The Warface

Alright, let's be totally frank here: I really don't know jack about much of anything.

I've managed to compile a working knowledge of the universe based on the knowledge of a sixth grader, mixed with a lot of bad movies. Don't let the degrees and certificates on my wall fool you people, I am sub-functional. A wanderer through the dusty roads of fact and reason, painting my own personal graffiti over both of them. Nobody in their right mind should take anything I say with anything more than a chuckle and a truckload of salt.

So why, why, why, please tell me why, people are actually coming up to me and asking questions like I actually know shit?

This scenario happens in the kitchen in what seems to be a once a day occurrence. I will be standing at my station, pouring through my daily sheets for what needs to be done, flipping through my textbook confirming processes on how to do what's on those daily sheets, and trying to throw a bunch of things together in the vain hope that the end result will taste good. I'll be moving along basing my every step on my working knowledge of the universe (see above) and the little bits of information I am able to gather out of the aforementioned sources. While I'm doing all of this, one of my colleagues in studentia will come up to me, sometimes making the journey all the way across the kitchen, and ask me how to do stuff. "Am I doing this right?" "Should I do this or that?" "It's not looking right, what should I do?" I hear these questions all the time.

Despite the fact that I am in the same program as these poor diluted souls, and am taking the class at the same time with them, and am essentially and idiot, they continue to believe that I actually know something! Me! Something! It's ridiculous!

I have lived a long and reasonably content existence where my word isn't really anything to take seriously. Oh sure, I've been a teacher, and a fairly effective one, but that doesn't count. These people watch me walk into their classroom and don't have to deal with me for more than a few hours. They don't know any better. Besides, I have to put on that face when I step into a classroom. I mean, can you truly listen to someone who doesn't give off that sense of confidence? I need people to believe in me when I teach, otherwise I haven't done my job. And the ol' warface comes with the job. The difference of course, is that in this circumstance, I'm a student. I'm walking into a situation where it's expected that I don't know crap. The point is to sit there, and actually learn something from a smarter, more experienced group of educators. So there is absolutely no reason for anyone to expect me to know anything about anything.

And yet, here we are. I'm getting questions from all sorts of people. Taste tests, problem solving, suggestions, the whole shebang.

What's weirder is that the responses I give to these people usually turn out to be correct ones. I don't know how this happened, but in the processes of reading up and studying things before starting this program, out of the constant fear of being too dumb to keep up, I actually managed to learn a thing or two. I can conceptualize what they're asking, and respond to these queries with confidence. I can actually stand in a group of people, and give out orders........and those orders are actually followed! It's insanity!

I'm not throwing this out there like I'm claiming to have some form of aptitude in this subject, I very clearly don't. It's just strange to have so many people, especially those who really don't know anything about my background (I'm not exactly forthcoming,) believe that I do.

In the end, I guess I'm worried that I haven't removed the warface for this. That despite being in a situation where I can relax with my guard down, I'm not doing it. This is one of the few times in my life, where I'm not required to know everything and have all the answers, and yet I'm still locked up and ready for battle. And by battle, I don't mean combat, but that dreaded, sickly sense in my gut that tells me my word has to mean something. That bad things will happen if my calls are off, even by a bit.

It scares me I guess, because being a leader of people has always scared me. I'm not a fan of telling people what to do, even when what I'm telling them is the right thing, because....you know.......why should they listen to me? Why is my word so damn important? I get through this with the job, because it's.....well......a job. I'm paid to tell them what to do. But such a mentality doesn't work for me in this situation. When I decided to walk into those kitchens, I did so figuring that my time leading anything was done. I walked in expecting to be the quiet outcast. The guy who kept to himself, did everything as he was told, and just sit back learning what needs to be learned. I guess, my hope was to be the throwback to the guy I was in college the first time around. Before I was put into positions where my word was required to carry weight. That isn't happening, and I worry that it may never happen again.

I wish I had a way to conclude this on a more appropriate note, but tell you the truth, I'm just confounded as hell by all of this.

One Of The Quirks Of Studying Culinary Arts

I waltzed into the bedroom around 9:45 this evening. I had just gotten through making dinner and cleaning up the kitchen, and was good and ready to plop down in front of a warm, toasty laptop, and dive headfirst into all the happy joy that only the internet can provide.

