Sure Don't Feel Like Love

I've been enjoying Paul Simon's latest album, Surprise, since its release in the spring. One song in particular, "Sure Don't Feel Like Love," has really hit home.

I registered to vote today
Felt like a fool
Had to do it anyway
Down at the high school
Thing about the second line
You know, "felt like a fool?"
People say it all the time
Even when it's true
So, who's that conscience sticking on the sole of my shoe?
Who's that conscience sticking on the sole of my shoe?
Cause it sure don't feel like love

There's an important life message in there, although it's pretty obscure until you hear Simon explain it, as he did in an online-only bonus interview with NPR back when the album was released. Here's what he said:

"[I got a chance to speak with this guru-type guy and ask him] what actually is going on, because the stuff I'm saying to myself sometimes, it's pretty nasty, and it's interfering with… a lot of stuff." … And he said, "You know, that's a very typical thing… There's this inner voice that's extremely harsh, and very arrogant, and very negative. And because you hear it from inside you, you think it's true… but it's not really true. And this is my trick: Take a voice that you think is very funny…. say, Bugs Bunny, and take that voice and put it on the sole of your shoe, and then say all these negative things you have to say and let it come from that place, and then you'll have the perspective on how much you should pay attention to that."

If you're anything like me, this voice speaks to you way too often. It likes to remind you of embarrassing things you did an hour ago, yesterday, a month ago, or 5 or 30 years ago. (Next time you see me spontaneously wince, you'll know why.) Sometimes it even tries to embarrass you over something that's not even remotely embarrassing--say, registering to vote.

Now there's nothing wrong with a little shame--Lord knows there are some very powerful people in our nation's capital who could stand to have a lot more of it--but it's also nice to have a way to cope with it when it starts getting annoying. Let it speak to you in the voice of Sylvester the Cat, or Foghorn Leghorn, or Pee-Wee Herman. Then, like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe, stamp on it and scrape it off when it gets to be too much.

So, Paul, if that voice doesn't feel like love, what does?

Some chicken and a corn muffin well that feels more like love

Amen, man. As the Zen Buddhist said when asked to sum up his religion in one sentence: "Eat when you're hungry, sleep when you're tired." Sometimes simple is the most profound.

I Me Mine

Sick of reading my writing about myself? Surf over here to listen to me talk about myself for a while! The link takes you to a podcast about podcasts--how postmodern is that?--on which I am, of course, discussing The Princeton Review Vocabulary Minute, which I create. The podcast is called The Variety Show.

PS A CD of vocabulary songs to the first person who points out the vocabulary error I make in the interview. Hint: I was only off by one letter.

Dylan You Been On My Mind

OK, I still haven't come around to Modern Times, although I plan to give it a few more listens before filing it permanently in the "never listen to again" pile. However, I would be remiss if I didn't mention all the good work Dylan has done this year; namely, his DJing of Theme Time Radio Hour, which I just recently discovered. I've been downloading and listening to these things and I have to say they're fantastic; each one is like a mixed tape from your geekiest music-geek friend. Zimmy's got great taste in tunes, that's for sure. Also, his radio demeanor reminds me of the late, great Mitch Hedberg. That's nice too.

Listening to and assimilating Dylan's modern-day croak reminds me of just how many different voices the guy has employed throughout his career. Below, my ranking of Dylan's voices, from best to worst:

1. Woodstock Dylan (Basement Tapes, JWH, New Morning, sessions with Leon Russell, Blood on the Tracks)
2. Finding My Folkie Voice Dylan (Times, Another Side)
3. Hortatory Dylan (Before the Flood and Rolling Thunder Tours)
4. Amphetamine Dylan a/k/a Rollercoaster Dylan (Bringing It All Back Home - Blonde on Blonde)
5. Producer Made Me Blow My Nose Dylan (1989's Oh Mercy) [see list item #9]
6. Dudley Do-Right Dylan (Nashville Skyline, Self Portrait)
7. Woody Guthrie Wannabe Dylan (first few albums)
8. Dirty Old Man Dylan (Time Out of Mind to present)
9. Adenoidal Dylan (Budokan through early 1990s)

Voices 1 through 7 are all pretty good. Number 8 is tough going, mostly because it's hard to figure out what he's singing but also because it limits him to about a four-step range, rendering melody unlikely. Voice 9 is unlistenable.

