Roses are red, tuna are bluefin

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Valentine’s Day. Two words that most people either love or loathe. Of course everyone’s heard it before, but let’s summarize why the lovey-dovey camp likes February 14th: it’s special; it’s romantic; I have the best boyfriend/ girlfriend/ husband/ wife in the world; I get flowers/ chocolates/ jewelry/ amazing sex/ dinner out; I like to show my significant other that I care. And for the haters it goes something like this: it’s stupid, you shouldn’t need an excuse to show affection; it’s so materialistic/ overly commercial; it’s a chick holiday; I’m single.

While all of the above are generalizations, they’re also all fairly accurate. Case and point: I saw derivatives of at least 75% of them on facebook this morning. (Clearly, no further proof required.) But anyway, I can relate to both sides, although I tend to have the mindset that no, you don’t need one day a year to celebrate being a couple. But there’s also no need to go out of your way to be grouchy either. No one is forcing you to be romantic and if you feel obligated to do something nice for your partner, then hopefully you realize you’ve got some bigger relationship issues to deal with. And (believe it or not), you can have great sex the other 364 days of the year too. In fact, I really hope you do. I also hope you are spontaneous, and go on dates on Mondays, and cook nice dinners together mid-week, and surprise each other, and, most importantly – appreciate – each other, more often than not. And, personally, while I actually do think unconditional love is the most wonderful thing in the world (100% serious), I’m also have a tendency to lean toward the unpredictable side of life. Thus, I’ve come to realize that anticipating a day full of romance is not only counterintuitive, but also super boring.

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Insomnia, Bravery, & the Tribulations of Translink

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Last week I read Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. OK, I’m exaggerating a bit. Last Wednesday, between 3:37 and 6:58 a.m., I read Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. I couldn’t sleep. And since doing laundry at this time would probably have incurred the wrath of my fellow tenants (rightly so), I chose instead to make myself some tea (Crème Caramel de David), and hunker down with Hux.

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On second thought, maybe it wasn’t actually this serene and cozy. Upon reflection, it was actually more akin to a contemporary (and slightly feminine) version of Jekyll and Hyde. It went something like this:

11:06 – good job Laurenne, you’re in bed before midnight. You’re being so proactive about improving your sleep habits. Well done; you’re awesome; gold star.

11:44 – OK, why aren’t you asleep yet?

11:56 – does my dresser really have those weird grooves in it? What an odd pattern. I could design furniture. No you couldn’t, shut up.

12:08 – hmm, I am definitely not tired. It’s really raining hard outside. Did I leave my umbrella on campus again? I should get a spare. I wonder who invented the umbrella. Who cares, go to sleep.

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The Secret Lives of Fisheries Scientists

IMG_7965_2OK, so I figure that since I mentioned sustainable seafood in my last post, and also because I said I’d discuss it in future posts, there’s no reason for me not to write about it now. (Holy negatives, Batman. Sorry, must be Monday…) I’ll try to keep it simple and include a nice practical application (i.e. dinner) at the end.

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In a general sense, the term sustainable is probably the biggest environmental buzzword of the 2000s. Well, maybe it’s tied with climate change. And fair trade is gaining momentum. At any rate, people toss around sustainable in relation to pretty much any and every natural resource. But I’ve come to realize that, in many cases, this word is both poorly defined and understood. And, sometimes, it’s just downright misused. And while sustainability is only one very, very small piece of the complicated mess that is global fisheries, it’s still an important concept—for anyone who eats seafood.

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A (lengthy) note on the stereotypical Vancouverite. Or, “Why I’m Actually a Terrible Westcoaster”.

I think it’s safe to say that if someone started a blog that was predominantly focused on a particular city’s daily life, culture, and people, then that person should probably exemplify the typical local. And while I’m actually a pretty big anomaly in Vancouver – that is, someone who was born here – I also don’t really fit many of the social stereotypes associated with my beautiful home. So, before anyone gets too attached to this blog (other than you, Mom) or forms the impression that I am the quintessential human embodiment of the renowned ‘wet coast’, I’ll briefly cover a few of the standard impressions we Vancouverites incur, and whether or not they apply to me.

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Stereotype #1: We’re all vegetarian hippies who only eat organic food.

Although I gave veganism a very brief go a few years ago, I’m not currently vegan, nor vegetarian, despite having several friends who are. And, after spending the majority of my undergrad not eating right, I’ve finally learned to properly enjoy good, tasty, nutritious food. Often, this does include dishes that are vegetarian or vegan. I don’t have a vegetable garden in my backyard (although I know some people who do and I think it’s fantastic), but I try to get to the Farmer’s Market on a regular basis. I typically go to Whole Foods only if a recipe calls for something peculiar like fresh gooseberries or white chia seeds, or if I feel an uncontrollable desire to get up to speed on current trends in obscure produce. (This usually strikes at about 9 on a Friday night.) But mostly, since I still fit into the social bracket of ‘starving student’, that’s pretty much the extent of my relationship with organic food.

  

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