It had been a pretty productive meal. Pork Chops with scalloped potatoes. Tonight, I decided to toy around with veloute sauce, which is old school classic french stuff, and in the end converted my creation into a supreme sauce, which gracefully resided atop my pork chops. T'was a good series of experiments that lead to a very light and very nice meal.

Has I was kicking off my shoes, it dawned on me that I probably should sit down and do a bit of homework. I was in a peaceful mood, and in a good state to focus on some required studential stuff, so why not crack down and do some homework right?

So, I stared at my desk for what felt like five minutes, but was probably only a matter of seconds, trying to determine what my homework was supposed to be. You see, the mood to actually do homework comes at very intermittent times. And while I always meet deadlines, sometimes it takes until the final hour to kickstart the ol' mental drives, and get the damn things done. In the process of all this waiting and procrastinating, I oftentimes forget what exactly I'm supposed to be doing. This was clearly one of those times.......just staring at the desk, slowly piecing together what my homework was.

And then, it hit me. I knew what my homework was.......and it was dinner.

You see, we're currently studying the classic sauces in lab, and the night's homework was to brush up on them.......which I feel I did relatively competently.

Homework complete...........weird as hell.

Boogie's Resolutions: Reviewed

Remember this?

I certainly didn't. As the course of the year went by, and things went from fucked to interested, to a fucked up brand of interesting, I completely lost sight of the dedicated riffs I had set forth about this time last year. It wasn't until I was in the eighth hour of an eleven hour trip home on New Year's Day that I realized, "My god, an entire year has gone by." It's the traditional time for brand new resolutions, and while there were plenty to choose from, I figured I really couldn't start until I evaluated the ones I had made last time around.

And rather than simply flip through them in the quiet contemplation at home, I figured I might as well bare them for all to see in what is sure to be, mass humiliation.

So, let's begin....

MORE FOOD

Nailed it! But not to the degree I would have liked. There were tons of places and I would have loved to try and chances I would have loved to take, but finances were tight. So, these establishments were left wanting. Still, I've added a lot of places and flavors to the ol' belly, and have since become a regular at a few locales. If anything, 2009 can be clearly stated as the year I really began to appreciate the Vietnamese. Those cats know a thing or two about good eating! So, my appreciation for eating has only increased. And, my ability to cook hasn't fared to bad either. Not great of course, but I'm less likely to poison someone.

MORE DRINK

Eh, I really can't say I met this one at all. I probably drank less this year than the year prior. The only excuse I can really give is that it wasn't by choice. Again, finances were tight, and the loopy-miser had to sit this one out. Some may say it's for the best, but damnit, I miss the stuff. I'm a fun drinker after all.

MORE ADVENTURES

I probably broke even here. Except that this year, my adventures were more peaceful and home bound than last years, which ended up being more public and.....probably illegal. I'm not sure if this is a sign of maturity or laziness, but my adventures were definitely a bit more grown up this time around.

MORE MUSIC

Meh. Bleah! Pssh! Forget it bub, I was a pitiful musician this year. I did record some stuff, and I actually played around quite a bit, but not nearly to the degree of my formative years. And I barely took in any new sounds from around the world. Beyond developing a new appreciation for Tom Waits, I pretty much slunk on my belly amongst the musicians that I was around. I'm so ashamed.

MORE ACCOMPLISHMENTS

Nailed it! In ways, I could have never guessed.

As of August last year, I am a fully enrolled and matriculated student at the local Culinary Institute. I haven't set foot into a kitchen yet, but I managed to pull off a full-time semester with flying colors (Straight A's bitches!) It's strange to have gone from this being a potential pipe dream to actually doing it. Never really thought I would. And strangely, the people in this world have been more eager about this than anything I've ever done. Folks who I had been forcing my musical works on suddenly became very eager about my time spent with food. I guess sometimes you really are the last to know.

As of right now, I now have four shiny new certificates, an assload of knives, and a sparkly white chef coat that makes me look ripped. Not a bad way to check off this goal.

Well, that's the sum up......now for the new year's resolutions:

FINISH THIS SCHOOL THING DAMNIT!

