I don’t really like to eat. The act of feeding myself can be tiresome. Shovel, chew, swallow, repeat. Eventually I’ll feel full, a few hours later I’ll be hungry again. It’s enough to drive one insane, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. But here’s the rub: I love food.
A perfectly grilled New York strip steak is heaven; patiently braised carnitas is rapture; a Grandma-baked apple pie is ecstasy. Award-winning writer William Goldman once said that “true love is the greatest thing in the world -- except for a nice sandwich,” and I couldn’t agree more. Spaghetti with meatballs, Christmas ham with peas and potatoes, baby back ribs drenched in BBQ sauce -- hot damn, my mouth is watering.
My dilemma is clear: how do I reconcile these two disconnected feelings, the aversion to eating and the joy of foodstuffs, when they ought to be connected? It is from this awkward position that I offer a simple, standard dish that actually united my divergent views.
Bangers and Mash is simply sausages and mashed potatoes. The dish is rooted in the working-class pub culture of England and Ireland and I delight in eating it. Stuffing my face and filling my belly with those delicious meats and taters is anything but a dull chore.
Though I had eaten my fair share of sausages and mashed potatoes over the years, I had never appreciated the unique taste and pleasure of their combination until a recent trip to Australia. Now I can’t get enough.
The moment of enlightenment was at a pub called The Bellevue, a veritable institution opened in the 1880s, in the tony Sydney neighborhood of Paddington. The sausages, resting on a bed of silky mashed potatoes, were a blend of beef and pork. They were drizzled with a generous amount of rich onion gravy and served with a sweet beetroot relish and an assortment of dark, spicy mustards.
I looked at the meal with a mixture of awe, curiosity and excitement. Yeah, it looked good; but would the monotony of eating it be that same familiar bore? Cutting into one of the sausages, I released an intoxicating torrent of its aromatic juices. They mingled with the mash, dying it a warm brown. I used my fork to collect some relish, thick but not overly chunky, and swept it through the creamy mash and the gravy, taking care to gather a bit of mustard for good measure. Stabbing the slice of sausage, I now had a little of everything on my plate, on my fork -- a melting pot of protein and starch. I put it in my mouth. I chewed. I savored the flavor. I swallowed. I was unprepared for what came next.
I was so floored by the taste, a fusion of sweet and savory with a hint of old-world charm, that all I could think about was piling up the next bite. Again, I got some of everything. Again, I was not disappointed. Perhaps more importantly, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I was enjoying eating. Heaping the different components of the dish together and consuming them with glee, I began to realize that the satisfaction I derived from eating had just as much to do with what I was eating as how I was eating it. Each element that made up each forkful played its own role on my Supper Stage and I was the director. I decided what went where, how much of this did that. I was in charge.
The awareness galvanized me and, excited by the explosive party in my mouth, I plowed through the meal. The gravy was diluted with mash, the mustard turned beet red, and the sausage abandoned its casing. Even though I took great pleasure in eating my meat and potatoes, I ate it with a shit-eating grin. It was great.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Esquire
Esquire is a men’s magazine. It was conceived at the darkest moment of the Depression and was born at the dawn of the New Deal in 1933. The magazine began as a racy publication for men before being transformed into a more refined periodical with an emphasis on the lifestyle of civilized men. Published today by the Hearst Corporation, it speaks to the successful, multi-faceted man who is culturally tuned in. Esquire’s unique blend of intelligent assistance, stories with substance, and ability to entertain and inspire make it a perfect resource for the discerning gentleman. You know that dude from the Dos Equis commercials? The “most interesting man in the world?” He reads Esquire. Hell, he’s probably a contributing editor.
I find it to be a fantastic publication. Even though it’s aimed at the modern-day Don Draper, I like to think the magazine appeals to a wide variety of men. It’s classy but not uppity and speaks in a knowing, sensible voice that most men can understand and appreciate.
I’ve only been a casual reader for a year or so but as far as I can tell, the editors have little to no political agenda; everything seems pretty neutral. It was actually the November 2008 issue in which, after 75 years, Esquire publicly endorsed a presidential candidate for the first time (Obama). Still, editorials decrying the recent government bailouts and espousing the virtues of free markets paint a different, but nonetheless balanced, picture.