The Pleasures of the Music Business

OK, I was tempted to leave this space blank--see, because that would be funny--but as luck would have it, I received some BMI checks today. Apparently an XM station is playing some of the old 5 Chinese Brothers' tracks. I won't be making a special trip to the bank on their account because the cost of the gasoline would put a serious dent in my windfall. But hey, next time I'm out and about anyway, I will certainly stop at the bank to cash these checks, and that will put a nice jingle in my pocket. My gum budget for 2006 is now officially covered. So there's a pleasure of the music business, and now I know that the pleasures of 'the biz' number at least one.

Speaking of music, I performed yesterday at the Carrboro Music Festival, and it was a great experience. I had a really wonderful crowd and I played pretty well, if I do say so myself. Plus I had a nice shvitz, as the owners of the room I was playing in had thoughtfully turned off the AC. At one point I asked whether someone from the audience wouldn't mind splashing some water on the rocks because the heat was getting a little dry. More funny!

I must admit that I'd forgotten how wearing it is to perform. I started the show determined to give my most committed performance, investing every note and lyric with just the right care and intensity. And I pulled it off to my own satisfaction for a few songs. But then I really started to wear down. It was like that old boxing video game where you'd take one punch to the head and all the sudden your energy level would go from full to almost empty. I finished fine but I definitely had to throw it into cruise control for some songs, which bothers me--I doubt the difference even registered with the audience, but I knew the difference, and it brought back unpleasant memories of tours in which I played the same set every night 5 or 6 nights a week, often in that same cruise-control mode. It takes a good bit of the fun and excitement out of performing if you can't stay 'in the moment.'

Anyway, thanks to everyone who turned out for making it such a great day. And thanks to the many fabulous performers Lisa and I have seen recently who never seem to wear down, who always keep it fresh, committed and intense. Folks like Glenn Tilbrook, Dave Alvin, Robbie Fulks and Terry Anderson and the Olympic Ass Kicking Team, just to name a few: you guys are my rock and roll heroes.

Bob Dylan's Modern Times

Is there anyone else out there who finds Dylan's new album a total snooze? So many critics have fallen over themselves to proclaim this a masterpiece that it's got me clicking my flashlight, asking myself whether it's me or them that's insane. (Clever little Dylan allusion there, huh?)

Consider this my unqualified dissent. The songs on Modern Times are interminable, the melodies are derivative or amateurish, and the backing tracks are a mess of first-take noodling and comping. Dylan's singing has never really bothered me before (OK, it kind of bothered me in the 80s when he was singing entirely through his nose), but now it's a weird little croak that makes it difficult to decipher the lyrics. Which, given the lack of melodies and decent playing on this album, would be the only redeeming aspect of the record. What lyrics I can make out sound like Dylan reading his notebooks; there's no discernable shape or direction to any of the songs.

The songs are so all-over-the-place that I was beginning to suspect that there was no editing involved in the songwriting for Modern Times. If something was written, by God it was going to end up somewhere on the album. However, my research has led to the discovery that there was some editing in the songwriting process. It was minor, to be sure--a single couplet was excised from one song--but it was an edit nonetheless. Having unearthed the missing couplet, I present it here for your edification:

Every couplet I wrote wound up in one of these songs
That's why each track on this album is so ungodly long!

I got this album about the same time I got Dion's Bronx in Blue. Both are blues-infused albums by veteran geniuses of rock. But only one is a joy and a revelation, and it ain't Zimmy's, babe. No, no, no.

PS There is someone else out there: this guy, and his take on the album is quite astute. Check it out.

Horn Toots

Customers at iTunes have been saying some very nice things about The Princeton Review Vocabulary Minute, a Schoolhouse Rock-like podcast that I write, perform and produce. I shamelessly present some of the nicest comments below.

If the SATs are a worry, then I suggest PRVM. It's brilliantly composed and terribly funny as well.

Of the vocabulary podcasts I've listened to, this one is the best by far. You will get the songs stuck in your mind…

I think these songs are very well written--both musically and actual content. When I first heard them, I thought they would be perfect for use in a classroom that teaches students who are learning English. The vocabulary is so valuable and the song is catchy. Love it!

I expected to get a vocab review out of this podcast, but the songs are also great from a musical standpoint. I keep some of them on my iPod because I like the songs….

Like Schoolhouse Rock--Only FREE! I am a child of the 70s and love SHR, so I was skeptical when I stumbled upon this, but for the life of me I can't think of a single negative thing to say about it! They are nice and short and catchy. It makes you smile to hear it and it is great for ALL ages.

I am an AVID Elective Teacher and I was looking for an effective way to teach my students vocabulary. Songs such as the Princeton Review Orchestra composes are excellent for teaching my students new vocabulary. I have tried many things before but this is by far THE most effective method and my students LOVE IT! THANK YOU! and BRAVO!