We're in baby, and we ain't leaving until we're done. I've got 4+ more terms of this program, and I expect to walk out graduated. After spending this kind of dough on it, it'd be sick not to. And, pulling the best grades of my life on my first term in, I've gotten real competitive about it. More competitive than I've ever been about anything in my life. Not so sure that's the best way to go about it, but it definitely keeps me boosted.

BE MORE OF A GENTLEMAN

The great Kimmi Rudolph of Rock Deli/Metal Deli fame, started a trend that has been a guiding point for the year. While featuring yours truly on one of her esteemed podcasts, she referred to me as a "Dapper Guy." I even briefly won an award testifying to this (which was later changed to "Best Quote," and equally wonderful honor.) And believe it or not, these simple words, kinda altered my brain path a bit. I started wanting to act less like a furious bastard, and more like a dapper gentleman. Being a cook only further cemented this, since the cooks I respect most have always been class acts. I like feeling dapper day in and day out, and wish to continue it more so.

Does this mean that the days of madcap ramblings are over? Hardly. For you see, even the the sophisticated get pissed about shit. They just tend to speak out about them in a very elaborate, well stated way. And that's what I'm all about baby!

The idea here is to treat the good things that are around me better, and find more unique ways to slander the bad stuff. I think I can pull that off with gusto.

ROLL WITH IT, BUB

This has been one of the hardest years of my life. I haven't had to work as hard to endure through bad times as I have this last year. But, it's also been one of the best. Knowing you can survive something is a fantastic feeling. That despite everything that's going on around you, your ability to adapt and think a situation through can get you through to the end of your troubles. Perhaps it's not the most relaxing way to live, but you certainly feel like you've accomplished something when the smoke clears.

I suspect that this year will be just as hard, perhaps harder. And I want to take my lumps right. It means testing the intellect and the instinct of course, but it also means having faith that things will always work out right. I don't buy into the notion that the universe is a dark and morbid place whose sole purpose is to fuck with my existence for the sake of fun. I'm a butt hair in the eyes of the universe. Barely noticeable, unless you stare really really hard. It doesn't have the time, or the resources to pick on little ol' me.

But I also believe that the universe is self righting. Nature's all about balance, and bad stuff is always weighed perfectly against the good stuff. You just gotta look for it. Keep your eyes open, take chances, and never pass up an opportunity to be happy, no matter how fleeting. Maybe we all can't take in mansions, fancy cars, and beach parties in Malibu, but that's not all there is to life now is there? Never neglect the little things people: a good, well-cooked meal, the smell of firewood burning all around you, making a point to dress up a bit when you're feeling down, finding any excuse to tell someone a great joke. Life's too frickin' short to simply sit and wait for all the big things to happen, when there's a million little things going by you every single day. I aim to bust ass to find them.

And may those of you who read this find as many little things as possible in this the year 2010. All the best!

The New Moon Preview

This weekend, I had the opportunity to see Zombieland, which was better than I ever could have expected. Fantastic film, I could sing it's praises all day.

However I'm not going to. Filmage that good doesn't need my praise. And besides, loyal readers of this blog are not nearly as intrigued by this as the other thing I do a lot of.....which is scorn. And boy, was there scorn to be had.

Without knowing it beforehand, A preview for the new Twilight film "New Moon" was mixed in with the mishmash of material that's always a precursor for the movie. Now understand good people, I have not read the Twilight series. Anything beyond what the cover of the book looks like is completely foreign to me. I watched Twilight, and hated it, without ever reading a page. And this darkened opinion of the movie only insured that I would not see another one, much less read the damn book. So everything I have to say about this film is going to be based on the two minutes of preview I endured to get to the feature presentation.

Here goes.......

Holy fucking shit!!!!! What kind of sick pulpy teenage filth are they passing off as entertainment here? I mean seriously? An entire genre of film, spawned by talented individuals such as Christopher Lee, Bella Legosi, and Gary Oldman, has evolved into this dribble? Vampires used to be cool for fuck's sake!

Alright, perhaps that last point is moot in this day and age. Clearly there is an allegiance to this film by a much bigger mass of people than yours truly. There are armies of teenagers and young adults out there who think this is the greatest thing since Hilfiger Jeans and the relaunch of Converse. To them, vampires are now identifiable. How so is beyond me, but such is the way of things I suppose.

