This fantastic voyage

Alas I have been remiss in my vow to stay current on the goings on in this, my public journal and archive. It was time well spent away, however. I went on a day trip, wrote a few pieces I plan to submit into some local periodicals, had a chance to listen to some music (a stirring piece by the provincal orchestra, it was rough but well written), had some exquisite tea, entertained a few stray cousins that do not make it over to me often enough, and of course kept myself updated on the world happenings. There simply seemed not time enough for the internet, although I should like to think I am becoming more and more proficient.

I have indeed spent a few meaningful hours in front of a monitor, testing the waters of this blogosphere with a rod or perhaps a sculling oar. I would like to speak now of two locations that I have found to be acceptable. Please excuse my attempt to be a bit less xenophobic and a bit more with the times, this new internet experience is assuredly changing me more than I am it. The Americans have elected a black president, and I think it is time we all curbed the rhetoric regardless.

Top Left Pixel: A fellow by the name of Sam Javanrouh has been daily updating this website with fresh photographs from his collection. I know that the digital camera revolution has filled itself with would-be photographers, and inundated cyberspace with a profusion of absolutely atrocious photographs. This man is different. His photographs, many of which involve the exceedingly hip and fashionable Yonge Street area of Toronto, are by and large exquisitely composed and render their subjects in ways that give insight to his art. I hope Mr. Javanrouh does not mind such lavish praise.

Wooster Collective: If it is not obvious I am a patron of the aesthetic. I also want very much to find the zeitgeist of modern youth culture. Street art is a new art form; as intriguing as it is illicit. Let us call it a cultured vandalism. Many of its artists attempt anonymity, likely both to avoid prosecution but also to add to the intrigue of the medium. Visual arts are a dying one, and this network spans continents to bring us the latest in a very compelling new style.

The internet really is about simple pleasures. I find it comforting that now, because of the excess of information in society that anytime I feel a wave of melancholy, I am able to seek out any sort of soothing image, such as a waterfall or a bottle of port. This sort of "emotion management" through the esteemed Google Image Search has had an unmeasurable effect on my nerves as the recent repercussions of the financial imbroglio begin to take its toll.

On wine and spirits

First and foremost, I wish to celebrate this fine header that my dear friend Algernon created for my use in my digital monologues. His work is almost too refined to waste upon me.

I wish today to address the subject of drinking and drink. Human has long been in love with alcohol, and as such, we should not refuse such an ancient and celebrated tradition. As with anything, there are limits, and sorry to say it is largely up to the individual where to draw the line. Its effects can be both the beginning or the end of your interaction with society. I have made a few observations about the subject in my regrettably many years.

I was attending a formal function last Saturday complete with dinner service and refreshments soiree. As there are two stages to the party, there are two types of drinking. The dinner event was most formal, and as such the drink was entirely reserved and respectable. When the guests retired to the sitting room to engage in discussion and music and dance and all the sorts of things that sociable people are want to do, the recreational side of drinking arrived at the door and invited himself in. Suddenly, voices were boisterous and inhibitions were lifted. A few guests used profanity in their language, which I suppose is regarded as more acceptable when behind closed doors. It did not spoil the evening, and in the end it quieted down rather early and respectfully.

Now there are many different types of alcohol with which we are able to poison ourselves, but some are better suited for certain purposes.

• Wine: Oh, most ancient of drinks, its imbibition has become so complex that it is not so much an activity as it is an art. I claim no deep knowledge of wine tasting; I only cared to learn the very basics. I offer a warning though: wine, though regarded as high class, does not forgive its overconsumption. It can make a prince into a blathering idiot and, subsequently, a dying man.
• Whisky: The Water of Life. Now while I do enjoy a nice Scotch from time to time, I will go right out and say that the Americans have taken a decidedly British thing and made it their own. Drinking whisky of any variety should be done slowly and savored with respect to the aging process.
• Gin: My first drink of liquor was a terrible unregulated gin. It tasted of turpentine and sulphur. I swore off it until my service days, where I drank what was available, and now I think fondly of the friends I made and lost in the war when it passes my lips.
  
• Beer: Do not drink beer. It is of low class. Never.
• Foreign liquors: If it strikes you to try these strange and exotic beverages, I hear people take them and mix them in seltzer or lime juice. I suppose I will just never grow into that.

I humbly thank you for reading.

A change of clothes

After a protracted day spent reading indoors, I found I was in need of some fresh night air. The weather was decidedly nice for Bristol, the sun was slowly making its way down towards a receptive sea, and it would seem nothing could spoil my ambulatory pursuits. It took itself from a splendid day to a wonderful evening, provided one had the proper attire: a pair of broken-in heavy wool trousers, my grandfather's shooting jacket (which I have mended myself on more than one occasion), overcoat, muffler, and a thick fedora. I believe I had walked nearly 45 minutes before the sky darkened and the stars came visible, as well as could be seen in the city.

