A Sensitive Man

Seems to be a lot of poetry in this blogger realm these days. I wrote some bad angsty teenage poetry back in the day. No, it's never seeing the light of day here. But here's one by Canadian poet Al Purdy that I first heard when Bruce Alcock did an animated short set to Purdy's reading of the poem. It was online briefly, but seems to be gone again. Well, there's this I suppose. There is a lesser live action version with Gord Downie of The Tragically Hip playing the role of the poet -- it lacks the artistic flair of animated one.

Regardless, the piece stands on its own, painting a picture of a tough-guy poet in a dive bar, contrasting images of yellow flowers with bloody fisticuffs, and lamenting the lack of understanding of this "sensitive man" and the value of a poem.


At The Quinte Hotel
By Al Purdy

I am drinking
I am drinking beer with yellow flowers
in underground sunlight
and you can see that I am a sensitive man
And I notice that the bartender is a sensitive man too
so I tell him about his beer
I tell him the beer he draws
is half fart and half horse piss
and all wonderful yellow flowers
But the bartender is not quite
so sensitive as I supposed he was
the way he looks at me now
and does not appreciate my exquisite analogy
Over in one corner two guys
are quietly making love
in the brief prelude to infinity
Opposite them a peculiar fight
enables the drinkers to lay aside
their comic books and watch with interest
as I watch with interest
A wiry little man slugs another guy
then tracks him bleeding into the toilet
and slugs him to the floor again
with ugly red flowers on the tile
three minutes later he roosters over
to the table where his drunk friends sit
with another friend and slugs both
of em ass-over-electric-kettle
So I have to walk around
on my way for a piss
Now I am a sensitive man
so I say to him mildly as hell
“You shouldn’ta knocked over that good beer
with them beautiful flowers on it”
So he says to me “Come on”
So I Come On
like a rabbit with weak kidneys I guess
like a yellow streak charging
on flower power I suppose
& knock the shit outa him & sit on him
(he is just a little guy)
and say reprovingly
“Violence will get you nowhere this time chum
Now you take me
I am a sensitive man
and would you believe I write poems?”
But I could see the doubt in his upside down face
in fact in all the faces
‘What kinda poems?”
“Flower poems”
“So tell us a poem”
I got off the little guy a bit reluctantly
for he was comfortable
and told them this poem
They crowded around me with tears
in their eyes and wrung my hands feelingly
for my pockets for
it was a heart-warming moment for Literature
and moved by the demonstrable effect
of great Art and the brotherhood of people I remarked
“ – the poem oughta be worth some beer”
It was a mistake of terminology
for silence came
and it was brought home to me in the tavern
that poems will not really buy beer or flowers
or a goddamn thing
and I was sad
for I am a sensitive man

Superbowl Menu

Rumour is that a game of American Football was played yesterday in the fictional hamlet of Miami. I believe this rumour because I had half a dozen people over at my place watching burly men throw around an oblong ball and occasionally have a pile-on.

I'm told that's how it usually goes.

Okay, so I can't claim total ignorance of football. I don't really watch it, probably can't tell you the difference between a linebacker and an offensive lineman (seriously, there's a quarterback, a kicker, a receiver, and then a bunch of random positions as far as I'm concerned), but I AM a poseur, and therefore watch the Superbowl every year.

Sometimes, I host the party, other times, I let someone else do the work. This year it was on me. Why? Because I have the newest television.

But this is me, and parties are seldom about whatever the focus is. I do 'em for the people, the prep, and the hope that this will be the night that elves sneak into my place and clean up for me. I even left the door unlocked yesterday. No dice.

It's the Superbowl. That calls for wings, pizza, nachos, beer, etc.. Easy, right?

Well, as long as you don't buy 9lbs of organic raw wings from your local butcher and use a multi-step method of cooking them. Or make your salsa, guacamole, and chili from scratch. Or decide that variety is the spice of life when it comes to beer. Or get up an hour later than planned.

