lecso and Lord Foppington

I chopped some tomatoes, green peppers and onions. I fried the onions in olive oil, then threw in the veggies, followed by strips of ham. As the mixture was stewing, I black peppered the hell out of it, plus a pinch of salt and red paprika. Crown with two eggs, stir vigorously and in a few minutes - voila, a steaming, spicy Czech/Slovak/Hungarian lecso. [according to most recipes I've looked up, the eggs are a Czech addition] I wish I'd had some red-hot csabai kolbassa to add to the stew but alas, this is New Year's Day and most stores are closed.

I sat down with my lunch, buttered up some dark rye bread and was ready to tuck in....but: to really enjoy any solitary meal, I have to have something decent to read. Lately I've been reading an interesting tome about "literary England" [places in the country that writers have visited, lived in or frequented] The book was on the table in front of me but I stood up, went to the bookshelf and grabbed another Brit-inspired book, "The Oxford Book of London" The book contains stories about the city of London and its inhabitants by famous and not so famous authors who lived there - from the 12th century to the present. Leafing through the pages, blowing on my lecso to cool it down, I came across this most delightful passage by Sir John Vanbrugh. It complemented the lecso extremely well and I think also serves as a good recipe for life in the New Year. Additionally, I know some trumpet players who are JUST LIKE the title character. Here is a speech by Lord Foppington from Vanbrugh's "The Relapse":


oh, such delights....

Lord Fop: Naw I think a man of quality and breeding may be much diverted with the natural sprauts of his own. But to say the truth, madam, let a man love reading never so well, when once he comes to know this tawn, he finds so many better ways of passing away the four-and-twenty hours, that 'twere ten thousand pities he shou'd consume his time in that. Far example, madam, my life, madam, is a perpetual stream of pleasure that glides thro' such a variety of entertainments, I believe the wisest of our ancestors never had the least conception of any of 'em. I rise, madam, about ten o'clock. I don't rise sooner, because 'tis the worst thing in the world for the complection; nat that I pretend to be a beau; but a man must endeavour to look wholesome, lest he makes so nauseous a figure in the side-bax, the ladies shou'd be compell'd to turn their eyes upon the play. So at ten o'clock, I say, I rise. Naw, if I find it a good day, I resalve to take a turn in the park, and see the fine women; so huddle on my clothes, and get dress'd by one. If it be nasty weather, I take a turn in the chocolate-house; where, as you walk, madam, you have the prettiest prospect in the world; you have looking glasses all around you. [ ] Why, then, ladies, from thence I go to dinner at Lacket's, and there you are so nicely and delicately serv'd, that, stap my vitals, they can compose you a dish, no bigger than a saucer, shall come to fifty shillings; between eating my dinner, and washing my mouth, ladies, I spend my time, till I go to the play; where, till nine o'clock, I entertain myself with looking upon the company; and usually dispose of one hour more in leading them aut. So there's twelve of the four-and-twenty pretty well over. The other twelve, madam, are disposed of in two articles: In the first four I toast myself drunk and in t'other eight I sleep myself sober again. Thus, ladies, you see my life is an eternal raund O the delights.

tsunami porn

Tsunami porn consists of two main components: the coverage and the response.

What happened in Asia last week is too enormous to comprehend. The mind nevertheless tries and when the mind tried to comprehend, the TV camera is not far behind. This disaster is of truly apocalyptic proportions. And yet....how many times do we need to see the stiff, bloated arm of a corpse, outsretched in agony in a sea of foul mud? The masked truck drivers, spilling bodies into ditches? The faces of fathomless dispair over and over and over again? The constant repetition of these images on our screens dulls our senses and desnsitizes us to the enormity of the event. The insatiable camera casts a wide, yet shallow net. We can see copious amounts of devastation but perversly, we understand less, not more when the images are repeated ad infinitum.

The need for huge amounts of help is unquestioned. But - as so often in the past - I am skeptical about any amount of money that flows to the affected regions. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. We must help the survivors, not just now but for years to come. But how do we help them? By sending billions that might disappear down the chute of local corruption or into the pockets of despots or worse, into the coffers of terrorists? I feel completely helpless for I know that an enormous amount of help is needed yet I fear that the knee-jerk response of the developed world (millions of dollars, erased debts, charity organizations) may not in the end achieve what needs to be achieved just as it hasn't over many decades in Africa and in South America.