So I won't get into fads here, or debate what's fashionable or not. I've been outdated for years, so it's not exactly my forte. What I feel does bear mentioning, is the logic of the situation.

Yeah, I know, vampires don't exist, and if they do, we can't prove it scientifically. Fine, whatever. Let's roll on the assumption that they do exist, and that there are in fact immortal beings who have lived on this planet for hundreds of years, never aging, and sustaining their cursed existence on the blood of the living. And let's say that there is someone like big hair Edward about, who continues to interact the living even though he is estranged from it.

Well then let me ask you this: Why in the fuck would a vampire who's hundreds of years old go to high school? Seriously, you have centuries of knowledge and experience, why not go to college? Hell you might actually make some contributions to science or history or something. Wouldn't that kind of be for the betterment of all these mortal cattle you like to frequent? What exactly are you trying to achieve at the high school level? And not even a world-renound school with an outstanding curriculum. No, a small rural school in the middle of nowhere.

You know what else college has? Women of legal fucking age! Did anyone ever actually do the math on this, and realize that Edward is a very old man? Hell, people still find it kind of creepy when an older guy is talking to a teenager at Barnes And Noble. How do you think they'll feel when a guy nearly pushing a century is spouting tales of love to a girl barely old enough to drive? It's disgusting.

But you're okay with that eh? You don't let the huge age gap bother your mood? Fine, then let's consider the following: Edward is a being that is very old. He's wandered the earth for quite some time, experienced a great many thing about life (and unlife I imagine.) He is worldly being who's had time to figure things out.

So, if all of the above is true, then why would he even consider, even for a second, falling for an overly dramatic teenager? I mean seriously, there are teenage boys who don't even want to mess with that bag of crazy. And yet here a being with the wealth of knowledge that is only possessed by some of the oldest living people on the planet, falls into that shit. How fucking stupid do you have to be?

And then you know what he does? He leaves! All the while an audience of people are supposed to be completely surprised that she's blow this completely out of proportion and try to kill herself. "Oh no, the love of my life is leaving me. I can't live without him, so I'd rather die." Holy hell, how many times have we heard that shit? It's practically it's own stereotype right now. Everybody knows this......except apparently big-haired Edward. Who clearly does the one thing in the world you should never do with an overly dramatic teenage girl. And the best I can tell from the preview, is that the entire premise of the movie is based on this: An old man robbing the dramatic cradle, and the wackiness that ensues.

Now, clearly this isn't a review for the sort of people who are excited for the release of this atrocity. Mostly, this is for like minded individuals who abhor everything about this movie, and want nothing more than to read someone else bitch about it. And this is also for those of you who are on the fence about this Twilight business. The sort of people who can't decide if they should be pulled into the tide with everyone else. If this is you, and you're telling yourself, "Well it can't be that bad," let me assure you that yes, yes it can.

Why I Left Heavy Metal: Halloween Edition

With All Hallows Eve just around the corner, I felt it was a good time to speak on this matter.

You see, years and years ago, I was a dedicated disciple of all things heavy. In those days, I felt that anything musical that could be defined as pure and honest was required to have high decibels of distorted guitar angst. Primal fury, encapsulated by tormented words screamed at the edge of a singer's limitations, it was the only way to be a sincere artist in my mind. The enemy was easy to see. Acoustic strumming pretty boys who sung of girlfriends and happy meetings in coffee shops,totally glazing over the problems that the world wears. We knew them well and despised them better. We rock guys knew the score, if it wasn't loud and tormented, then it wasn't the real deal.

Then, one day, I simply stopped. Burned out and frustrated with what heavy music had turned into, I walked away. I had lost all interest in distorted guitar fury, and those savage rhythms that were requisite in such music. It had become commercial to me, easily crafted routine that no longer captured my imagination and spoke of the pain in my heart.