And since its inception, Esquire has always been a trendsetter in the way of art direction and graphic design. In fact, the third floor of the Museum of Modern Art in Midtown Manhattan rests a tribute to Esquire’s glory years -- a collection of 92 covers from the 1960s and early 1970s that have become, in the museum’s words, “essential to the iconography of American culture." That tradition continues today not just in the ‘wall-of-words’ covers but on the pages behind them. Even with text, graphics and callouts in the sidebars, the layouts still maintain a clean and modern feel without wasting space or being overly busy.
Esquire is a veritable wellspring of relevant information for the well-educated and urbane individual. Defined by its range, it sets itself apart from the knuckle-dragging chauvinism present in rags like Maxim and FHM with content edited for an affluent and sophisticated audience -- class not mass. The magazine’s editors state:
"Esquire is geared toward men who have arrived. They dress for themselves; have both the means and knowledge to invest; can order with confidence in a fine restaurant; have a healthy respect and admiration for women; take vacations that enrich their lives and recharge their energy; and have mastered many of life’s basics. What they want is a primer on how to lead a richer, better, fuller, and more meaningful life.”
Esquire’s tagline is “Man At His Best,” a fitting statement for a refined, rich magazine with a tonic splash of charm and attitude. I want to be an Esquire man. I’m not a particularly cultured or well-to-do man; I’m just some dude. I don’t plan on spending $2500 on the ‘essential’ Canali three-piece suit featured in the October 2009 issue, making a dinner reservation two months in advance, or sailing solo around the Cape of Good Hope. I am however, intellectually confident and curious. I appreciate the finer things even though I don’t necessarily seek them. I sometimes prefer the clip-clop of a fancy shoe on a hard floor to the squeak of a sneaker; I can value the cut and quality of a shirt as well as its function; I recognize that a $50 meal is, in most cases, better than a $10 one. And I want to be an Esquire man. Yet here I am, writing blog posts about which skateboard is better at getting me to the local Pabst-pouring dive. Time to grow up?
I find it to be a fantastic publication. Even though it’s aimed at the modern-day Don Draper, I like to think the magazine appeals to a wide variety of men. It’s classy but not uppity and speaks in a knowing, sensible voice that most men can understand and appreciate. I’ve only been a casual reader for a year or so but as far as I can tell, the editors have little to no political agenda; everything seems pretty neutral. It was actually the November 2008 issue in which, after 75 years, Esquire publicly endorsed a presidential candidate for the first time (Obama). Still, editorials decrying the recent government bailouts and espousing the virtues of free markets paint a different, but nonetheless balanced, picture.
And since its inception, Esquire has always been a trendsetter in the way of art direction and graphic design. In fact, the third floor of the Museum of Modern Art in Midtown Manhattan rests a tribute to Esquire’s glory years -- a collection of 92 covers from the 1960s and early 1970s that have become, in the museum’s words, “essential to the iconography of American culture." That tradition continues today not just in the ‘wall-of-words’ covers but on the pages behind them. Even with text, graphics and callouts in the sidebars, the layouts still maintain a clean and modern feel without wasting space or being overly busy.
Esquire is a veritable wellspring of relevant information for the well-educated and urbane individual. Defined by its range, it sets itself apart from the knuckle-dragging chauvinism present in rags like Maxim and FHM with content edited for an affluent and sophisticated audience -- class not mass. The magazine’s editors state: "Esquire is geared toward men who have arrived. They dress for themselves; have both the means and knowledge to invest; can order with confidence in a fine restaurant; have a healthy respect and admiration for women; take vacations that enrich their lives and recharge their energy; and have mastered many of life’s basics. What they want is a primer on how to lead a richer, better, fuller, and more meaningful life.”
