Wednesday, 29 February 2012

Tuesday, 28 February 2012

Fun with Pictures from Today

Yeah, I already posted today, but there are some pictures I took whilst puttering about today that fit the blog better than the fb page. Also, I hate making albums on fb. So here we go! 

This was a pretty cool picture to begin with.
Tweaked the contrast and now I really like it:)

Looking badass with oversized pearls

So pretty!

Through the Looking Glass-ish
Don't really like this,
sharing it anyway

L'Occitane en Provence

So, I've been in Montreal for several months now, and I haven't yet splurged on anything truly ridiculous. I decided that today was my day and, being out of bath salts (a hot bath being the best way for me to unwind--srsly, try it), I decided to stop in at L'occitane en Provence, near my apartment. I had no idea what this place was, but the bars of soap in the window looked promising, so in I went. Apparently they use primarily natural ingredients, and were begun in 1976, in Provence, in France. For a more in-depth background on their products and history, go here

The clerk was very nice. She gave me a free cup of tea. Probably so I would feel obliged to buy something (I did).

My Purchase
Holy overpriced batman! I got a set of four lavender bath fizz-bombs for $20 with tax. . .that's around a $5 bath bomb. $5 bath bomb had better be pretty damn good, right? 

Closeup of the bath bomb

Well, let me tell you--I don't know if it was worth $5, but it was probably the best bath bomb I've experienced (and I'm something of a connoisseur) . It fizzed for about five minutes all told (normally you're lucky if you get a minute of fizz), and filled the bathroom with the scent of real lavender (not the choking chemical iteration of lavender). The water was turned a pleasant pink color by the bath bomb, but the color did not stain the tub (bonus!). The water was so soft, and now my skin is super soft too!

The clerk also tossed in some free samples:

Free samples!

. . .of which I tried the conditioner. I have no idea what they call the scent (the packet didn't say) but it smelt *exactly* like a summer afternoon on the prairies. The kind where its hot, and the air is still, and all you can hear is the sound of grasshoppers an the occasional bird. Someone has to know what I'm talking about.

So, L'Occitane en Provence -- I probably wouldn't splurge like this again for myself (except maybe for the nostalgia of prairie in a bottle) but for gifts, this is definitely some high quality stuff. Altogether, with the tea and the free samples included, I'd say this was definitely a $20 experience. 

Sunday, 26 February 2012

Sweet sweet pink. . .Coleslaw. . ..

I like to make myself something a little special on Sundays, because the rest of the week I subsist pretty much entirely on sandwiches and rice. Today's experiment in the kitchen was to make coleslaw, based on a (modified) recipe from a little book of "country kitchen" recipes I got in my stocking last year. I have never worked with cabbage before, so I did what any sane person would do, and bought the obnoxiously purple and slightly cheaper one.

Here's the recipe and my rough translations:

3 cups cabbage (in steviese, 3 cups was downgraded to roughly a "schwack")
2 cups apples, thinly sliced (or, an apple)
1 1/2 teaspoons lemon juice (I love lemon juice! *two hearty shakes*)
1/2 cup sour cream or plain yogurt (half a cup is about half the container of sour cream, right?)
2 teaspoons honey (mmm. . .honey. . .*throws in a tablespoon)
1 tablespoon vinegar (but all I have is white wine vinegar. . .that works, amirite?)
1/2 teaspoon prepared mustard (SHIT, that sounds important! better measure that)
1/2 teaspoon salt (damn shaker is clogged. . .meh)
1/4 teaspoon pepper (love me some pepper!)
2 tablespoons of onion (this was my own addition, to give it some punch)

Directions: Shred cabbage, and combine with apples. Sprinkle with lemon juice. Hmm. . .what does "shred" mean in regards to cabbage? *hacks at it madly with a knife until bits are uneven but roughly chewable.*
In a small bowl, combine everything else for dressing, then toss cabbage and apples in dressing. 
Sounds like I botched the recipe pretty good, right? Wrong! It came out with a very light pleasant, sweet taste, nicely complimented by the addition of the onions. While not overwhelming, the sweetness worked well with the pink of the cabbage, making the dish almost . . .ladylike?

So I made a grilled cheese and ham sammich to balance that pink shit out.

et voila! 

Saturday, 25 February 2012

Friday, 24 February 2012


One of my favorite "games" is the random Google image search. Today's word was "Lament", and I am stunned by the variety of rather powerful images that cropped up. I would like to share with you a few, in various art forms.