Aside from the occassional visit while the MP3 player is on shuffle, I have never gone back. I play in a mellower side of the spectrum, and am pretty happy with it. And I sleep soundly at night knowing that any contributions I might have made in what is rock and/or heavy metal would've only further dilluted down an already bland stew. Occassionally, I get a doubt or two about the path I chose. Understandable really, after near a decade of dedication, It's easy to look at what was and what might have been. But for the most part, ce la vie

Every once in a while, time and nature conspire to remind me of why I left that scene in the first place. Today was one of those days, as a catalog arrived at the homestead. Halloween is close, and as such, there's a lot of pressure out there to invest in costumes. Classic and new, treading new ground or simply modernizing a traditional theme. Vampires and fairies, witches and Spider Man. Power Rangers are still on the scene, and it looks as if the hippies and disco-lytes are now fare for kiddies. As if a failed counter culture movement and Studio 54 weren't depressing enough.

Of course, none of this is as bad as what I was about to encounter.

In the small handful of pages dedicated to the young men, I stumbled across a costume that at once angered and frightened me.

The costume was called "Headbanger." It was an all black number with fingerless driving gloves and an industrial grade mechanic's overalls. A studded neckline and wrist guards let the average observer know this this kid knew nothing about oil changes. The cherry atop this monstrosity was a pale white mask with long, shoulder length horse hair sewn atop it in a stringy, slightly balding fashion. The face was adorned with blood red coloring around the eyes and along the chin, forming a paganistic goatee of sorts. It was disgusting, abhorrent, and very very embarrassing.

Costume makers, traditionally, have been a few step behind the times. The market is flooded with Pirate garb years after Johnny Depp made pirates cool. Halloween is fed by fads, and rubber can only be molded so quickly. So, it surprises me very little when costumes turn up to in this day and age a bit overdue for when people actually would've worn the stuff.

Not so in this case. I need only flip through any heavy metal publication to see that my once proud musical genre still looks like this costume I see before me. This outfit is the direct descendant of bands like Slipknot and Dimmu Borgir, both still very functional entities in the brotherhood of metal. Bands galore, donned in pointy guitars and mad makeup, still look like this. What's worse, is that they look like this without shame. These misguided idiots are still under the impression they cut a terrifying figure on society. That they still put fear and nightmares into the hearts of yuppies everywhere. Never stopping to realize that the kids of those they are trying to frighten, will be dressing up just like them for cheap candy and gum.

I am ashamed for what once were my brothers. Ashamed that what once took nothing more than long hair, black T shirts, and true grit has slowly dissolved into this. An outfit adorned with copious quantities of makeup, excessive jewelery,and enough studded leather to make even Rob Halford question your manhood.

And for all the physical enhancements and theatrics, the music hasn't spun any more a convincing tale. Overly dissonant, relying more on random noise and hoarse frog croaks, the music has lost it's magic. It takes concentration to decipher the message, and having to concentrate while being pummeled with excessive volumes has simply become too trying for an old timer like myself.

So metalheads and rockers alike, take note: The tricks you've been relying on will no longer work. Weird outfits and distortion are simply not enough in this day and age. Things need to grow, expand, get pissed, and all in new and exciting ways. What those ways are, I can't tell you. I've defected from the cause, so it's now all on you. All I can say is, do something new, and do it fast. Before the epitome of your legacy is being glossed on the pages between a ninja and dinosaur.

The Knife Thing

I present to you my knife.

This here is a Wusthof Classic 10-inch chef's knife. Standard CrMoV german steel straight outta the heart of Soligen. I found it in a pawn shop several months back along with a knife roll and a few other tools for sixty smackers. Since it's used, I know very little about it's history, other than it's somewhat old (how old I don't know, but the blade says Dreizack, which means it's older since the newer ones say Trident.) She was beaten pretty badly, with scratches up and down the blade, and a big worn out section of the edge where it's last owner had sliced repeatedly. Not pretty, but functional as can be.

Those who have some love for cutlery, or spend above average time in Bed, Bath, & Beyond, know this to be a knife of reasonable quality. At the very least, it's pricey and rolls off the tongue real nice. However, I'm not showing it to you fine people because of the name on the blade. I'm showing it to you because of the story that came with it.

You see, I had finally convinced myself to enroll in culinary school. For good or ill, I had decided this was something I had to do. So, I had taken the tours, gotten a feel for the programs, and started getting things together. Part of the culinary school wrap is the acquisition of a knife kit. Knowing this, I had spent a great deal of time researching equipment, hitting countless websites to dig up deals, reading reviews on the benefit of one knife over another, and so on and so on. I assure you, that nowhere in this fact-finding mission, did the name Wusthof even become a consideration to me. That stuff was too rich for my blood.