I sat on a bench near Old Vic Theatre, and thought of the times I had had there when I ran away from home to work as a roustabout. It was terrible work, demeaning and degrading, and if I had known better I would have stayed away, but times were hard in those days and I regret nothing now. I remember we would walk down to the docks and watch the ships come in. We would do it to "impress the birds" we brought there, I would always say. Back then, the docks were still being used, although the trade had subsided significantly in the final years before they moved it up to Avonmouth. It matters not how old I am, the spectacle of such things will always inspire me.

As I made my way back to the flat downtown, it came to pass that I realized none of that had ever actually happened. My upbringing was by two very loving and doting parents that I would never have run from, even in my most irrascable years. Also I lived in Castle Point in Essex during that period of my life. No, it must have been some film strip I watched at some point in the last few decades. Memory is a tricky thing.

TV Spotlight: Election Night Coverage

The Following appeared in The Monitor Volume 15 Issue 6 and was published 11-17-2008.

I watched the presidential election with baited breath, hoping to savor every morsel of such an auspicious event. Were the American people going to alienate every man, woman, and other country in the world by selecting a spectre of the past eight years, or will they hobble themselves by going in with a man whose resume is slightly larger than my own? Anderson Cooper decided to mark this landmark election by introducing a hologram of will.i.am, and I decided that national politics had become a sporting event and that there was probably something better on. Fortunately, TLC has new episodes of one of its finest shows, What Not to Wear.

Now as far as reality tv is concerned, if it ain’t Top Chef i really couldn’t give a crap about it. but cable one has apparently never heard of bravo (what the fuck, guys!) and this one actually isnt terrible. it starts off the same as any other, friends nominate a person to get a makeover, the host of the show surprises them and buys them a big expensive wardrobe. it focuses on the usual specimen, the not-attractive-but-with-redeeming-features kind of everywoman, age 28-45, the kind that feels comfortable in wearing shitty stretch waistbands to work because they foolishly believe that personal presentation doesn’t reflect one’s own self confidence and their inner charm will win people over. Also featured are these anachronistic idiots that think just because they bought some hideous 80’s jacket for a costume means they can wear it all the time. The show then seemingly destroys them, throwing all their clothes away while jabbing at their poor fashion sense. The hosts are a duo of fashion world rejects who achieve just enough success in their lives that they think they shit pure gold. They supply the victim with a line of credit, give them suggestions, and send them on their way buy new clothes that don’t suck. Since this person is clearly not able to choose their own clothes, there will only be more ridicule until finally, the hosts essentially pick out the clothes for them anyway. Then, just to make sure that the makeover actually looks good, they give the victim professional makeup and hair styling and voila, another life is changed.

So basically the show is about making fun of people that don’t really care how they dress. and while i fully support the making fun of of people for whatever reason, this is television, and far from reality. There is a scene every show where they take the old clothes off the rack and mock the person pretty brutally about their mickey mouse t-shirt, or a gross teal oversized sweater as they throw it in the trash. The victim here gives the pretty universal excuse that it’s ‘comfortable’ as to why they have such abortions in their closet.

This does not fly with the hosts, who both wear tight clothing and have much better body types than the victim. They chide them on not acting their age, or not being self confident, and they are largely right. It’s debatable how much of the show is real and how much is coached, but I’d be willing to guess that most of these women are actually pretty unashamed of their clothes because they have already given up on impressing people under the guise of ‘not caring what others think of them.’ I know people like this; hell i LIVE with people like this. It isn’t pleasant. Fortunately then they get a makeover courtesy of the show and it changes their introspective and they realize what everyone else knows already: that fashion does matter.

Eats: so if you watch this show chances are you are either a fashionista or trying to pick up fashion tips. So let’s go with a hip veggie lo-cal snack for both of your tastes. I picked this up one time chatting up this vietnamese waitress in the San Francisco airport who wanted to become a chef and was saving up money for culinary school. These are delicious fresh spring rolls, direct from some third world country that knows how to make good food from cheap ingredients. First undercook some asian vermicelli (bout 3-5 minutes). Then soften up some rice wrappers by soaking them in warm water for like a second and lay them flat. lay out some of that vermicelli, some lettuce, and give it a bit of fresh basil, mint, and cilantro leaves (i personally don’t care for the cilantro, but come as it may). You can also slip a boiled halved shrimp in there if you are ok about the mistreatment of small crustaceans that are unable to feel pain anyway. Roll all that shit up tight as you want it. Now the sauces are kinda where the spring roll shines. You can go sweet, like a sweet soy garlic thing, or spicy like szechuan and siracha. You coul even go really acidic, and make a fish-lime juice sauce. There are as many choices as things you can put together in a bowl. My personal favorite is hoisin, although I’ve never attempted to test the local grocers for it.