A passionate expression of grief.

This strange but heart-stopping image was pulled from I don't know who the original artist is. If the original artist is the blogger in question, super kudos to them, because this is my favorite "lament" picture that popped up in the search. It seems to be a representation of innocence lost, and the deep sense of sadness an being without direction that goes with it. 

A whole page of "Lament" text art can be found here, artwork done by David Sweeney. It is interesting how the way the letters themselves can be manipulated visually to alter or reinforce the meaning of the word. 

This painting is Known as The Lament for Icarus. It was painted in 1898 by Herbert James Draper. The Icarus tale, for those of you unfamiliar with it, is that of a young man whose father constructed a pair of wings of feathers and wax, to allow his son to escape his prison. His father instructed him not to fly too close to the sun, lest the wax melt, and the wings fail to carry him. But the young man, exhilarated with flight, ignored this caution, flew too high, an the wings began to unravel. Here he is pictured after the fall, youthful body broken, wings askew, while mythical maidens curiously observe him.

This clay sculpture was pulled from The original artist is not credited. The subject here assumes a typical pose of grief, one hand covering an eye, the other covering the mouth. . .seen also here, in a powerful photograph of a woman weeping, also uncredited. I'm not entirely sure I have ever demonstrated sadness via this pose, or seen anyone do it except for in art. Interesting. 
And another one, this one done by Kathe Kollowitz in 1938-1940, in bronze. 

This is a powerful image, and I feel like I should recognize it, but the website I pulled it from ( ) didn't credit it. Anyone recognize it? 

And finally, this one, "Tinman's Lament" by illustrator Dan May, whose work I accessed here, at a really neat illustrations blog. This image manages to capture sadness in simplicity. Also, it is adorable. 

Thursday, 23 February 2012

"Talk Hard" -- formally titled "Keep the Air Alive"

"Do you ever get the feeling that everything in America is completely fucked up?" -- Mark Hunter/Hard Harry

As hinted, in a post I made almost a year ago, I also have a desire to toss some verbal masturbation out into the intarwebs, about my other favorite movie from the late 80's: Pump Up the Volume.

I was slightly less impressionable when I saw this movie. I was in the Tenth Grade, as opposed to the Seventh, but the impact it made on me was no less significant. More importantly, just like Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure/Bogus Journey, Pump Up the Volume drove home another point that seemed part of my basic personality as a teen. It reminded me that sometimes, if you want to do what's right, you've got to break some rules.

As I'm writing this, I am finding myself having a hard time reaching a decision. What was more important to me: The music, or the movie itself? I'd say that they are equally important, however . . . without the music, the movie wouldn't be what it was. The music would stand on its own, without the film.

For those who have not seen the film, it's about a high school student, Mark Hunter. He's relocated to Arizona from New Jersey with his family, when his dad accepts a job as the commissioner of Hubert Humphrey High. I'm sure there's some joke to be made about a high school named after Hubert Humphrey, but I'm not versed in the 60's political climate. I'll refrain. I'd just fuck it up.

But I digress.

Mark, who had plenty of friends back home in Jersey, finds it impossible to meet people in Arizona. He becomes shy, and withdrawn. Yet, in a stroke of inspired genius that can only occur in the mind of a 17 year old boy -- he decides to use the shortwave radio set that his parents bought him to "talk to his friends back home", to launch a pirate radio station. He assumes the persona of Happy Harry Hard-On. Hubert Humphrey High. Happy Harry Hard-On. I really don't have to point out the synergy there folks, do I?

Harry goes live, every night, at 10pm. Because of the sensitive position he's in, with his father's job, he uses a modulator to change his voice. He talks about everything, and anything. At first he's just waxing philosophical on the trials of being a teenager, but then something happens.

All of his fellow classmates, begin to view Hard Harry as a latter day prophet of sorts. They look to him. They listen to him.

I just stepped away for 10 minutes or so, and walked back with the intention cutting off the synopsis, and just hitting the salient points. As I said, I believed that the music was more important. However, in the process of writing this, I've come to realize that I was wrong. The music would have never had the impact on me that it does, if it weren't for the movie.

Enough of the introspective After School Special.

Mark/Harry decides to take on the issues of corruption at the school. The expulsion potential "trouble-makers", and "undesirables" during the first week of school--while keeping their names on the roll, so the school would get more money from the state. Principal Cresswood, the mastermind behind this nefarious plot, truly believed she was doing it for the good of the school. It's one of the oldest debates on the polarity of good and evil. Both sides truly believe they're right.

