Mal Beck's Open Salon Blog

If you DVR'd your life. . .

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 13:09:09 -0400

We live in an age when we want immediate, downloadable media at our fingertips, yet we are still entertained in an increasingly old-fashioned manner by actually sitting down and glueing our eyes to a TV screen. Yet, we don't want to be bothered by having to truly be in our recliners or stretched out on the couch at a particular time of day or night. Hence, the rise of the DVR. Okay, I admit it. I DVR. . .a lot. Why? I seem to have an inability to be home when my TV shows are on. . .and I hate commercials. . .and possibly I watch way too much boob tube (it is important to the free world who wins Top Chef!). I'm sure these reasons--and many more--are what fuel others, as well.

However, a peculiar phenomonem has been recurring: the desire to DVR snapshots of my life. As I was listening to Aaron Copland's Appalachian Spring on the radito this morning, I caught myself wishing to rewind it. Numerous times I've literally thought, "just let me hit the rewind. . ." only to realize I was viewing live action that was, well, live. Was that a three-legged deer running across the road? Here, let me back the tape up--oops, can't do that.

All of that got me to thinking. What if I could DVR events from my life? Which ones would fast forward through, and which others would I replay over and over again? So, what do you think? Can you choose just one of each? To start things rolling, I'll tell you mine.

The event in my life I'd first like to fast forward through is when I told an ex-wife goodbye, as in I'm leaving. It's not so much that painful episode haunts me as much as it is I've always wanted to get beyond the hurt I caused, to not see the fear and anguish in her face, not unlike the deer in the headlights look. If my fastforwarding could ease that time in her life, I'd gladly hit the button.

As for the moment I'd love to replay continuously, that was a more difficult choice. Choosing just one episode out of years of smiles and laughs is akin to picking one play out of a season of baseball to represent your team. But, I did it. For awhile, I was a stay-at-home-dad, and I was fortunate enough to see my youngest daughter take her very first steps. She had been able to stand on her own for weeks, but every time she thought about walking, she'd drop down to her hands and knees. On this fateful morning, however, she stood up, hanging on to the love seat; then she spied the stuffed animal on the coffee table across the den--about 15 feet away--and launched herself in a stilting, drunken sailor manner, lurching toward the animal. I was in total awe and wept. I still see her smile when she made it, grabbed the animal, and turned to look at me. That is one moment I will always rerun in my head. Come to think of it, we do have pretty good mental DVRs at our disposal.

So, anyone care to share their best and worst moments?

Daily

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 10:08:07 -0400

to my daughter on her ninth

Nine.

the moments I wrestle, unwinning

missing the hugs.

Eight.

the precise number of tears

gouging my cheeks at night.

Seven.

the stares of my heart

into the void, unseeing.

Six.

the curses I fling

sticking like tar to my thoughts.

Five.

the sighs escaping at your smiles

framed by shy dimples.

Four.

the times I reconsider each

imagined pain I inflict.

Three.

the paralytic chains compressing me

constricting more tightly.

Two.

the hands I ache to hold

engulfed in my own.

One.

you.

the heart I covet.

Fuller of Love

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 10:07:00 -0400

Wrapped up like a baby, comforted and warm,

You bring peace to me more than I to you.

I. You. We. The trinity. Fuller of love.

You should never want for tranquility,

Despite my true north.

Languid eyes, so childishly secure, fresh as blanketing snow.

Saving grace? God, yes. Almost god-like. Fuller of love, though.

Black tentacles strangle my thoughts, choke the logic.

I choke on the logic.

Like with her before, graceful golden hair and all, I have failed again.

The rock that once was gashes the constant sea,

Reverse lighthouse, with a beam that slices from within.

Salt runs to salt. Still, fuller of love you remain.

The Dirt Road

Fri, 10 Jul 2009 12:07:36 -0400

That tamped down dirt road

Wandering down the delta

Lingering through the swamp.

Can’t get there from here,

All trash and trauma.

