MFBk

 I wasn’t looking for the change that happened. I didn’t want to topple someone from the top of my list. I just wanted food and libation. I wanted to get the right setting for a story in my head. It wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did. Sorry, Mr. Roth-man. There’s a new king in town.

I’ve told several people how much I admire the lamb burgers with feta cheese, fries, and fried pickles at my Favorite Third Place – where the Tanqueray is always in perfect proportion to the tonic. Last evening My Favorite Barkeep began the evening by trying to give me a drink menu. “No, you don’t want that. You want a Tanqueray and tonic,” he said as he began pouring a stream of clear, pure Heaven into an ice filled glass. When he brought my food and recalled that I don’t like catsup and want malt vinegar for my fries, he joked that I didn’t need to do more than let him know where I was sitting to get all my needs met – well the ones he can fulfill anyway. While all of those things would have put him a notch or two higher on my list of favs, none where enough to dethrone the Roth-man (named after the vodka brand).

I had finished my meal and was paying more attention to a text conversation than the world around me, when I heard MFBk talking about the Sirens of Greek Mythology. The mention of anything in the remotest realm of Classicism will prick my ears (but not my thumbs) and pull me over – like…well a Sirens’ Song. Any gin pourer who can tell the stories of the Greeks will get my attention, my undying devotion, and an extra couple of bucks on his tip. And he will dethrone the last guy from the list. I’m not fickle. I really thought that Roth-man would be there for a few aeons – even though he isn’t pouring anymore.

Black Friday

Some keep Black Friday at the mall
I keep it in my home
I’ve got an Internet connection
And the day off from my work
Some keep Black Friday in their jeans
I wear my favorite scrubs
And instead of fighting the food court
I heat left overs up
While I shop I listen to my MP3s
And my credit card is fueling the stalled economy
I didn’t burn a drop of gas
Or any fossil fuels
I got into no fist fights
And gave no ugly looks
I saw my friends on MySpace,
FaceBook, and LeatherBears
But now it’s time to get up
from my chair behind the desk
My credit card is maxed out
My eyes are tired and red
But this is the Black Friday
I won’t soon forget

 (If you’re wondering it can be sung to “The Yellow Rose of Texas.”)

Divine DiVino’s & The Magazine

I work on East Main Street (or eMain is you like to keep up with the hype). Not long ago it was a very blighted area full of abandoned warehouses and old junk yards. In other words, it was the perfect place to dump a body. Now that’s changed. There are offices, lofts, bars, and my favorite lunch place. It’s a little deli that makes a wonderfully decadant blond calzone, a mean hamburger, a decent Reuben, and carries a to kill for artichoke salad. If you get the impression that I’m in there a lot, you’re right. They know me by face and name.

In the same block as the deli, there’s some construction, so you’re likely to see quite a few guys in work clothes and hard hats coming in alongside the suits, the business casual, and me for lunch. I grew up with a construction worker (Union Carpenter to be specific) father. One of my favorite baby pics is my dad holding me while I wear his hardhat. These men remind me of my childhood — except the cute ones that take my mind to a different realm.  Today, passing the wait for my burger wrap and artichoke salad by texting friends, doing e-mail, and reading the news. I love all the stuff you can do with a phone these days, but I digress.

I notice a young guy come up to the front of the store and stand looking at the lottery play slips, LEO newspapers, the little free magazines (City Slicker & the gay oriented G3). He leans up, grabs a copy of G3 and quickly sticks in in his jeans before anyone notices. Now, I’m fully out, so this act is funny to me. Then I got caught in my own mirth. Here’s a guy who for whatever reason wasn’t comfortable just picking up a magazine and taking it. Yes, I know how butch a construction site can be, and I’m fully aware of the homophobia that can go along with it. No, I didn’t strike up a conversation or grab a copy in some deluded gay brotherhood of the page. I was standing there in blue chinos, and a black, ribbed rayon shirt. If you didn’t get a clue from my attire, well Honey, see if your gaydar is under warranty.

But I have to wonder at a society where the way one loves is such a cause for tension and some people need to hide it. Have we really evoled as a species or are we something far less than we’d like to admit?

Blood Lust!

I love Dracula! I admit it. I’m a die hard fan of the production at Actors’ Theatre. I forget how many times I’ve seen it, but I’m always hopelessly besotted from the second I walk in until I exit the building. It has everything a gay, gothic-minded, middle aged man could want. There’s blood, homoeroticism, yelling, screaming, vampires, cute actors who bare their chests, blood, castles, vampires, lots of stage fog, abbeys, vampires, special effects, unseen howling wolves, the undead dropping out of the ceiling, ascents of furniture from hell. Did I mention vampires and blood?

To wind up the afternoon with a sushi dinner makes me really sad to see that evening sun go down.

