Who measures flour in decilitres?

That's what I want to know.

After almost a year of struggling with Estonian recipes, trying to figure out exactly what a "dl" is, I find out it stands for decilitre.

Decilitre.

Here I was, thinking it was some sort of Estonian cup measurement (like tl stands for teelusikas - otherwise known as a tea spoon). Somewhere, I had found a recipe that listed a 1/2dl as 60g, which made me even more convinced that it an Eastern European alternative to our Western cups (250ml - or 8floz).

No, it's decilitre. 100ml.

I don't know why I feel annoyed, but I do.

Plus, now I know what it is, I need to get a new measuring cup with 100ml marks so I can stop putting too much of everything into my recipes.

My attitude can best be summed up in one non-word:

Humph.

My new shoes gave me blisters

Not very profound, I know. But true.

My Two Bits - "It Takes Two"

If I were a judge on It Takes Two...

Paul O'Brien, take the lollies out of your ears and listen to this, as it will do you some good. You can't sing. I say this with love - some people just can't sing, and you're one of them. This isn't, however your problem.

You see, Rex Harrison couldn't sing, and his two most famous movies were both musicals. Everyone loved his performance and nobody cared about his lack of singing ability. Glynis Johns couldn't really sing, but Sondheim wrote "Send in the Clowns" and the other songs she sang in A Little Night Music to be songs you don't have to sing well, and everyone loved her performance and nobody cared about her lack of singing ability.

Bob Dylan really can't sing, but hardly anyone cares. Iris Dement can't really sing, but she has six albums and a huge fan base to her name (one that includes me). I can probably rattle off half a dozen other people who can't sing, but have managed to make a career in the music business anyway.

I have seen many performances in which the singing was absolutely terrible, but I didn't mind because the performances were enjoyable. You see, sometimes you can get away with one little flaw as long as you replace it with pizazz. The key is to turn your weakness into your strength, and then play to your strengths.

Own the stage, Paul. Don't think about how much people are listening to your voice. Think about how they are watching you shine - and shine for them. Be so charming and captivating that the fact that you can't sing is just part of the charm. Stop trying to sing the songs and just woo the audience. If you look like you enjoy what you're doing and you're putting on a great show for people who deserve a great show... Well, no one will care about the voice.

You see, Paul, your problem is not that you can't sing. Your problem is that you're acting as if singing badly is a problem. When we watch you, you look like you're embarrassed, apologetic - like you wish you were doing something else.

Stop that. Accept the fact that you sing badly and love yourself for it. Pick songs in which the singing isn't as important as the message in the song, then concentrate on the message and how you're going to make us love you for bringing it to us.

This is the one piece of advice I always tried to instill in my students - sell the illusion and the audience will forgive you for a multitude of sins.

Sell it, Paul. Forget about singing to us and just sweep us off our feet.

Easter Eggs

One of the great things about Easter as a stolen Spring-time holiday from the heathens of the Northern Hemisphere is the proliferation of exceptionally unlikely eggs.

Take the average Red Tulip Easter egg. It doesn't matter what size. For some inexplicable reason they all have this strange pattern etched into the outside - like scales on a plastic toy snake.

What eggs have scales?

Yet, for years, I've been eating these chocolate eggs with scales etched all over them and never once questioned the pattern.

By the way, I've only just found out that Red Tulip is made by Cadbury. This explains why they can afford to only have a real presence for three months of the year.

Mind like a sieve

Over the course of the last weekend I thought of about six or so different blog entries for when I got back onto a computer.

Do you think I can remember any of them?

A clue: No.

Of Pens and Washing Machines

I've finally conceded defeat.

In the Sheaffer Pen vs Washing Machine showdown, the washing machine has won.

In spite of my (admittedly rather hamfisted) attempts to resurrect the pen, it has simply had too much damage to the mechanism.

I have another pen of the same make and model, but it sounds "funny". It has an extra "ksching" to the click that my favourite pen didn't have.

I wonder if I could get away with cobbling them together into some kind of Frankenstein's Pen, or if I should just yield to the circle of life and allow the old pen to die in peace?

An interesting weekend

I wasn't well this weekend. I think I came down with some sort of virus or something. Dizzy spells, stomach pains, a bit of vomiting.

The fun part came yesterday when my eyeball exploded.

Well, it didn't really explode. I popped a blood vessel so half of my eyeball looks like a wall of blood. No real damage, it just feels dry and scratchy. Looks terrible, though.