Yup, I figured it was high time I did my own wings. No freezer box or take-out option would do. So I bought 9 lbs of raw wings, and used Alton Brown's Buffalo wings recipe to prep them. That requires steaming, drying, chilling, baking, and coating, and around 2 hours. 3 types of hot sauce in the Buffalo sauce in my case too - because I wanted to get rid of 'em. 20 were done Buffalo style, 20 were done with a maple-bourbon sauce, and 20 were left unseasoned because they weren't needed and I'll make 'em something tasty soon. I did make a slight adjustment in the process though. They were all steamed with beer instead of water. Seemed like a great way to get rid of the shitty stuff that was somehow still in my place.

Oh, that maple-bourbon sauce? Maple syrup, bourbon, ketchup, worcestershire, onion, garlic, shallot, soy sauce, hot sauce, vinegar, salt, pepper, and whatever else I kept tossing in there to tame the sweetness. Turned out well.

I made the salsa Friday, knowing it would need time for the flavours to fuse. Chili was made last week and frozen. The guacamole was the biggest hit, and took about 5 minutes to make.

Avocados, tomato, onion, lime juice, cayenne pepper, chopped jalapeño, ground coriander seed, garlic powder, salt, and maybe a couple other things. Mash it all up and enjoy.

Cheese on the nachos? Mexican spiced cheddar, fresh mozzarella, and jalapeño jack. Oh, and fresh jalapeño pepper, tomato, and onion.

Easy stuff all around, and foods that everyone recognizes. But just the simple fact of being fresh and homemade made them so much better than picking up some jars of Old El Paso and a box of frozen "hot" wings.

And in case you forgot about me and beer... the selection in my fridge yesterday:

Flying Monkeys Hoptical Illusion
Blanche De Chambly
Maudite
Fin Du Monde
Trois Pistoles
Hoegaarden
McAuslan Apricot Wheat
St. Ambroise Oatmeal Stout
Guinness
Kilkenny
Mill Street Coffee Porter
Mill Street Stock Ale

I might have gone overboard...

There Are Rules

Let's blow the dust off this here space, shall we? Proxy dodginess makes for infrequent posting it seems.

There are rules in life that we shouldn't need to be told about. We learn them from experience or common sense. If you spill the jar of candies, you deny it was you. Even if you're sitting in the middle of the confectionery catastrophe with broken shards of candy jar in your hand.

You don't tell your mom you were "playing doctor" with the girl next door. Although it becomes difficult to lie about when her parents call asking about the sloppy sutures and botched appendectomy.

And for guys, there's one we should all know - you stagger positions at urinals dammit. If there are 5 urinals on the wall, you take 1, 3, and 5. You don't stand next to someone if the ability to put a space between you exists. You don't take 2 or 4 as a first choice because it fucks up the system for everyone else. And you definitely don't compliment the guy next to you on his watch.

Nothing Simple

How does one make a tuna melt?

I assume that it's a can of tuna, some mayo, salt, pepper, maybe green onion and celery? Mix it together, put it on a bagel and cover with some cheddar?

Yah.

Or there's me.

Can of tuna. Check.
Green onion. Check.
Celery. Check.
Pepper. Check.

Roasted garlic salt. Check.
Sweet smoked paprika. Check.
Ground coriander seed. Check
Fresh thyme. Check.
Dried dill weed. Check.
Cayenne pepper. Check.

Mayo? Ummm.
How about Miracle Whip? Mixed with some sesame oil, thai fish sauce, soy sauce, and Susie's Original hot sauce? Check.

Combine. Put on top of sourdough bagel.

Grate some cheese. Three varieties of applewood smoked English cheddar, gruyere, and some delicious herbed cheese I forgot I had. Cover the tuna with it.

Toast.

And to think... I was craving baked beans earlier. Forgot about those...

Edible Disaster

I'm easily distracted.

Look, that dog has poofy tail, etc., etc..

This can be a problem when preparing dinner.

Like last night.

I decided I'd pull out a steak for dinner. The thing about deciding this at 6pm is that it needs to thaw somehow. On goes the oven, out comes the cast iron and foil.