TV Spotlight: The Suite Life with Zach and Cody

The following appeared in The Monitor Volume 15 Issue 5 and was published 11-3-2008

Here we go. I make no apologies if I offend your sensibilities, but I have to go right out and say it: if you do not like The Suite Life of Zach and Cody, on a non-ironic level, you are an insecure loser who has no business watching television.

I hope I have your attention. The Suite Life is this sitcom on the Disney Channel which features the talents of its twin stars, Cole and Dylan Sprouse as Cody and Zach respectively, as they raise hell living in a five star hotel in Boston Massachusetts. They are joined by a rather large cast, especially for a Disney Channel show, as various components of the hotel. There is Arwin the wacky janitor-cum-inventor, their mom the lounge singer, the buffoonish rich girl London, London’s poor counterpart Maddie, the manager Mr. Moseby (Hooch is crazy), and a variety of bellhops, maids, and cooks that keep variety in such an undemanding premise. The show itself is actually finished now after 88 fantastic episodes, but there is a nautical themed spinoff, The Suite Life on Deck. It is, as you can imagine, not as good.

TV Spotlight: Californication

The following appeared in The Monitor Volume 15 Issue 4 and was published 10-20-2008.

So there’s this show on Showtime - I don’t know if you heard about it before, but I just started watching it, and MAN it is the shit. I guess it’s been out a little while, but daaaang there is some hot stuff in it. I mean, the title sounds like that Chili Peppers song (awesome by the way!) and I’m pretty sure it’s one of those things that’s like a double meaning. California + fornication = Californication. It’s better than Weeds (seasons 2-4 definitely) and that lame-ass call girl show. Not Dexter, though – that show is choice.

The dude from Red Shoe Diaries plays this dude who’s like this writer, but he hasn’t written anything in a long time. And there’s this chick who’s in love with him, but she don’t want to admit it because he’s this total royal fuck-up (ladies, I’m sure you know the type). And they have this kid, but I’m not to the good part yet. This dude like screws around because the other girl is marrying this other dude, and that’s pretty much what the show is about. Red Shoe slammin’ it to the ladies. I know when I was a kid I watched the hell out of Cinemax late night, and I always wondered why that dude was so obsessed with like weird chick sex stories. Now it kinda makes sense that he’s like this sex addict.

So this show is literally him stickin’ it in every woman he can find. And oh man there are tits. There’s this one chick that throws up on him during sex. There’s also this chick that fucks him, robs him, then returns for more sex. There’s some sub-plot about him writing again, but make no mistake about it, this show is about Red Shoe doin’ it. And some chick (played by the little girl in the show The Nanny for all you creeps out there) punches him in the face. While topless.

You kinda have to take a step back, though, and think about this show on a meta-level to really appreciate. This is some writer that broke big and then died off. He’s got nothing to do except cash fat checks from the movie rights he sold and bang beautiful women. The actor that plays the guy, as I understand, also made it big in the business years ago but hasn’t done jack since and just hangs around town scoring fat royalty checks and banging beautiful women. This guy ain’t method acting. I’m not even sure he’s acting. Red Shoe must go in every day, and they just ask him, “Hey dude, what were up to last night? Lets film that.” And Red Shoe just has to replay every terrible thing that happened to him because those are the bits that sell, you know. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I feel sorry for the guy. Anyway, the show works because a) everybody wanted to know what happened to Red Shoe dude (he was a pretty chill dude), and b) T and A man! Sometimes the formula is that simple.

As an aspiring writer myself, I think I get the appeal. Here is this guy who made all this money from writing from his heart, going around, living like 99% of all us writers hope to (well those of us with penises). But he hates it. And that gives us hope, not that we can achieve that kind of crazy, no holds barred, fuck anything not nailed down lifestyle, but that even if we did, we would also hate it, making our dull lives a bit more satisfactory. And rest assured your life is dull.

Eats: Well, you shouldn’t eat anything during this show if you don’t like to watch sex scenes and women puking. But if you have the resolve, I found this shot you should take first called the Diamond Cutter. 1/3 oz. Grenadine, 1/3 oz. 151 Proof Rum, 1/3 oz. Diesel. No chaser. Thats right, I don’t fuck around. As far as food goes, anything complex will be tough after a few Cutters, so why don’t you just make a steak (or a big portabella slice, but you ain’t getting help from me). Take a good pan-cooking steak (that’s a T-bone), salt both sides down with like a 1⁄2 tsp salt. Let it sit a while. The salt actually dissolves some of the proteins on the surface to make a delicious crust – you’ll see what I mean. Then torch both sides in a pan for like 7 minutes each side for medium rare at a pretty decent heat, and don’t touch it while it’s cooking. Then get this. Deglaze the pan with like veal stock or something, add some Worcestershire and some shallot, maybe some dried thyme, top off with heavy cream, drizzle over the meat while it rests (also an important, overlooked part of the steak-making procedure). I know it sounds bullshit, but trust me. Potatoes and asparagus with this one. Google Ron Paul.