It begins, when Mark/Harry lifts a memo from his father's home office, and discovers that a girl named Cheryl has been expelled, because she is pregnant. That begins the influx of trust from his classmates. Teenagers rarely believe that anyone is fighting for them. Then, out of the blue, during a time when radio was king, comes a voice that speaks to them.

Mark/Harry begins to take phone calls and letters from his listeners. One day, he receives a letter signed, "I'm Serious".

The letter reads as follows:

Dear Harry,

Do you think I should kill myself?

I'm Serious.

And here, the shitstorm begins, my faithful few readers.

The next day, in his creative writing class, Mark is informed that one of his classmates killed himself the night before.

I'll do my best to quote his following broadcast monologues:

"You see I never planned it like this. My dumb Dad got me this short wave radio set so I could just speak to my friends back east, but I couldn't reach anybody, I thought I was talking to nobody. I imagined that nobody listening. Maybe I imagined one person out there, anyway one day I woke up and I realized I was never going to be normal and so I said fuck it, I said so be it and Happy Harry Hard-On was born. I never meant to hurt anyone, honestly I never meant to hurt anyone. I'm sorry Malcolm. I never said "Don't do it" I'm sorry . . . anyway I'm done, stick a fork in me it's been grand. This is Happy Harry Hard-On saying sayonara, over and out."

At this point, there is a dramatic pause:

Off the air: "What am I doing? Fuck it!"

On the air: "You hear about some kid who did something stupid, something desperate. What possessed him. How could he do such a terrible thing. It's really quite simple actually. Consider the life of a teenager. You have parents, teachers telling you what to do. You have movies, magazines, and TV telling you what to do. But you know what you have to do. Your job, your purpose, is to get accepted, get a cute girl friend, and think up something great to do with the rest of your life. What if you're confused and can't imagine a career? What if you're funny looking and you can't get a girl friend? You see no one wants to hear it, but the terrible secret is that being young is sometimes less fun than being dead.

Suicide is wrong, but the interesting thing about it is how uncomplicated it seems. There you are, you got all these problems swarming around your brain, and here is one simple, one incredibly simple solution. I'm just surprised it doesn't happen every day around here. No now they're going to say I said offing yourself is simple, but no, no, no, no, it's not simple. It's like everything else you have to read the fine print. For instance, assuming there is a heaven who would ever wanna go there, you know. I mean think about it, sitting on this cloud, you know it's nice, it's quiet, there's no teachers, there's no parents, but guess what? There's nothing to do. Fucking boring. Another thing to remember about suicide is that it is not a pretty picture. First of all, you shit your shorts you know. So there you are dead, people are weeping over you, crying, girls you never spoke to are saying, "Why? Why? Why?" and you have a load in your shorts. That's the way I see it. Sue me. Now, they're saying I shouldn't think stuff like this. They're saying something is wrong with me, that I should be ashamed. Well, I'm sick of being ashamed. Aren't you?

I don't mind being dejected and rejected, but I'm not going to be ashamed about it.

At least pain is real. You look around and you see nothing is real, but the pain is real. You know, even this show isn't real. This isn't me; I'm using a voice disguiser. I'm a phoney fuck just like my Dad!! . . just like anybody. You see, the real me is just as worried as the rest of you. They say I'm disturbed, well of course I'm disturbed. I mean we're all disturbed, and if we're not, why not? Doesn't this blend of blindness and blandness want to make you do something crazy? Then why not do something crazy? It makes a hell of a lot of sense than blowing you fucking brains out you know. Go nuts, go crazy, get creative! You got problems? You just chuck'em, nuke'em! They think you're moody? Make'em think you're crazy, make'em think you might snap! They think you got attitude? You show'em some real attitude! Come on, go nuts, get crazy. Hey no more Mr. Nice Guy!!!"

At this point, Mark/Harry takes a call from a student who is dealing with his emerging homosexuality, and the bashing that goes along with it. I want to desperately go into it, however I'm already writing to an arrogant length.

One of the ideas that keeps being repeated, over and over, is that Mark is waiting for something. For someone. For a voice to come out of the darkness.

It's at this point, that I notice I've skipped over the entire relationship with Nora, "The Eat Me Beat Me Lady," -- hey, it was the late 80's -- but that's okay. What's important, is what Nora says to him, as he decides to shut the show down:

"No, no the world is fucked up just like you said. Don't you see that you're the voice, you're the voice we're all waiting for."