But I'd also received a box full of cables from the nice delivery person (I assume they were nice, as I'm not the one who takes deliveries). Contained were 3 cables that I'd been waiting for to once again enhance my home theatre experience. So, with the steak thawing in a warm oven, I pushed back the unit and got to work. Cables hooked up, testing commenced. Hmm... that isn't working. Try something else. That works. But why not the other? Back to the other... still not working. Figure it out and stick with the second option. But now the remote needs to be reprogrammed. And while I'm doing that, there's those other things I wanted to fix on it. Wasn't I doing something else?

SHIT! Steak! 2 hours later!

Steak is thawed, warm, and looking a bit grey. It's not cooked, due to the incredibly low heat, but it's on its way. Too late to make it simple and good, so a marinade has to be rushed into production because this baby's going to get cooked.

Waste of a nice piece of meat... sigh.

So comes together a marinade. Vinegar, horseradish, dijon and smokey mustard, ketchup, hot sauce, piri-piri sauce, honey, worcestershire, sundried tomato + hemp pesto, oil. Steak gets sliced and dumped in. Inside is still red at least.

As it soaks, potato is cut up, onion sliced, garlic mashed, and fried potatoes are begun.

Relax a bit, now that dinner is on its way. Combine half a dozen types of fruit (raspeberries, blackberries, pineapple, cherries, grapes, banana) with some sugar and a splash of citrus for dessert. Let it sit in the fridge.

Heat up another cast iron pan for the steak. Not the grill as usual, due to the marinade and desire to not spend all night scrubbing sticky marinade from between raised parts.

Vegetable oil, olive oil, and butter. Steak goes on and sizzle and spurts. What the hell, all the marinade goes in too. Toss in some onion and garlic and it's damned near a stew.

Cook away.

Remove meat. Crank heat on marinade to reduce. Dish potatoes... something's missing.

Vegetables!

Grab broccoli, steam in microwave.

Pour sauce on meat. Plate broccoli.

Dinner is served.

It wasn't what I'd originally wanted. The marinade was sweet and acidic, but not overpoweringly so. Had just a bit of spice too. All-in-all, salvaged, but not fantastic.

Filled the hole though.

Then I notice my remote was still plugged in... programming not quite finished.

Well, At Least It's Got Me Watching

I've been peppering Twitter with my thoughts on this whole Leno-NBC-O'Brien brouhaha. Why? Because it's Twitter, and not everything I say there will be Earth-shatteringly important.

Here neither. Which is why I'm going to combine those thoughts...

I've been a fan of Conan's since he was writing for SNL, and then the Simpsons. Of course, I had no idea I was fan of his, because he was little more than an off-screen writer (his appearance as a waiter in the "Five-Timers Club" sketch notwithstanding). Then this gawky red-pompadoured guy took over Letterman's spot on late night, and I had no idea who he was. His monologues were awkward, and his conversations with the fat co-host were stilted. But a couple times each show, he did something so quirky that I took notice. Or he made an off-the-cuff comment that was hilarious. I stuck around, and these tall Irish geek became my favourite late night host.

Leno? Never really a fan. The odd chuckle, usually at others' expense, but generally bland and boring. When Branford Marsalis left the show and Kevin Eubanks came in, the ass-kissery became so obvious that I couldn't bother watching and stuck with Dave when I watched something at 11:35. Plus, the fact that he'd pissed off Letterman and lost him The Tonight Show didn't sit well either.

So my bias is clear.

The disdain for Leno from the rest of late night and other celebs who should know a bit about him tells me that he's made more than a few enemies of the years. At the very least, he hasn't made friends. The fact Zucker and the NBC brain trust think he's the second coming tells me that he's spent most of his time kissing the right asses for his career instead of being genuine to the rest of his community.

The tales of him being a nice guy are sounding more and more like he's a nice guy to his fans, but not in reality.