That's the sort of thing that will swell your head, huh? No wonder my hat's suddenly so tight. BTW, is it just me or does the phrase "tooting someone's horn" sound like a sexual euphemism to other folks too?

Speaking of getting your horn tooted, check this out: The local daily newspaper has designated my set at the Carrboro Music Festival this Sunday a "must see." Wee hah, ain't no hat big enough to fit my head now!

Sweet and Spicy Chicken with Mushrooms

Stir-frying basics
1) Cut meat and veggies into uniform bite-size pieces
2) Marinate meat for 10-15 minutes in seasonings and a little cornstarch
3) Assemble aromatics (garlic, ginger, fermented black beans, etc.)
4) Mix a sauce
5) Heat the wok over high heat until it starts to smoke
6) Swirl in oil, add aromatics, cook for 30 seconds to a minute, stirring occasionally to prevent burning
7) Add meat, sear on one side for one minute, then stir regularly thereafter
8) Add vegetables as meat approaches doneness
9) Add sauce, stir to mix
10) Serve over rice, noodles, bean thread, etc.

Once you've got this system down, you can throw together a stir fry with just about any ingredients you like. Tonight I marinated 1 pound of cut-up chicken breast meat in 1 tablespoon of garlic chili sauce, 1 tablespoon of hoisin sauce, and 1 teaspoon of cornstarch. Then I sliced and set aside some white button mushrooms. For aromatics I grated 2" of ginger root, sliced two cloves of garlic, and minced 1 serrano chile. For sauce, 2 tablespoons of soy sauce and 2 tablespoons Shaoxing cooking sherry. I cooked using the method outlined above and served over jasmine rice. The whole process took less than a half hour and the results were excellent. Don't believe me? Just look!

'Light' jambalaya

Gravity has intensified. That's one possible explanation for the results my bathroom scale is produceing of late. Another is that I'm porking out.

Just to be on the safe side--in case it's me and not gravity that's getting heavy--I'm going to try to lighten up my cooking.

Tonight's experiment in that vein: jambalaya. Jambalaya is a rice dish that starts with a sweat of celery, onions, and carrots, followed by the browning of whatever meat you plan to include. Next, rice is added and stirred to coat with the various fats in the pot. Finally some water or stock is added and the whole thing is set to simmer until the rice is cooked.

For this light version, I tried a few tricks to reduce calories without entirely forfeiting flavor. First, I cooked the vegetables in about an eighth-inch of chicken stock rather than in oil or butter. Next, I used chicken sausage and skinless chicken breast meat (sprinkled with Tony Chachere Cajun Seasoning) rather than the tastier, higher-calorie andouille sausage and dark meat options. These, of course, braised rather than browned, but the important thing was, they cooked. Finally, I cut down on the amount of meat included: just a pound of chicken and maybe 3/4 pound of sausage for 2 cups of rice.

I won't lie to you; Paul Proudhomme it was not. But it was reasonably tasty and a lot healthier than what Paul would have whipped up. Between the Tony Chachere and the chicken stock I cooked the rice in, the sodium content was probably through the roof, but hey, one culinary hurdle at a time, right? This dish probably clocks in around 400 calories per serving, which ain't too bad.

Light Jambalaya
serves 8, at least

1 medium onion, diced fine
3 stalks celery, diced fine
2 carrots, diced fine
3/4 pound Amy's Chicken Andouille sausage
1 pound boneless skinless chicken breast, cut into 1/2 inch thick slices (seasoned liberally with Tony Chachere's Cajun seasoning)
36 - 40 ounces of chicken stock
2 cups long grain white rice
1 bunch of scallions, sliced thin, white parts only
pepper, garlic salt, herbes de Provence

Heat 4 ounces or so of chicken stock in a stock pot. When simmering, add the vegetables. Cook down until translucent and limp. Season with pepper and garlic salt. Add sausage, stir through. Add chicken breast, stir through, let cook until chicken meat starts to turn white. Add rice, stir through, add 32 ounces of chicken stock. Season with a scant palmful of herbes de Provence, crumbled by hand. Bring to a boil, stir, cover, reduce heat to simmer, and cook 20 minutes. Remove from heat, stir in scallions, and serve.


photo taken at the 3D House of Jambalaya

Beef Shank Taquitos

I used to post this blog at myspace.com. I generally travel light, but I've decided to bring a few of the best posts of the last nine months along with me. Over the next week or so I'll be posting selections from The Best of Man of Constant Leisure.

This was just an experiment, but one that went so right that I want to share it. Also figured if I put this recipe up here, I'd know where to find it when I want to make this again. You know that poor sap who sings "MacArthur Park," the one who whines "I'll never have that recipe again"? I don't want to wind up like that guy.