It's a theme that has been repeated over and over again through the decades, most recently with Green Day's American Idiot -- but that's another post in itself (oh, did you see what I did there? If not, read my preceding post from last April: ).

Long story short, the FCC is called in because people have started recording the shows, and broadcasting them across state lines. They bring out trucks to triangulate his location. So he does the logical thing. He shuts down.

No no, that would be boring. He wires his broadcast set up into his mother's jeep, and makes a mobile broadcast station. HA HA! TAKE THAT YOU LOUSY FCC BUMS!

The obvious chase ensues, and Mark/Harry is forced to broadcast without his voice modulator in what is what I consider one of the finest climaxes of American cinema:

"Okay this is really me now, no more hiding. Listen we're all worried, we're all in pain, that just comes with having eyes with having ears, but just remember one thing it can't get any worse, it can only get better. I mean high school is the bottom. Being a teenager sucks, but that's the point, surviving it is the whole point. Quitting is not going to make you strong, living will. So just hang on and hang in there. You know I know all about the hating and the sneering, I'm a member of the why bother generation myself. But why did I bother coming out here tonight and why did you? I mean it's time, it begins with us not with politicians, the experts of the teachers, but with us, with you and with me, the ones who need it most. I believe with everything that's in me that the whole world is begging for healing, even the trees and the earth its self are crying out for it, you can hear it everywhere. It's the same kind of healing I desperately needed and finally feel has begun with you. Everyone mix it up, it's not game over yet, it's just the beginning, but it's up to you. I'm calling for every kid to seize the air. Steal it, it belongs to you. Speak out, they can't stop you. Find your voice and use it. Keep this going. Pick a name, go on air. It's your life, take charge of it. Do it, try it, try anything. Spill your guts out and say shit and fuck a million times if you want to, but you decide. Fill the air, steal it. Keep the air alive . . . TALK HARD!!!!"

"Talk Hard," was the final snip of dialogue from a lead in the movie. The ending fade, as the credits begin to roll, were of pirate radio stations going on the air all over America.

I've already written to the point where it's just obnoxious, so I'll simply leave you with a list of my favorite tracks from the movie:

"Everybody Knows," by Concrete Blonde -- this is a cover of a Leonard Cohen song, and well.. it's amazing.

"Why Can't I Fall In Love," by Ivan Neville

"Wave of Mutilation (U.K. Surf)," by The Pixies -- this one is amazing. "Wave of Mutilation," was originally released on the album Doolittle. It was fast, distorted, and everything The Pixies were great at. The U.K. Surf version, is slow, heavy on the reverb, and extremely mellow. It is the *perfect* song for the scene it's in -- shortly after Mark learns of Malcolm "I'm Serious" Kaiser's suicide.

"Kick Out The Jams," By Bad Brains ft. Henry Rollins -- this song is a cover of a Blue Oyster Cult song, which is a cover of an MC5 song. It's pretty fucking awesome.

Those are just a few. You can listen to them all at

In closing, this is probably the most important film from my youth. It's why I waited almost a year to write about it. I had no clue how to tackle something of this personal magnitude. I'm still not sure the job I did was worth a shit.

I should add, that Christian Slater played the role of Mark, and this is his finest role ever -- however, it is Christian Slater, and that's not saying much.


Thread and needle: $4.00
Stuffing: $4.97
Making something this ugly for your boyfriend. . . .


Tuesday, 21 February 2012

Cooking with Stevie

Cheerful addition to sunday's post

What I won't be doing. . .

Since I have begun my Masters of Library and Information Studies degree, with a focus in Archival studies, I have frequently been asked:

"So, what exactly is it that you are going to do?"

Tough question. I'm not going to answer it here today. I would need to be in a far more rant-y mood to do it justice. Instead, I am going to show y'all something that I will not be doing: Conservation.

Conservators, within the context of document and book preservation, work with records that are in danger of decaying entirely and becoming lost to us. Their aim is to nullify or at least slow that rate of decay. They will do things like mend tears, treat pages to make them less acidic, or rebind a material in a less harmful format. Conservators frequently have a specialized background in conservation, as well as some knowledge of chemistry and laboratory procedures. Archivists do not have any of this knowledge, and therefore tend to outsource their conservation work to these professionals.

The rule of thumb for conservators, and for archivists, is "if it can't be reversed, don't attempt it". For Archivists, this is a hard and fast rule, for conservationists, who have more knowledge of what can be done to preserve a work, this is a little foggier.