And it seems to be a foregone conclusion that he's getting The Tonight Show back. NBC doesn't want O'Brien, and while Conan might want the show, he certainly doesn't want NBC. Plus, he's never been hotter than he is now. The rage and sorrow he and his staff are feeling is coming out exactly how it should with that talent - in comedy. Biting, scathing, backhanded comedy. What's NBC going to do? Fire him?

He's got the support of fans, cohorts, and decision-makers elsewhere who see his commercial appeal and talent. He'll find something. All the posturing between him and the NBC brass will result in a lower buy-out than he'll like, but that will buy him the ability to find work immediately instead of down the road.

Leno and NBC? No way this looks good on them. Leno comes off as a small, greedy man in this. He gets his show back that he never wanted to give up. Hey, I called him a douche days ago. It's nice that the world's catching up.

NBC gets some audience back, but loses the last dedicated audience they'll get from this generation at that time slot. The 60+ crowd falling asleep to Jaywalking will die off eventually. The 30+ crowd that knows who the masturbating bear is have a longer lifespan, and more money to spend in that time.

NBC just looks like a bunch of out-of-touch morons. Zucker's gone within the year, barring some miracle shows giving them ratings.

And when Conan does land on his feet, it will be big. It'll be his Tonight Show crew that's in tow with him, but they'll be given free reign. None of the constraints of 55 years of tradition and an audience to appease. None of the awkwardness of his first show, or nervousness of the big one. He'll hit the ground running, with people salivating for what he has to offer.

It'll take time, but eventually, he'll once again find a niche that we can cruise in. No doubt Team Coco will be there to cheer him on.

Me + A Million Other Donkeys With Keyboards

I have registered to play in the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker! The WBCOOP is a free online Poker tournament open to all Bloggers, so register on WBCOOP to play.

Registration code: 337039

A Walk

It's become a tad colder here in Toronto of late. Almost as if it's seasonal. Phrases like "wind chill" are being heard frequently these days.

I was walking home last night, and had opted to bundle up. Coat done up, scarf wrapped up to my nose, and ears covered. I'm fighting with a cold you see, and didn't want to offer it more ammunition.

The thing about that configuration is that all my breath gets funneled upwards. Being a warm-blooded creature, my breath is hot in comparison to the outside temperature. Being myopic, I've been known to wear glasses. This was the case last night.

So the glasses instantly fogged up, causing a near-complete lack of vision. I dropped my head and peered over the rims of my spectacles and saw the world through the usual vaseline smear that is my near-sightedness. Without some sort of corrective lens in place, my vision is at best, rudimentary. Colours and the roughest ideas of shapes are visible.

So I had a choice, the fogged-up non-vision of my glasses, the blurry impressionism of my warped eyes, or I could take my nose out of my scarf.

I didn't have enough tissue left for the last option to be pleasant. Besides, I knew the walk home like the back of my hand, and after listening to talk about the role of absences in film, I figured this would be an interesting way to see the world.

So I walked, peering over my frames at the blurred surroundings I passed. People I couldn't discern from the dark background until they were a few feet away, and whose faces I'd never see, passed me by, seeing their world clearly. Cars became moving headlights, and my eyes were constantly watching the ground in front of me for splotches of shadow that could be ice. At one point, I nearly got angry at a parking meter for not moving, until I realized what it was.

The soundtrack to my promenade was the voices of those I passed and the noises a city makes on a cold winter night. It was a playlist that was both soothing and revealing. Echoes of John Cage sitting silently at a piano.

Eventually, I was a few blocks from home and decided to drop the scarf and readjust my glasses. I was passing through an area I'd rather be able to see than not. As the fog on my lenses cleared, the remaining, partially-frozen condensation shattered the world into crystalline shapes. Lights sparkled, and reflections were moving bursts. Slowly, the world came into focus around this stained glass filter. The tower that symbolizes my city stood solitary against the night sky in front of me, welcoming me back to the world of the sighted.

I turned a corner, pulled the scarf back up, and returned to the far more interesting world I'd just left. Knowing I had only a block left before the warmth of my home cleared everything back up again.

Sometimes, the world needs to be seen from a different perspective.