Then there is the pronography of made-for-TV response. The children paraded in front of cameras reciting well rehearsed sentences in halting, pre-adolescent voices: " I call on the youth of Canada to raise a million dollars" Gee, when you're 10 you don't "call on" anybody unless you're parroting a script! The little girls in front of shopping malls, with their collection boxes for the "victims in my home country" Please! Leave the kids out of it!! A ten year old girl who was born in Canada speaking about her "home country" as if that really meant anything to her! Her home country is the country of her birth, her home is with her parents, her world is her classmates and friends. LEAVE THE KIDS OUT OF IT! It's supposed to tug at the heart-strings and wallets but it feels like porn: ultimately unreal and unsatisfying.

The horrible thing is that I don't know what the proper response is. It's impossible to do nothing and yet everything we do somehow seems wrong. Or simply inadequate. Perhaps the best way of dealing with this is sending in elite commandoes to help co-ordinate local Indonesian and Sri Lankan army efforts in the clean-up. Set up a modern support system. Make sure that there is drinking water and food on the ground for the survivors. Make sure that there is something to survive for: dignity and freedom. I don't know. Perhaps I'm just mouthing slogans myself. Perhaps that's a natural instinct.

But please, get the cameras out of the death pits and get the children away from the camera. That much we definitely CAN do!

May God help all the survivors and may 2005 be a little better than an average human year. As they say: 2005 WILL be average: worse than 2004 but not as bad as 2006....

Nostalgia isn't what it used to be

snow, glorious snow

Well, ain't life weird...just a few short days ago I pontificated on the evils of snow, dirty, slushy, ubiquitous Toronto snow and now I am about to sing its praises.

To set the record straight: I hate the white stuff mostly because it makes driving impossible and also because, at least here in the city, the magic of the pure white flakes rubs off quickly when "pure as the driven snow" becomes "filthy as the driven salt". But it must be said that if you're going to live in a country with four seasons (ok, three, "spring" is not really a season here, it's usually just a single day of transition between freezer and oven) - you might as well embrace those aspects of snow that are pretty and life-enhancing (this last word is something left over in my brain from a long-ago sojourn through the halls of academe and the jargon of analysis so much in vogue there then, as now!).

Yesterday and today, I toolk my 4 km walk through Cedarvale Park. Yesterday was a crisp day of about minus 12 Celsius, with blinding sunshine and perfect calm. Today was warmer, about negative 5, much windier and overcast. But both days were a treat for a walk in the park (just DON'T EAT THAT YELLOW SNOW!! ) Yesterday was a tad too cold for most dog owners and bored musicians such as myself to venture out and I had the park all to myself: an expanse of brilliant whiteness, ice crystals sparkling in the frosty air, the evergreens heavy with a coat of snow and the snowy ground crunchy beneath my feet. Despite the frigid temps, I felt hot 10 minutes into the walk, wrapped up as I was in three layers of sweaters, two pairs of socks, long-johns and boots. I walked briskly along the length of the park, only meeting one or two solitary dog owners, both the owners' and the animals' breath forming clouds of vapor in the air. Truly a day to enjoy and true to the season, too. Funny how years of indoctrination have worked their way into my consciousness: Christmas time should be white and bright, not dull and rainy. Yet, I don't really celebrate Christmas at all, Hanukka only prefunctorily - and there are no songs about White Hanukka, anyway.

Same walk today, same trek, same park. Another type of winter experience; I had to huddle against the wind somewhat and the park was not as deserted. The clouds hung low, there was a hint of freezing drizzle or flurries in the air and as I walked, thousands of tiny sparkles cascaded in front of my eyes if I looked at the snowy expanse for too long. The best part? Kids tobogganing in the park, hollering and screaming in delight as their sleds zipped down the hillside. I truly envied them - almost wanted to go to the store and buy myself a cheap toboggan and join them. I remembered how much fun it was when my daughters were small and we went sledding together...then, when they went to school one day, I picked up the toboggan and snuck out of the house to do some sledding on my own. I ran into a neighbour with his four year old son and felt a bit embarassed, indulging as I was in this kid pastime - with my kids at school!!

Other than that, the Christmas break is getting a bit too long for me. I'm looking forward to doing a gig at the Oasis in Cobourg tomorrow! Playing with Drew Jurecka on violin and Ka-Cheong Liu on bass. Both superb players. Probably will play a bunch of Grappelli/Reinhardt stuff: Minor Swing, my own tribute to Django, Mango Django and definitely Dark Eyes to close the show.

Swing in the snow, yippee!