Either way, the conservator must justify any changes they are making, weighing the benefits of preventing further damage to the record against altering the nature of that original record itself. An interesting example of this can be seen in the restoration of Thomas Jefferson's bible, a text which consists of re-ordered and select clippings the man himself put together in order to re-tell the story of Christ's life and teachings chronologically, and without supernatural elements. 

The articles following recount this conservation project: 

Finally, pictures of the pages of the bible were taken, and a facsimile was made: 

Monday, 20 February 2012


The art of palm reading. Its old. Ancient. The earliest known account of it is about 400 B.C.E, but some hypothesize it may have started even earlier than that in India. Does being old lend it credibility? No. But it is interesting when cultural practices can persist over thousands of years, long after the original culture has died out.

So tonight, its fun with palmistry!
Right Hand
Left Hand

Left hand (the dominant hand) reflects myself, my individuality, and my potential
My right hand represents what I was born to.


Squarish, slightly spade shaped hand indicates a practical person with a need for positive action.
The thumb is placed fairly high up on my hand, indicating that I am careful (check)
Long fingers indicate an attention to and fondness for details.
The ink on my left hand indicates that I write too many damn study notes

Left Hand:

Lifeline: Feathered head, perhaps indicating mental health issues, however apparently I will have good health for most of my adult life.

Fate Line: Low on my left hand, and fate, indicating that much of my childhood was sacrificed to the will of my parents, something which shaped my personality

Heart Line: I have the capacity for adoration, and enjoy demonstrating my affections both verbally and through actions. 

Head Line: loooooonnng. That means I R SMART. . .or some shit. Huge gap between my head line and my life line here means I am an independant thinker, or have the potential to be. Aww yeah.

Right Hand: 

Life Line: more solid a line than on my left, perhaps indicating that I was born with a predisposition to better health than what I have given myself. Bad life decisions, poor health.

Fate Line: clear, descending from the head line: I will obtain success later in life 

Heart Line: Similar to Left, though not as strong. Perhaps loving is a learned trait.

Head Line: Long, but with an interesting dip in it. Maybe a genetic predisposition to altzheimers later on or something :/. My head line separated from my life line early on, which means I stopped learning from my parents at a young age (lol, true)

For anyone who's interested in a succinct guide:

Sunday, 19 February 2012

Chicken flambe

So, tonight I decided to treat myself to something a little fancier than my normal fare (normal fare being anything that can be put between two slices of bread and eaten with my hands).

I dug up this recipe from

Chicken Flambe with Irish Whiskey and Cream


1-1/2 to 1-3/4 lbs thin-sliced chicken breast filets
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, very finely chopped
8 ounces white button mushrooms, sliced
1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1/8 teaspoon cayenne
2/3 cup Irish whiskey
1/2 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/3 cup parsley, chopped
Buttered egg noodles or long grain rice
* I did this on noodles, and added a bit of spinach for a bit more greenery, also went a little harder on the garlic, worcester, and the whiskey, as is my preference. 
Combine the flour, salt and pepper and spread on a sheet of waxed paper. Dredge the chicken in the flour on both sides.
Melt the butter and olive oil in a large pan over medium-high heat. Working in batches so as not to overcrowd the pan, add the chicken and cook just until golden, 2-1/2 minutes per side. Transfer to a plate, cover with foil to keep warm and reduce the heat to medium.
Add the onion and garlic to the pan and cook, stirring often, until the onion is translucent, 2 minutes. Add the mushrooms and continue cooking, stirring frequently, until any liquid the mushrooms give off has evaporated. Add the Worcestershire and cayenne and season to taste with salt and pepper.
Return the chicken to the pan and remove it from the heat. Pour the whiskey over top, return to the heat, stand back and ignite (see tips below). As soon as the flames subside, stir in the cream. Turn the chicken pieces several times to coat with the sauce. Finish with the chopped parsley and lemon juice.
To serve, plate a portion of egg noodles or rice, top with 2 pieces of chicken and spoon mushrooms and sauce over the top. Garnish with additional parsley if desired.

This is how it came out:

YUMMY! I'm sorry I couldn't get a picture of the actual flambe-ing for you guys. . .it was faster than my camera. Pretty blue flames though, and short-lived, so I didn't fear for my life. I also got a bottle of perrier to go with dinner. . .you know, being in Montreal and all. 

