Had a Winterlicious-y lunch with T-Bone at Pangaea today. Not bad. Who knew pear & parsnip soup with lemon foam would actually taste good? The pork was good too, as was the veg and the chocolate mousse for dessert. I’d like to go back and try it for dinner some time; really, I have no excuse not to since I live and work in the neighbourhood.

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You know what’s really good? “Lonesome Blues” by Lonnie Pitchford. Actually, most of the Love Song For Bobby Long soundtrack is good. Hard to go wrong with the blues.

I’ve been there, Dilbert. My advice? Ask for baked goods in return.

Nellie pointed out tonight that we’ve seen four of the five nominees for the best documentary Oscar. The fifth — Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room — is in the ‘ASAP’ slot on my zip list. We saw Murderball (my favourite movie of last year) and Street Fight at Hot Docs last year; Street Fight won the top audience award.

As usual, many of the documentaries carry political themes, but I’m glad that so many films with sociopolitical themes (Crash, Good Night And Good Luck, Munich, Capote) were nominated for the top prize as well. Not that Brokeback Mountain won’t win the whole schmeel, which is too bad. It was a good movie, but it doesn’t deserve to beat any of the other four.

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I. Love. Keith Olbermann.

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To paraphrase Jon Stewart: after the whuppin’ that Oprah gave James Frey, what do you think she’ll do to Dr. Phil when she figures out how full of shit he is?

I saw Zanta on my way home tonight. He was walking down Bloor, yelling at cars. Entertaining.

[UPDATE] Zanta on video.

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Pictures of today’s storm in Halifax.

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This whole motorist-vs.-cyclist in Kensington Market thing has gotten quite a bit of attention. On this one, I’m with her. The guy’s an asshole for just throwing food out of his car into the street. Good for her for throwing it back at him. I hate people who think the world’s their personal ash tray. That’s right, smokers, I’m talkin’ to you.

About 18 months ago, after we’d handed over the down payment for our condo, we spoke to two banks who offered capped mortgage rates for our building. The first bank we dealt with — who I won’t name here — was a pain in the ass. They wouldn’t deal with me over email, and the manager I spoke to on the phone wouldn’t discuss anything unless I came to his branch. It was pretty out of the way, and I wasn’t about to waste an entire day getting there. I didn’t bother contacting my own bank since they couldn’t provide a rate cap on my building.

So I emailed the rep from Scotia and got a prompt response. We arranged everything over email, including the submission of my relevant documents, and I simply had to visit a branch — the one nearest me, not her branch — to sign the paperwork. As I said, that was a year and a half ago.

Today her assistant called me and told me that they were extending the length of the capped rate (it was due to expire this fall) and that they’d dropped the rate by another 0.5%. This brought it to 1.6% off their posted rate, and it’s still guaranteed for another 17 months. I’m not even technically their customer yet, and they’ve already impressed me.

Full disclosure: I work for a bank. It ain’t Scotia.

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The chocolate that T-Bone keeps in her desk is about the only thing keeping me from going into a coma right now.

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I had high hopes for the new Angels Of Light / Akron/Family disc, but it’s not that good. I’ll probably keep a couple of songs around, but ditch the rest. I’m starting to like The Brave And The Bold, the albums of covers by Bonnie Prince Billy & Tortoise. Who’d have thunk that I’d dig a version of Elton John‘s “Daniel”?

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Remember how I said last night that I had no injuries? I meant besides the contusion from where I fouled Mike in full flight and his knee plowed into the back of my calf. Owie.

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Stupid Carolina Hurricanes.

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Dear maritimes: bonne chance. Dig in and stay dry.