitty's; there's no shrove syrup in the grocery store. No, not even the organic farmer's market. But you know what a shrove is: it's a pancake. The fact that a perfectly valid word is only ever used in a particular phrase is something I find rare and beautiful.
The only other word like that which comes to mind is "wreak". You don't wreak love on Valentine's Day. You don't wreak high blood pressure. You don't wreak huge savings during Employee Pricing Madness. Yet we all know that wreak means "go all over the place getting nasty", because that's what happens when you wreak havoc.
You know, I just had a wonderful idea. Bear with me here...
* * * * *
"Ship to starboard, cap'n!", cried the lookout, and the crew turned from their duties to steal a look. All they could see was a thin grey fog, dimly lit by the rising sun, but they prepared for boarding nonetheless. In a few minutes, the smell of lard on the griddle cut easily through the sea spray, and they knew their quarry was near. The men started laughing with each other, smacking their lips, thinking of the sweet, sweet maple syrup that would soon be theirs.
"Quiet on th' deck!" The furious hiss carried clearly across the ship, and to a man, the crew snapped to attention. With a bump and a step, Captain Benjamin Shrovewreaker stepped down from the upper deck and addressed his men. "Comin' out've th' fog, we've got surprise on our side, and we'll catch'em just as 'ey're sittin' down fer brekkie! They'll soon rue celebratin' a brand new day..." Shrovewreaker's grin turned ugly. "They always do."
The crew matched his grin in perfect silence, and their ship drifted closer. The men were almost drooling when they finally saw it through the fog: the Griddleship Mjolnir, riding low in the water with its precious cargo of bacon and eggs. "Close enough, boys," the captain muttered. "Now wake 'em up!"
An opening salvo roared through the dawn, and the crew of the Black Coffee cheered as they pushed into view, mug and crossbones flying proudly. "Listen up, you flapjacks!", Shrovewreaker yelled over the water. "Put down yer forks and prepare to be boarded!"
Impossibly, he was answered by the thunder of a return salvo, flying over his deck and tearing through a sail. There was no way they'd have their cannons out -- unless...
A second ship sailed in from behind the Mjolnir. Shrovewreaker spit and cursed. He wasn't ready for a fair fight this early in the morning. Not waiting for his idiot of a lookout, he ran up to the bow. "Who? Who dares challenge the Black Coffee?", he bellowed.
His answer came clearly across the distance: "It is I! Captain Vegetable! With my cannons, and lack of scurvy! It's time someone taught you the importance of proper nutrition, Shrovewreaker, and I'm the one to do it! You can surrender now... or face my Vege-might!"
Shrovewreaker raised his cutlass and roared defiantly, and his caffeinated crew joined in. It was going to be an ugly battle.
* * * * *
EDIT: I learned at work the next day that shroves aren't pancakes, but rather the past tense of "shrive". It's still a unique word, though, and I'm much happier with breakfast-raiding pirates anyway.
EDIT #2: Do you realise that the first mate could be called Starbuck? There's no question about it now... I have to turn this into a webcomic or something.
Incidentally, I really like the word "shrove". You don't order shroves at Smitty's; there's no shrove syrup in the grocery store. No, not even the organic farmer's market. But you know what a shrove is: it's a pancake. The fact that a perfectly valid word is only ever used in a particular phrase is something I find rare and beautiful.
The only other word like that which comes to mind is "wreak". You don't wreak love on Valentine's Day. You don't wreak high blood pressure. You don't wreak huge savings during Employee Pricing Madness. Yet we all know that wreak means "go all over the place getting nasty", because that's what happens when you wreak havoc.
You know, I just had a wonderful idea. Bear with me here...
* * * * *
"Ship to starboard, cap'n!", cried the lookout, and the crew turned from their duties to steal a look. All they could see was a thin grey fog, dimly lit by the rising sun, but they prepared for boarding nonetheless. In a few minutes, the smell of lard on the griddle cut easily through the sea spray, and they knew their quarry was near. The men started laughing with each other, smacking their lips, thinking of the sweet, sweet maple syrup that would soon be theirs.
"Quiet on th' deck!" The furious hiss carried clearly across the ship, and to a man, the crew snapped to attention. With a bump and a step, Captain Benjamin Shrovewreaker stepped down from the upper deck and addressed his men. "Comin' out've th' fog, we've got surprise on our side, and we'll catch'em just as 'ey're sittin' down fer brekkie! They'll soon rue celebratin' a brand new day..." Shrovewreaker's grin turned ugly. "They always do."
The crew matched his grin in perfect silence, and their ship drifted closer. The men were almost drooling when they finally saw it through the fog: the Griddleship Mjolnir, riding low in the water with its precious cargo of bacon and eggs. "Close enough, boys," the captain muttered. "Now wake 'em up!"
An opening salvo roared through the dawn, and the crew of the Black Coffee cheered as they pushed into view, mug and crossbones flying proudly. "Listen up, you flapjacks!", Shrovewreaker yelled over the water. "Put down yer forks and prepare to be boarded!"
Impossibly, he was answered by the thunder of a return salvo, flying over his deck and tearing through a sail. There was no way they'd have their cannons out -- unless...
A second ship sailed in from behind the Mjolnir. Shrovewreaker spit and cursed. He wasn't ready for a fair fight this early in the morning. Not waiting for his idiot of a lookout, he ran up to the bow. "Who? Who dares challenge the Black Coffee?", he bellowed.
His answer came clearly across the distance: "It is I! Captain Vegetable! With my cannons, and lack of scurvy! It's time someone taught you the importance of proper nutrition, Shrovewreaker, and I'm the one to do it! You can surrender now... or face my Vege-might!"