Esquire’s tagline is “Man At His Best,” a fitting statement for a refined, rich magazine with a tonic splash of charm and attitude. I want to be an Esquire man. I’m not a particularly cultured or well-to-do man; I’m just some dude. I don’t plan on spending $2500 on the ‘essential’ Canali three-piece suit featured in the October 2009 issue, making a dinner reservation two months in advance, or sailing solo around the Cape of Good Hope. I am however, intellectually confident and curious. I appreciate the finer things even though I don’t necessarily seek them. I sometimes prefer the clip-clop of a fancy shoe on a hard floor to the squeak of a sneaker; I can value the cut and quality of a shirt as well as its function; I recognize that a $50 meal is, in most cases, better than a $10 one. And I want to be an Esquire man. Yet here I am, writing blog posts about which skateboard is better at getting me to the local Pabst-pouring dive. Time to grow up?
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
See See Rider
Normally when I see someone rolling down the street on one of those long cruiser boards, I’m quick to judge. “Nice flip flops, brah. Learn to push with your back foot.” But the other day I saw something pretty cool that made me think differently.
I saw a group of skate-dudes ripping around the city on oblong boards with big, soft wheels. They were carrying their regular ‘freestyle’ skateboards under their arms, cruising from one spot to the next. What a novel idea, I thought.
Compared to a typical seven-and-three-quarterish, nose-and-tailed shred stick with hard 52s, cruiser setups are faster and more maneuverable. Too, their grippy wheels handle cracks and rough ground better. By carrying two boards, one for cruising and one for getting extreme, a person can cover more ground in less time and hit more spots.
Though it’s no coincidence that they’re often called ‘beer cruisers’ (most dudes tend to ride them to the Kwik-E-Mart or the bar), these kids were on to something. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before.
Why not make your ride to the next ledge, set or bank an easier, more pleasurable one? Feast your peeps on these cruisers and, if you haven’t already, consider adding one to your quiver.
Krooked (7.125” or 7.5”). The Zip Zingers, though first introduced in the early 2000s, are the gold-standard of cruiser boards. The shape likely existed in some form or another in the 1970s but it’s been refined and updated since then. It’s available in two different sizes (or the 8.6” Zip Zagger) with an aggressive concave and supple tail that allow it to be popped and flipped with relative ease.
Habitat (7.75”). This beauty’s got a cork top sheet for a little extra cushion when you’re really giving it a pushin.’ The shape is pretty plain, utilitarian and functional. I imagine cruising barefoot on this baby would be a breeze.
Creature (7.5" (4" at the tail)). Made of a heavy-duty plastic composite, the Rip Rider is as perfect for a jaunt to the corner store as a trip to a death-metal show. Even though it’s probably flexible, the coffin-shaped board is hella flat with hardly any tail to speak of so don’t count on doing much but rolling and rip-riding it.
Crailtap (7.875”). Since the Girl/Chocolate guys made this puppy, I’m sure it’s a hella sweet ride. Still, it was pretty limited so I don’t know if you can get your hands on it anymore.
Deathwish (8.5”). The Passion Cruiser is designed to quench your thirst for speed. Shaped (obviously) like a 40 bottle, it might be most effective as alternative transportation to and from the neighborhood bar.
I saw a group of skate-dudes ripping around the city on oblong boards with big, soft wheels. They were carrying their regular ‘freestyle’ skateboards under their arms, cruising from one spot to the next. What a novel idea, I thought.
Compared to a typical seven-and-three-quarterish, nose-and-tailed shred stick with hard 52s, cruiser setups are faster and more maneuverable. Too, their grippy wheels handle cracks and rough ground better. By carrying two boards, one for cruising and one for getting extreme, a person can cover more ground in less time and hit more spots.
Though it’s no coincidence that they’re often called ‘beer cruisers’ (most dudes tend to ride them to the Kwik-E-Mart or the bar), these kids were on to something. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before.
Why not make your ride to the next ledge, set or bank an easier, more pleasurable one? Feast your peeps on these cruisers and, if you haven’t already, consider adding one to your quiver.