TV Spotlight: Burn Notice

The following appeared in The Monitor Volume 15 Issue 3 and was published 9-29-2008.

You probably don’t watch enough TV. You probably don’t even want to try out new shows, because ‘TV is garbage these days.’ Well, my friend, you should be ashamed of yourself. Not watching unhealthy amounts of TV is un-American. Sarah Palin watches 6 hours of TV a day and look how far it took her.

I want to bring to your attention a newer show that really needs to be watched: Burn Notice. A burn notice is like the scarlet letter or something of the spy world. Or perhaps the scarlet letter is the burn notice of the puritan world. But I suppose that would raise questions regarding the special case of a puritan spy. They almost assuredly existed (to keep tabs on witches and the church of England). My question is if they got themselves in real hot water, would the bosses force the accused to wear the burn notice upon their bodice/waistcoat? If only Elder John Winthrop were still around today.

So anyway this show is about this spy that is falsely accused and now he works essentially as a private eye, alongside Bruce “don’t call me Ash” Campbell and a woman who’s skin is old leather like a book and has an English accent that sticks out awkwardly through her false American one. It’s wrapping up its second season on USA. Go look it up if you are interested; that’s what the Internet is for.

It’s set in Miami. This is a fairly recent practice that I must say I approve of. Shows have been blowing up Miami in the last few years. Dexter, Nip/Tuck, CSI, they all got set there as if Miami is the new OC. Before that, what did you have, Miami Vice and the Golden Girls and Flipper. Yeah that’s what I thought. Miami is back and it is fucking ready to kick some ass. Speaking of Flipper, does anyone else remember that horn thing that Porter would stick in the water and crank, and Flip would hear it and come swimming in from like miles away? Was that thing for real? It was like a dolphin version of a dog whistle. Well, a reverse dog whistle. A reverse dolphin dog whistle. Horn thing.

So this wronged spy, Michael, is super-ultra-trained to be good at everything, and he’s basically a one man A-Team, helping out his fellow man. The show does this little voice over thing that follows this exact sequence every time:
1. Michael is trying to con some guy into telling him where the drugs are or whatever
2. Bad guy pulls a gun on him or some cops show up or something else unexpected happens
3. Michael, always prepared, acts accordingly. Cue voice over (“When your cover is blown, the trick is to _______”)

The silly thing is it doesn’t get old. The “expert protagonist that covertly shares every little trick of the trade with the audience” convention is one that leads to popularity. See also: MacGyver. See also: The A-Team. See also: Chuck Palahniuk.

What to eat when watching: Miami has no specific cuisine, but what it has got are literally boatloads of Cubans. I’d recommend keeping it light, but the thing about Cuban food is that it specializes in savory dishes. Stews and soups and whatnot. My pick is basically a rabbit fricassee I learned from a Puerto Rican machinist from my days in the service. Take your rabbit or chicken and sear it with onion, garlic, green pepper, saffron, cumin, salt, pepper, lemon juice, and bay leaf (he never was clear on the amounts, so figure them out yourself, you seem like a reasonable person). Cover with water about 2 ½ cups for 3 lbs meat in a large pot). Simmer 20 minutes. Add some potato. Let them cook until tender (another 20 minutes). Finish with raisins, capers, olives, olive oil, and some tomato paste. Let those simmer for a bit, add some peas and serve. Goes well with red or black beans and rice. Eat it with friends or alone, you sorry bastard.

A Title for All Time

My esteemed colleagues, I report to you now that I have done it. I have started a weblog. Our little internet has grown wildly in a most uncouth manner, and I hope to add ever the slightest touch of class, in hopes that she grows into a charming young woman, on the arm of some upstanding young man who has a strong lineage and speaks in polite tones becoming of a fellow. I wish to meet this man, give him a steady yet firm handshake, give him a plot of land in the country. Perhaps Lichfield. Perhaps Oswestry. I care not if he is of noble birth, as these are modern times, and I know the common discourse of the day.

But of course the shifting sands of time will ruin our beautiful cherub if we are not steadfast in her upbringing. Spare the rod and spoil the child indeed. These writings are to better our little one, not to denigrate, but to challenge her. I have nothing but the best hopes for her future and for yours.