The concept is pretty simple, really. I was at the local Mexican grocer the other day and noticed beef shanks at the butcher's counter. Now, I've prepared veal shanks plenty of times for osso bucco, and I make braised lamb shanks fairly regularly, but I don't recall ever having seen beef shanks before, or seeing much about them in cookbooks. Still, they looked pretty and they were cheap, so I figured 'What the hey? A shank's a shank. Slow cooking ought to do the trick.'

I seasoned the shanks with salt and pepper, browned them well on both sides in a stainless steel skillet, and removed them from the pan. Then I deglazed with a little bit of beer and tossed in one large onion, diced fine, and sauteed that until it was golden and translucent. I chonked in a palmful of chopped cilantro, a couple of minced chipotles and a teaspoon or so of adobo sauce, two cloves of garlic (crushed), the rest of the can of beer, and the shanks. I brought the liquid to a simmer, then covered and reduced the heat and let it cook for 2 hours.

The shanks were done after two hours but there was still a lot of liquid remaining, so I removed the shanks from the skillet and turned the heat up high to reduce. About 10 minutes of cooking reduced it to a good sauce consistency. I then chopped the shanks up fine and threw the meat back into the pan and tossed to coat with the sauce. I served them in corn tortillas with pico de gallo, Mexican crema, and some salsa verde that, shamefully, I did not make from scratch. It came in a can that looks like this:



By the way: the product pictured above is great, but someone ought to tell the folks at La Costena that salsa verde sounds a whole lot more appetizing than "Green Mexican Sauce." Don't even want to think about the green Mexicans that went into making this product. Blech.

Anyway, give the shanks a try and tell me what you think. I served this with some pan fried sweet plantains, which are always good.

Somewhat remarkable moments (part 1 of a series)

I used to post this blog at myspace.com. I generally travel light, but I've decided to bring a few of the best posts of the last nine months along with me. Over the next week or so I'll be posting selections from The Best of Man of Constant Leisure.

Not long after we arrived in Durham, NC, the local free alternative weekly ran a contest that asked readers to write haikus expressing their desire to sumo wrestle. The prize awarded the two best submissions: the privilege of sumo wrestling between the 6th and 7th innings of an upcoming Durham Bulls game. Those unfamiliar with the game of baseball may not know that sumo wrestling is integral to the pagentry of the contest, as too are Ants in the Pants/Termites in the Trousers, Baby Buggy Derby and Wool E. Bull Fires T-Shirts Out of a Giant Hot Dog and into the Stands. At least they are in Durham, NC.

I enjoy a good haiku as much as the next fellow, so I immediately set pencil to paper and composed the following:

My bland, pudgy frame
Shrouds a feral endomorph
Aching to sumo

This was deemed one of the two best haikus submitted, and so it was that I suited up and tangled with another bespectacled, underexercised, typical-reader-of-free-weekly-alternative-newspapers-and-occasional-haiku-writer guy like myself, whom I dispatched two falls to one. The best part of the event was when the on-field announcer read the two winning haikus over the PA. You could actually hear the sound of 5,000 people scratching their heads simultaneously when he read my entry. None of us, myself included, was entirely sure how to pronounce feral.

Here I am on that night of glory. This photo was taken before the bout, hence the intimidating grimace.


photo by the missus

I got an iMac

It takes pictures!
Me as Jay Leno

Hallucinogenic wife

When I get old

Frz. Yellow Eel Strip

I used to post this blog at myspace.com. I generally travel light, but I've decided to bring a few of the best posts of the last nine months along with me. Over the next week or so I'll be posting selections from The Best of Man of Constant Leisure. This entry was originally posted in January 2006.

Some day you may find yourself browsing in your local Asian grocery, and there you may stumble across a product called "Frz. Yellow Eel Strip" in the freezer section. Your mind may happily wander back to some eel sushi you enjoyed once, or you may remember a delicious braised eel dish you had at a Korean restaurant. And at that point, you may be tempted to purchase the package of "Frz. Yellow Eel Strip" and attempt to work a little Asian magic in your home kitchen.

Here is what the package looks like. Remember it well. Remember also that no matter how delirious your memories of those previous eel dishes are, the product in this bag will not help you relive them. Perhaps the $2.20 price tag should have been a tip off that culinary heaven was not herein contained.

"Frz. Yellow Eel Strip," as its name readily communicates to all but the thickest headed (i.e. myself), does not contain whole pieces of eel. Rather, it contains thin strips of eel that look way, way, way too much like worms. They look so much like worms that I was immediately tempted to throw this product in the garbage, or go fishing with it. But I instead pressed forward; I'm not one to waste $2.20, no sir. Also, it didn't look as though it would kill me.