Krooked (7.125” or 7.5”). The Zip Zingers, though first introduced in the early 2000s, are the gold-standard of cruiser boards. The shape likely existed in some form or another in the 1970s but it’s been refined and updated since then. It’s available in two different sizes (or the 8.6” Zip Zagger) with an aggressive concave and supple tail that allow it to be popped and flipped with relative ease.
Habitat (7.75”). This beauty’s got a cork top sheet for a little extra cushion when you’re really giving it a pushin.’ The shape is pretty plain, utilitarian and functional. I imagine cruising barefoot on this baby would be a breeze.
Creature (7.5" (4" at the tail)). Made of a heavy-duty plastic composite, the Rip Rider is as perfect for a jaunt to the corner store as a trip to a death-metal show. Even though it’s probably flexible, the coffin-shaped board is hella flat with hardly any tail to speak of so don’t count on doing much but rolling and rip-riding it.
Crailtap (7.875”). Since the Girl/Chocolate guys made this puppy, I’m sure it’s a hella sweet ride. Still, it was pretty limited so I don’t know if you can get your hands on it anymore.
Deathwish (8.5”). The Passion Cruiser is designed to quench your thirst for speed. Shaped (obviously) like a 40 bottle, it might be most effective as alternative transportation to and from the neighborhood bar.
Friday, November 13, 2009
FANTASY
Putting together fantasy bands, while fun, is an imaginative exercise in futility. As with fantasy sports teams, the grouping of players who wouldn’t normally play together only distances the organizer further from reality. And when you really get down to it, the myriad possibilities are enough to make your head spin. So when I decided to assemble a fantasy band, I did so with the utmost care and deliberation. While some might think that musical aptitude or rock-ability would be the deciding factors, they would be wrong. Instead, the only thing that qualifies one for this gig is their rock-and-roll face. Note: Nigel Tufnel was excluded because he’s already in a fantasy band.
Marc Bolan on guitar. Careful not to exhibit the consternation of a player lost in instrumental labor, the T. Rex frontman instead relies on a facial expression of constant sexual gratification. Letting his eyes roll back in his head, he’s making love to his guitar as much as he’s making love to his audience. Accordingly, he puffs his cheeks, exhales forcefully and sighs with visceral pleasure while throwing his head back and presumably jizzing in his pants.
k.d. lang on vocals. She works the pained squint and couples it with an outstretched hand (reaching for what? Help? A higher power?) or a clenched fist to show true, real emotion. Betraying nothing but genuine sentiment, lang gives the sense of a tangible connection to the song’s subject matter. Like Morrissey in a pant suit, she furrows her brow in a smugly affected manner while curling her thin lips around the words. Her composed emoting, when coupled with the longing ache in her voice and the concerned, attached expression on her face, only reinforces her sense of “Constant Craving.”
Mick Fleetwood on drums. Grimacing and wincing like he’s taking a hall-of-fame crap, the Fleetwood Mac drummer always looks uncomfortable when playing. He shifts in his seat and leans every which way in an apparent effort to loosen his bowels while making faces that are consistent with those of a constipated man. With his mouth gaping in either pain or relief, he appears to be awash with the endorphin-fueled feelings of someone who’s just barely survived a traumatic experience. Quick, somebody get this man a sweat rag and some toilet paper. Never mind the fact that he’s still in the middle of a song, alternately flailing madly and punishing the skins or shrugging rhythmically and tapping in time.
Happy-Tom on bass. A heavyset guy styled as a threatening homosexual in a sailor suit, Happy Tom has been going “whoa-oh-whoa” with Turbonegro for well over a decade. His aggressive sneer, clenched teeth and piercing eyes give the impression of a man fighting his way out from the depths of rock-and-roll purgatory. Also, depending on the night, he can be seen as weary, catatonic and generally jaded, which is still cool in an I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit kind of way. Still, by the end of a show, he’s so sweaty that all his makeup has run, creating that worn-out tragic clown image. And how awesome would it be to have one costumed and made-up goon sharing the stage with a fey glam god, a googly-eyed (blame the cocaine) English dandy and a beguiling lesbian?