Wildcat Chili

I caught myself in a debate about which to buy: peanut or soy butter. The soy won, but I was taken aback by even considering it. Five years ago the peanut butter would have won without a contest, and it wouldn’t have been the all natural one either. It would have been Peter Pan with all the associated sugars. And I most likely would have picked up a pack (or two) of Camel filters as I checked out. I might have dined on fried chicken, baked potato smothered in blue cheese dressing, and sweet corn on the cob. Washed it down with extra sweet tea and a slab of pecan pie for dessert. Fast forward to soybutter’s victory, and I came home to fix poached fish, pickled okra, and hot cauliflower for supper. Hey, but I had a protein shake to wash it down. Yes, I’m back to watching my carb in take. By keeping my intake at 150 or less, I can still eat normally and even enjoy a beer on occasion.

Speaking of  lower carbohydrates I’m reminded of a t-shirt I saw today: Loose Carbs, Eat Wildcat. Today was Team Spirit Day at work, and most of us were in our team colors. On the elevator there was a guy in UK Blue carrying a pot of chili. After a woman made a disparaging remark about another woman’s blue shirt, she asked the guy about the pot he had. “It’s Kentucky Chili, and you can’t have any,” he said with a smile. “I make better chili though,” I said making sure the cardinal on my shirt was in plain view. And after reading the dude’s shirt this afternoon, well, I might just start using Wildcat as an ingrediant along with the dark chocolate. =

Добро пожаловать в Место Джека

Is it the rare steak rubbed with spices and lime or my gingered brown rice that brings you here? Maybe it’s the pom-berry juice in the black stemmed glass or the promise of something more. Don’t tell me you hope for my weekday speciality of one-eyed jacks and good strong coffee in the morning? Perhaps it’s far more base than that and you’re merely drawn by your  morbid desire that I’ll not catch myself when I type the wrong homonym — a rarity but it does happen.  At any rate, welcome dear reader.

 I walked into my favorite deli paradise today and was told that I could not have a rare burger. They aren’t allowed to do that. I complained that they did it two weeks ago and was told that they weren’t supposed to. Note to self, hold out for the guy at the register. Honestly, I don’t get what the fuss is about. I’ll sign a waiver if you offer it.

I love the Web, but I don’t often trust it. According to the translator Добро пожаловать в Место Джека means “Welcome to Jack’s Place”.

A Drink for Our Times

I’ve created a drink in honor of it all. Okay. To be honest, I was mixing one of these up the other day as an after dinner aperitif – the virgin kind too. It looked like brown blood in my glass. Now being a Goth-child of the Reform Order (and sorry to all of the Chavs whom I dearly love and count among my friends) who’s done blood sport in his younger (and idiot) years this had an appeal. I dubbed it a Mudblood, and have thought it might do well to add some power. Both are wonderful. Without the punch, it’s quite healthy. With the punch, well sorry kids. No one is perfect. Take eight ounces of your favorite vegetable juice cocktail, add one tablespoon milled flax seeds. Shake, pour, and serve. For those with a taste for something more powerful, prior to the shake mandate, add one ounce of high quality vodka. Remember kids, Jack doesn’t do wells. Ever.

Gonna Have a Good Time Tonight

I left work late this afternoon, so The Firm got about an extra ½ hour of my time today. I decided to forgo the lift – abs – cardio I typically do. Today’s focus was on upper body then an abs routine (a good one but not the killer one). After showering, I decided that it’s Friday and payday (even if Sunset is some hours away). I set my boots toward my secret third place instead of Sesame Street. I walked in, had a seat at the bar, ordered up a Tanqueray and tonic and began to read the dinner menu. I’ve often said that I wasn’t really raised in the traditional sense of the word. I was trained up. That training came in quite handy this evening when I looked to my left and saw two executives from The Firm sitting next to me. I spoke and sat minding my very own business.

Now while that’s interesting, it’s far from the reason I’ve set virtual pen to paper. The bar tender, a cute and nice man got my food order then asked me about dessert. He suggested a cheesecake. I tried it. It was unquestionably the very best cheese cake I’ve ever had. It was the cheese cake with a chocolate crust and hand whipped cream with a warm caramel sauce and slices of banana. The sauce contained a variety of nuts (pecan, walnut, hazelnut). It was garnished with a fresh mint sprig. The piPce de résistance was the utensil to eat it with. The barman turned garçon brought out a smaller plate with a spoon; both had been dusted with powdered sugar. While it added little to the pallet, the presentation was a pure delight. And yes, the sweetness of the confection was balanced by the bitter of the Tanqueray and tonic. While it wasn’t better than sex, it was nearly as good.I then went for a tour of a bookstore where I got my Spiderman comics for the fortnight as well as a book of wonderfully insulting words. Stay tuned as I’ll absorb many into my vocabulary.