Musings of the 25-year-old Male
So. There is your life. Slapped down in front of you, on a silver platter (slightly dented as if it was used before) rather harsh it seems by a waiter who, according to his black and golden brimmed name tag, listens to the name Earl.
The backbone of your dish consists of a sturdy, almost cement like blob of mashed potatoes. Good mashed potatoes, have been selected carefully, washed and peeled, boiled for around 20 minutes, and then mashed with a bit of rich cream, and a lump of butter.
For vegetables, a careful selection of this seasons most delicate offerings. There is chives, spring union, sprouts, beetroot, peppers, cucumber, ginger, lettuce, baby carrots and to top it of.. broccoli.
As your eyes wonder over your plate, looking for the meat, the sound of the waiter’s squeeking shoes echoes through the restaurant. Well. Maybe restaurant is a big word. Diner is probably more close to it. Greasy tabletops, plastic seats bolted to the ground, a toilet with an odor so foul that dogs begin to shiver with delight. It has been know to instantly clear out the nostrils of a men with permanently clogged sinuses.
Anyway. Back to your life. The meat looks awesome. Its a perfectly encrusted piece of roast beef, encrusted because of the bacon wrapped around it. It smells delicious, it’s not to big, or to small, it’s in perfect size. It gently wafts its smell over the table, seducing even that lonely fly to sit down for a while, and savor the moment.
Next to your plate, there is a bowl of gravy. Not just any gravy. It’s ‘the’ gravy. The jackpot amongst gravies. Other gravies fear it. Only a few of father gravy’s illegitimate children have turned out alright. But this, is the father itself. It has a nice, dark color. It’s a rich, thick gravy, and it contains, besides the secret ingredient (not to be named here because, after all, it’s a secret) some cooking juice of the potatoes, some cooking juice of the vegetables, and of course the remnants from the roast beef tray.
There you have it. The tray, the meal, the gravy. The diner, the toilet, the fly and the waiter. All together, they represent your life. All the ingredients. Now, it wouldn’t be very much of a parable to explain what is what. All I can say, is that it’s a damn shame the waiter forgot to bring me the wine that was suppose to accompany this excellent food.
A touch of Knowledge: Tattoo’s
A week or two ago, I decided to indulge myself with one of my favorite ‘presents for the inner me’, books. I bought two, one if which I’d like to recommend highly to any tattoo enthusiast, whether you’re covered in ink, or still ink naked (like me!), this book provides a wealth of knowledge. Henk Schiffmacher, or ‘Hanky Panky’, is the dutch authority when it comes to tattooing, for over 3 decades he’s been a leader of the tattoo industry, not only in Holland, but world wide. Having tattood Anthony Kiedis and Kurt Cobain, he’s well known within the, what one might call, the ‘celebrity’ circle.
He wrote a book. A very solid, thick book, entitled: ‘Lexicon der Tatooages’. Unfortunately, it’s only available in Dutch. Starting at ‘A’, Schiffmacher orders the knowledge he has gathered over the years, in alphabetical order. It reads as watching discovery channel, slightly addictive, but somewhat easy to lay away if one really has too. Not only tattoo terms, favorite tattoo designs, but also different tribes known for their tattooing skills, different ways of enriching one’s skin (scarification), and listing famous tattoo artist and clients, this book provides a very solid view of what has been, and what is, in the current tattoo landscape. A must read!