Saturday, 18 February 2012

Cold Stone Creamery

This past summer, I spent a lot of time travelling in the United States. Being the food-lover I am, I visited a variety of interesting restaurants. One thing that bothers me about eating across the border is the fact that, with a few exceptions, if its not a ma-and-pa greasy spoon, it is a part of a chain. Even the exceptions (small-business type restaurants with $10-16 menu items) were rather bland and lacking in culinary finesse compared to similar Canadian restaurants.

Not that all the chains are bad. Many serve much higher quality food than you'd find at any of the chains we have in Canada. (Compare a Whataburger--a chain in the south--to a burger king burger, for example). But the nature of the chains can be surprising. Many of them take an idea that would be excellent within the loving environment of a small-business setting, commercialize it, assembly line it, and churn out a less-than-excellent version for mass consumption.

An example of this is the Cold Stone Creamery, which I had an opportunity to visit this summer while in Lawrence, KS. The notion behind the Cold Stone Creamery is that they provide a higher quality ice cream by making it fresh in store every day. Not only that, but customers are invited to experiment with their flavors, as different ice creams are mixed with a variety of additional ingredients on a slab of chilled stone right before the consumer's eyes.

To be fair, its pretty damn good ice cream. Maybe slightly overpriced for what you get, but really, honestly, very good. Just, perhaps, not as good as it could be. A lot of the homey-feeling experience of this sort of thing is lost in a chain-restaurant setting. Comedian Azis Ansari says it best in his rant about CSC:!/s/Cold+Stone+Creamery/2CvrPL?src=5

Wednesday, 15 February 2012


Reaching for you
On the other side of glass
I strike my own reflection.
Yearning for Flesh with Flesh
Blood with Blood
Spirit with Soul
Thought to Thought
Heart to Heart
Cliches, meaning lost
Like sand in an hourglass.
Turn me over.

Like Shiva, I would think you a river
if I wasn't sure you'd drown in it. 
Swept away on my Narmanda
Thoughts are the undertow.
Thinking is all I can do.

 I would be your wheel-horse
I would carry you, though
My steps are slow
My hide scarred by
The lash I've laid on it.
You could be my driver,
if you'd take the whip.

Tuesday, 14 February 2012

Sidecar Sidebar

The sidecar: 

A one-wheeled car for a single passenger, attached to the side of a motorcycle."

         Rarely seen in real life, but frequently found in television and movies, the sidecar seems to sacrifice style for companionship. Lets take a trip on the way back machine and pay homage to some of the more memorable sidecars of the past several decades:

1. Darkwing Duck's Ratcatcher:

Anyone who was a kid in the nineties will remember Darkwing duck's Ratcatcher, a motorcycle which actually managed to make sidecars look cool. Well, as cool as anything driven by a duck can look. Ideally suited for hauling children into dangerous situations! SIDECAR FOR KIDS!

2. Wallace and Gromit 

Maybe not so iconic as the Ratcatcher, Wallace's motorcycle with sidecar for Gromit has its own charm. Somehow sidecars seem less ridiculous in the British context than in the American. Why is that? Then again, it is Wallace and Gromit . . . SIDECAR FOR BRITS

3. Edgar's Putt-putter

Another iconic sidecar: the sidecar used to kidnap the cats of Disney's 1970 film, The Aristocats. This is a clear instance of a sidecar being used for EVIL. Throw in two dogs, a haystack, a bowler hat, and an umbrella, and all hell breaks loose. SIDECAR OF DOOM!

4. Sirius Black's Motorcycle:

This motorcycle, originally owned by Sirius Black is first seen in the possession of everyone's favorite gigantic beard, Hagrid. The Harry Potter Wiki can describe it better than I do: 
"Sirius Black's motorbike is a 1959 Triumph Bonneville T120, ordinary-looking Muggle motorbike with a sidecar, though this is deceiving: it is much larger than its average counterpart, emits a very loud roar, and can fly. It is large enough to accommodate Hagrid, ahalf-giant, and still can carry an ordinary-size person in its sidecar, and can fly fast enough in to compete in speed with a broomstick. It has a kickstart[1]."

5. The original Batcycle

. . .Oooooh the original Batcycle, featured in the 1966 live action television series. Unlike its successor Batcycles, this one (barely) leaves room for Batty's trusted sidekick, Robin. I know seeing Robin riding with his knees to his chin makes me take him more seriously. Anyone else? The dynamic duo indeed. BEST SIDECAR EVER?