Shrovewreaker raised his cutlass and roared defiantly, and his caffeinated crew joined in. It was going to be an ugly battle.
* * * * *
EDIT: I learned at work the next day that shroves aren't pancakes, but rather the past tense of "shrive". It's still a unique word, though, and I'm much happier with breakfast-raiding pirates anyway.
EDIT #2: Do you realise that the first mate could be called Starbuck? There's no question about it now... I have to turn this into a webcomic or something.
20.2.07
Opportunity presents but once.
The evening started out nicely enough. I saw Pan's Labyrinth at the run-down arthouse theatre. Imagine Ernest Hemingway writing Hellboy fanfic, and you'll be close. On the way home, I stopped at a Tim Horton's for a doughnut and a medium hot chocolate. The guy behind the counter looked right at me, and suggested that maybe... I'd like an extra-large? I politely declined the supersizing, and then he awkwardly explained that it was free -- he was just trying to help people warm up on a cold winter's night. Very nice of him, even if I did feel a bit like a schmuck for refusing his offer. Regardless, I sat down at a two-person table with an Arthur C. Clarke paperback for a bit of quality coffeeshopping.
That's when an elderly gentleman came up to the seat across from me. "I figured I should say hello, since we're both wearing the same colour shirt," he chortled. I was in my standard "Le Papillon" colour coding, while he was wearing a white shirt with a black tie under his black bomber jacket. It was a pleasantly quirky introduction, and I was still embarrassed at refusing the clerk's generousity, so I offered him the seat.
His name was Floyd, and he was 72 years old. After establishing those facts, he proceeded to float in and out of the conversation repeatedly, always circling back to mourn about how hard it was to find four eggs and a half pound of bacon at nine-thirty in the evening (Truthfully, I know his pain -- how I miss the 24-hour groceries of Grande Prairie). He briefly touched upon a tangent of the ladies in his apartment always pinching the bottoms of younger men, but we drifted back to bacon and eggs soon enough. At one point, he got out his cell phone, and asked a taxi company where he, Floyd, could find some bacon and eggs.
Up until this point, the Tim's was relatively quiet. Then, a dozen people entered en masse and sat down around me. They were from every demographic the Hat has to offer, but they were all dressed very professionally... and they were all very happy to be there. Then they turned to Floyd, and embraced him as one of their own -- although they introduced themselves first. One of the younger guys noticed me, and I shook his hand, asking what the reason was for the gathering.
"Oh, we just finished attending a presentation," he non-offered.
"Ah." A slight pause. "What... sort of presentation?"
"It's about an opportunity," he clarified.
"Ah." A slight pause. "What... sort of opportunity?"
"Oh, I'll let Floyd fill you in on the details," he smiled, assuming that I was Floyd's son, or possibly nurse. Floyd, however, was busy explaining his need for eggs and bacon to two of the smiling well-dressed ladies, so he wasn't paying attention to me. The ladies, on the other hand, were utterly engrossed in Floyd's story.
Then another gentleman came in, more informally dressed, but immediately hailed by the crowd as the "presenter" of the evening. My choices were now to receive either far too little information or far too much, so I decided to take advantage of my newfound invisibility, and slipped out the door.
I'm still not sure what was going on there. They were polite enough to be religious, but there was a lot of business-speak tossed around while I was there.
On the other hand, if Mary Kay's gotten into the soul-saving business, then it all makes perfect sense... but it still doesn't explain the bacon and eggs.
That's when an elderly gentleman came up to the seat across from me. "I figured I should say hello, since we're both wearing the same colour shirt," he chortled. I was in my standard "Le Papillon" colour coding, while he was wearing a white shirt with a black tie under his black bomber jacket. It was a pleasantly quirky introduction, and I was still embarrassed at refusing the clerk's generousity, so I offered him the seat.
His name was Floyd, and he was 72 years old. After establishing those facts, he proceeded to float in and out of the conversation repeatedly, always circling back to mourn about how hard it was to find four eggs and a half pound of bacon at nine-thirty in the evening (Truthfully, I know his pain -- how I miss the 24-hour groceries of Grande Prairie). He briefly touched upon a tangent of the ladies in his apartment always pinching the bottoms of younger men, but we drifted back to bacon and eggs soon enough. At one point, he got out his cell phone, and asked a taxi company where he, Floyd, could find some bacon and eggs.
Up until this point, the Tim's was relatively quiet. Then, a dozen people entered en masse and sat down around me. They were from every demographic the Hat has to offer, but they were all dressed very professionally... and they were all very happy to be there. Then they turned to Floyd, and embraced him as one of their own -- although they introduced themselves first. One of the younger guys noticed me, and I shook his hand, asking what the reason was for the gathering.
"Oh, we just finished attending a presentation," he non-offered.
"Ah." A slight pause. "What... sort of presentation?"
"It's about an opportunity," he clarified.
"Ah." A slight pause. "What... sort of opportunity?"
"Oh, I'll let Floyd fill you in on the details," he smiled, assuming that I was Floyd's son, or possibly nurse. Floyd, however, was busy explaining his need for eggs and bacon to two of the smiling well-dressed ladies, so he wasn't paying attention to me. The ladies, on the other hand, were utterly engrossed in Floyd's story.
Then another gentleman came in, more informally dressed, but immediately hailed by the crowd as the "presenter" of the evening. My choices were now to receive either far too little information or far too much, so I decided to take advantage of my newfound invisibility, and slipped out the door.
I'm still not sure what was going on there. They were polite enough to be religious, but there was a lot of business-speak tossed around while I was there.
On the other hand, if Mary Kay's gotten into the soul-saving business, then it all makes perfect sense... but it still doesn't explain the bacon and eggs.
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