Thursday, November 12, 2009
MULCH no. 2
The second issue of MULCH has finally hit the shelves. It features a photo exhibition of party people as well as record reviews, tattoo testimonials and the return of Gary Blaster. Pick one up (for FREE) at Powell’s on Burnside while supplies last or get in touch with me for a copy. Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Gun Violence
On the day after Virginia executed John Allen Muhammad, the mastermind behind the 2002 sniper attacks that terrorized the nation's capital and its suburbs, I’m reminded of all the senseless gun violence in the news.
Though Muhammad and accomplice Lee Boyd Malvo killed 10 people and wounded three over the course of three weeks in October 2002 while taunting police with written messages and phoned-in threats and demands, a more recent spate of shootings has again called to attention the ease of acquiring firearms in America.
A man was shot by an intruder in his home in my neighborhood on Wednesday. A shooting at the Fort Hood Army post in Texas on Thursday left 13 people dead and 42 wounded. A man killed one person and wounded five others on Friday at a Florida office where he once worked. A seven-year-old girl was killed on Sunday in Louisiana when a stray bullet pierced the walls of her apartment and struck her in the neck while she slept. Yesterday, a man opened fire at a medical lab near where I grew up and killed two people and wounded two more.
I’m not interested in turning this post into a second amendment condemnation. There are plenty of responsible gun owners who have the right to “keep and bear arms” and I think it’s unfair to label everyone unfit for gun possession just because some people choose to shoot other people. But it certainly makes me think...
...That there are no effective measures to control gun ownership. Crazy people keep getting their hands on guns. People that are unable to legally purchase a gun don’t seem to have a problem obtaining one illegally. And when seemingly ‘normal’ people go postal with their legally-acquired guns, I have to ask myself: is the gun-buying process flawed in some way? Should people even be allowed to own firearms? How many more school shootings, indiscriminate stranger-on-stranger shootings and accidental shootings must we endure before we realize that it’s not necessarily a case of “guns don’t kill people - people kill people,” but rather a case of 'people and guns kill people?'
To be clear, I don't think guns should be banned outright. I also don't think it should be as easy as it is to get a gun. Can a balance be found? I wish I had the answer. If anything, the issue of gun control is serious food for serious thought. Eat up.
Though Muhammad and accomplice Lee Boyd Malvo killed 10 people and wounded three over the course of three weeks in October 2002 while taunting police with written messages and phoned-in threats and demands, a more recent spate of shootings has again called to attention the ease of acquiring firearms in America.
A man was shot by an intruder in his home in my neighborhood on Wednesday. A shooting at the Fort Hood Army post in Texas on Thursday left 13 people dead and 42 wounded. A man killed one person and wounded five others on Friday at a Florida office where he once worked. A seven-year-old girl was killed on Sunday in Louisiana when a stray bullet pierced the walls of her apartment and struck her in the neck while she slept. Yesterday, a man opened fire at a medical lab near where I grew up and killed two people and wounded two more.
I’m not interested in turning this post into a second amendment condemnation. There are plenty of responsible gun owners who have the right to “keep and bear arms” and I think it’s unfair to label everyone unfit for gun possession just because some people choose to shoot other people. But it certainly makes me think...
...That there are no effective measures to control gun ownership. Crazy people keep getting their hands on guns. People that are unable to legally purchase a gun don’t seem to have a problem obtaining one illegally. And when seemingly ‘normal’ people go postal with their legally-acquired guns, I have to ask myself: is the gun-buying process flawed in some way? Should people even be allowed to own firearms? How many more school shootings, indiscriminate stranger-on-stranger shootings and accidental shootings must we endure before we realize that it’s not necessarily a case of “guns don’t kill people - people kill people,” but rather a case of 'people and guns kill people?'
To be clear, I don't think guns should be banned outright. I also don't think it should be as easy as it is to get a gun. Can a balance be found? I wish I had the answer. If anything, the issue of gun control is serious food for serious thought. Eat up.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The Answering Machine Dance
Since the invention of the answering machine, callers have been explicitly instructed how to leave messages. This has to stop.