Then, one cloudy Saturday, I waltzed into a pawn shop looking for treasures, and I found a knife roll in a glass case. I was pretty excited about this, since I needed one for class, and because my obsession with cutlery was starting to build up steam. But, buying a new one is a pricey proposition. One of subpar quality was 25 bucks, a bit more than I wanted to drop. And this one looked better than any of those cheap ass rigs. So I figured, "Hey. Empty knife bag in a pawn shop. I might be able to pick this thing up for 15-16 bucks." So I asked the kid up front go grab it for me, which he promptly did. But when I opened the thing, I was in for quite a shock. Since this was no mere knife case, but a complete kit, loaded with tools, including the aforementioned Wusthof. This was everything I would need for school, at less than half the cost I would have spent had I bought everything new. While poking around the kit, I got my knuckle too close to the edge of that Wusthof, and it slashed it open on contact. I took this as a good sign (yes you read that right, me getting cut by my cutlery is considered a good sign in my sad little world.) So I grabbed the thing as soon as I could, and drove home figuring I had gotten pretty lucky in finding the thing.

I used the thing, finding it to be a well balanced, and competent performer. But the damn thing was big. Big enough to make using it a pain, so for months she sat in the kit while I relied on the knives I was more "comfortable" with. And in the meantime, I kept reading and learning about knives, and I had found out that the longstanding name of Wusthof had fallen out of favor amongst the cutlery minded. Reports of being "too heavy" and "too soft" filled my head, as I became less and less enamored with it. In many ways I began to disdain this knife, figuring that as soon as it got me through school, I'd dump it and move on to bigger and better things.

And then I had a conversation with a friend who changed my perspective on everything. She was telling me about her father's knife kit, which she had left unopened since his passing. And she spoke to me about the sadness she felt using the tools for which she had attached so many great memories to her dad.

It was the first time I had ever considered the notion, that a simple tool like a knife could be an heirloom. It wasn't just a bag devices used to chop through onions, it was a memory. And a cherished one at that. You never think that something as common as a knife in the kitchen could provide the kind of history until it's too late. At least I never did. Wow, if I ever get crazy enough to have children, my knives will probably be that for them as well. In a time where every death I've seen has lead to squables over who gets this amount of money and who gets this property, I hadn't considered that someone might want "dad's ol' cuttin' knife" when I'm gone.

And it made me wonder about the poor soul who had to give up this kit at a pawn shop. Were they a chef somewhere? Or was the person a student just like me? I wondered if they finished the program, and what situation would drive them to get rid of a good quality knife, something you can always use wherever you are. I spent a lot of time staring at that knife, studying the scratches and scrapes that covered it. This knife had scars, a history of being beaten and rough-housed. It had seen some shit before falling into my hands.

Then a realization hit me. I had always counted myself as lucky for finding that knife, but not once did I ever consider that maybe it was the knife who found me. It was only chance that I had walked into that pawn shop with cutlery on my mind. And being fortunate only goes so far when you find a kit that has exactly everything that I would need in this new venture. A venture which I still felt uneasy about. Now I had a kit that not only took care of my worries, but also secured the idea in my thick head that I would be doing this. I had something that clearly knew how to survive. Maybe, just maybe, me and this knife need each other.

Perhaps I'm romanticizing this all too much, but I don't care. It just feels right. I have everything I need to get through school, including the answer to the question, "Should I really be doing this?"

So now, I use this knife every time I set foot in the kitchen. I'm careful to listen to it, and adapting my hands to better work with it. The results have been pretty great. And I reckon the knife's pretty happy with the arrangement too. After a great deal of sharpenings at my unskilled hands, we finally found an edge we can agree on. It's been leveled and buffed, and while I can never get rid of all those scratches and imperfections (not that I'd ever want to,) I think the thing looks better than ever. Any time I use it, it gets washed and dried immediately afterward. And it gets wrapped in a silk handkerchief when I put it away, which I imagine is something it's last owner or owners ever did.

I still wonder what story this knife had before finding me, and will probably never find out. But I figure at the very least, while it's in my hands, it has a story that can now be heard.