The packaging for "Frz. Yellow Eel Strip" suggests helpfully that you cut these long, wormy strips into 1 1/2"-long wormy strips. This provides an opportunity for you to handle "Frz. Yellow Eel Strip" for a while before ingesting it. Hooray! More important, it renders the strips bite-sized, which ultimately proves quite helpful (for reasons that will soon become clear).

I heated a little sesame oil to smoking, then threw my bait into the pan; my jasmine rice, resembling no particular invertebrate, bubbled away in another pot. I let those guys cook well–there was no way in hell I was eating these things undercooked–tossing occasionally to make sure they were all cooked through. There was another method to this madness; most of the eel dishes I've enjoyed in restaurants seemed to have been slightly caramelized, and I was hoping to achieve the same effect here. Despairing of the wormy bits' ever reaching edibility on their own, I eventually spiked the dish with some light soy sauce and some Shaoxing cooking sherry. Ginger, scallions, and ten pounds of shrimp would all have helped the dish considerably, but alas I had none of these ingredients available.

Finally the moment of truth arrived: the rice was done, the eel was at least done. I mixed them up and piled it all on a plate. With the first bite I discovered the genius of cutting the eel into bite-size pieces: I didn't have to actually look at the food to shovel it into my mouth! And so, with the most recent New Yorker spread out before me, I dispatched this plate of food bellyward, and, truth be told, it was actually pretty tasty.

But I will never, ever prepare it again.

9/11

I lived in New York City for 20 years. When I lived there, I had this recurring nightmare. It started with the air growing electric and people starting to panic. Then I would turn to look at a clock that was running quickly backwards to midnight. I would usually wake up in a sweat just before the clock struck 12, which I somehow knew meant that a nuke was about to be dropped in midtown. Occasionally the dream would last long enough for me to see the mushroom cloud.

I suspect most New Yorkers have some version of this dream. They know that their hometown has a big bull's eye on it, and they've known it since long before 9/11. It's part of daily life there, part of what makes the place insane and wonderful. There's something empowering in knowing that you live in a place so important that it--along with Washington DC--is the place our enemies would like to hit most. There's also something ridiculously stressful about it.

That stressfulness is part of what compelled me and Lisa to leave New York in 1999. We were ready to live in a place that was simply a great place to live; we didn't have to be at the center of the cultural universe any more, so it was time for us to cede our spot to someone hungrier for all that the city has to offer. We left a lot of good friends behind, and that was probably the hardest part of leaving.

One of those friends--Lisa's closest--was visiting us in North Carolina on September 11, 2001. That day was a blur, a combination of short spurts of frenzied activity (trying to reach friends and family in the city, rebooking Lisa's friend's trip back to NYC--I even got a call in to work that morning and had an editor describe the scene from her Varrick Street office window in the West Village) with long, dumbfounded stretches in front of the television, watching the crash and the collapses replayed over and over.

By late afternoon we'd made all the calls that were going to get through (not many) and watched as much news as we could stand, so we headed over to our favorite barbecue place for a meal and a break. It was a strange experience. The restaurant was just going about its business as usual: the radio was playing music in the background, folks were eating and laughing… it could have been any day of the year. Americans have made a big show of rallying behind New York and declaring their solidarity with the city since that day, but on 9/11 I got a real sense of how most of the rest of the country views New York City. To them it's practically a foreign location, a city whose allure is incomprehensible and whose misfortunes are remote from their daily lives. Carolinians were concerned and compassionate on 9/11--one of my neighbors, bless her, brought by some homemade muffins to console us on what she knew was an especially trying day--but there was also a general attitude of “That's the sort of thing that could never happen here, and that's why I'm glad I live here and why I'd never live there!”

I realized that day that there's a part of me that thinks exactly like a Carolinian, that you'd have to be nuts to want to live in a place like that. New York City is ridiculously expensive and it smells like baked piss in the summer and in the winter the wind cuts right through you and the people are not exactly what you'd call friendly and you take your life in your hands whenever you cross a street or drive a car or entrust your safety to a taxicab driver…. and on top of all that, some very bad people would like to blow it to smithereens. And still, Lisa and I miss New York a lot. We miss our friends and the long walks through Manhattan and the incredible restaurants and shops and the museums and the parks and the awesome energy of the place and the people who overfill it. There'll always be a part of me that considers New York City home; I lived there too long and have too many close friends there for that to ever change. If we each made six figures, maybe we'd think about moving back.

Then again, I haven't had that nightmare since we left. So maybe not.