I understand that it must have been strange and somewhat difficult for people to get used to leaving a message on a machine (after the beep) rather than with a person or not at all. What I don’t understand is why, after 30-some years, people still need to be told to leave their ‘name, number and a brief message after the beep.’ I feel like everybody is familiar enough with the routine that the instructions can be left unsaid. Is it also absolutely necessary to let the caller know, after reaching the answering machine, that their intended recipient is ‘out, unavailable, or too busy to come to the phone right now?’ Getting the machine is an indication that someone can’t make it to the phone for whatever reason. Otherwise they would’ve picked up the damn thing. An excuse is unnecessary.
The more recent advent of voicemail, instead of improving the message-leaving process, has only opened the door to a number of new aggravations. Why, when reaching an unanswered mobile phone, are callers told how to leave a message (after the beep) by the service provider and the person they’re trying to reach? It’s totally redundant. Why do some people ask the message-leaver to provide a phone number when both the phone and the voicemail system store the number for them? It’s pointless.
If your answering machine or voicemail greeting goes like this:
“Hello. You’ve reached so and so at some number. I’m either out or unable to answer the phone right now so please leave your name, number and a brief message after the tone and I’ll return your call as soon as I can. Thank you and have a good day.”
Then try this instead,
“You’ve reached so and so. Please leave a message.”
Not only is it much more simple and direct, it will also compel more callers to leave a message instead of getting frustrated and hanging up.
The answering machine was supposed to make our lives easier, and it has to a degree, by taking messages when we can’t. But as its usage increased and it became an ubiquitous household item, people have been slow to adapt to its subtleties and understand how to most effectively use it. The way I see it, and surely I’m not alone, an answering machine is a two-way street. I don’t want to listen to a long, drawn-out message someone left on my machine. I also don’t want to wait through a lengthy, protracted greeting just to be able to leave a short message on someone else’s machine. Get to the point. Sure, it usually takes no more than thirty seconds to get to the beep in order to leave my message. But it’s not all about the time; it’s about the irritation of listening to someone tell me how to do something I’ve done a million times.
I understand that it must have been strange and somewhat difficult for people to get used to leaving a message on a machine (after the beep) rather than with a person or not at all. What I don’t understand is why, after 30-some years, people still need to be told to leave their ‘name, number and a brief message after the beep.’ I feel like everybody is familiar enough with the routine that the instructions can be left unsaid. Is it also absolutely necessary to let the caller know, after reaching the answering machine, that their intended recipient is ‘out, unavailable, or too busy to come to the phone right now?’ Getting the machine is an indication that someone can’t make it to the phone for whatever reason. Otherwise they would’ve picked up the damn thing. An excuse is unnecessary.
The more recent advent of voicemail, instead of improving the message-leaving process, has only opened the door to a number of new aggravations. Why, when reaching an unanswered mobile phone, are callers told how to leave a message (after the beep) by the service provider and the person they’re trying to reach? It’s totally redundant. Why do some people ask the message-leaver to provide a phone number when both the phone and the voicemail system store the number for them? It’s pointless.
If your answering machine or voicemail greeting goes like this:
“Hello. You’ve reached so and so at some number. I’m either out or unable to answer the phone right now so please leave your name, number and a brief message after the tone and I’ll return your call as soon as I can. Thank you and have a good day.”
Then try this instead,
“You’ve reached so and so. Please leave a message.”
Not only is it much more simple and direct, it will also compel more callers to leave a message instead of getting frustrated and hanging up.
The answering machine was supposed to make our lives easier, and it has to a degree, by taking messages when we can’t. But as its usage increased and it became an ubiquitous household item, people have been slow to adapt to its subtleties and understand how to most effectively use it. The way I see it, and surely I’m not alone, an answering machine is a two-way street. I don’t want to listen to a long, drawn-out message someone left on my machine. I also don’t want to wait through a lengthy, protracted greeting just to be able to leave a short message on someone else’s machine. Get to the point. Sure, it usually takes no more than thirty seconds to get to the beep in order to leave my message. But it’s not all about the time; it’s about the irritation of listening to someone tell me how to do something I’ve done a million times.
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