Plastic bag ugly.

And the dirt--streaked grime

On your socks once white

Now detritus-specked.

The mocs and the coppers

Just laying ambush, you know.

Suspicioned , though unseen.

Shadowy brambles, ripping the flesh

Stumbling the way.

Guarding the stones.

Sunset. Sundown.

Murky depths tempt.

Waiting.

Foodie Tuesday - Nearly Naked Guacamole & Great Sex

Tue, 9 Jun 2009 09:06:33 -0400

Guacamole recipes are ubiquitous, and I've tried dozens of them. Most of the time they're bloated and full of crap that has no business being in the mix. After years of experimenting, the nearly naked truth hit me squarely between my beady eyes--simpler is better. I love avocados--their slightly herbaceous, nutty flavor is nirvana and when melded with small amounts of a few other ingredients, the result is an aphrodesiac. (Then again, I could say that about a lot of things, but that's another post.)

The trouble with most recipes is that they attempt to improve upon or, worse yet, mask the flavor of the avocados. Avocados are divine already, so the best that one can do is to complement their deliciosity. Stop trying to make guacamole be avocado-pudding-with-bunches-and-bunches-of-other-stuff.

First step? Ripe avocados. Picking the perfect avocado is a fine art. I look for a slight sheen to the skin--too dull means the meat within is likely starting to deteriorate. This dullness of color usually is accompanied by air pockets in the top or bottom of the avocado itself. If you feel air pockets, put. . .the. . .avocado. . .down. Conversely, if the handful of green goodness is too shiny, then it is usually too hard. You want the avocado to yield gently to your touch, like a lover submitting to your caress. If you hear the avocado moan, then that's the one you want. I usually go for two in order to have enough to satisfy my lust.

Second, secure the needed complementary components: red onion, tomato, cilantro (no, parsley just won't do), jarred jalapenos, lime, and tabasco. Keep in mind, these will be mere pawns to the queen avocado. Don't cut corners, either, say by opting to leave out the lime juice or not adding tabasco. Each element has its unique calling and contribution.

Once home, get those avocados peeled. Dice them into large chunks and place in a bowl. Add a healthy squirt of lime juice and a few dashes of the tabasco sauce, then mash. Now, here's a tricky part--don't overdo the mashing. Whether you use a fork or a potato masher, don't make the mixture too soupy. Leave goodly size hunks of avocado. (Ed. note: this is a good time to invite your partner over to watch. The sight of the exquisite, yet forceful, blending of fruit and juice can become foreplay.)

Set aside the bowl for a long, velvety kiss; let your partner lick the morsels of avocado and spice from your fingers (inevitably where some of it will end up) and share a sip of a crisp Spanish white such as Albarino or perhaps a softer Macabeo. If things get too intense, the guac may begin to turn, so don't let your activities go too far. . .well, hell, if they do you won't care about the guac, now will you?

Chop a small amount of tomato, red onion (2-3 tablespoons at best), and an even smaller amount of cilantro and jalapeno. Ever so gently, fold these ingredients into your guacamole--remember, you don't want to whip the fruit (save that for your partner), but rather you want to let the various elements gradually introduce themselves to one another. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap, and push the plastic all the way down to the guacamole, pushing out all the air bubbles. Now, refrigerate at least an hour if you can wait that long. Meanwhile, use that interim time to nibble on some Manchego and to drink more wine. And, by all means, please use that time to pay attention to your partner. In my case, that means looking into her expressive and desirable eyes, smiling, placing a perfect kiss on the nape of her neck, and strumming my fingers along her bare thigh.

Then, share the guacamole. Make it a bacchanalian feast if you will. I am here to tell you that I have made converts, that some who claimed to never having enjoyed guacamole before now beg me to make it. Maybe it's the texture. Maybe it's the taste. Or it could be the cool, smooth feel as it slides into your mouth and down your throat. Whatever. This is a guacamole for the senses. . .all of them. And you'll both enjoy the journey.