Last weekend, I stumbled upon the website of Jamie Oliver, aka "The Naked Chef" (click the picture to go there). Brilliant site. Completely in the style of its subject. Jamie even has a corner where he answers questions from people all over the world. Everything on the site is very informal and smooth. In the "Extras" section, there are some funny videoclips (which I did not see, since they are in QuickTime format and I'll be damned if I install that again on my computer), some pictures of other "naked chefs" and "unsigned melodies", a forum for bands not yet famous - pretty good things there I think! (I like The Makeshift Gentlmen).
Man cooks: many women drool over that thought. Why? Well because it's sort of reversing the roles I guess. It is a combination of being spoiled (the woman), considering this daily chore has been taken off her shoulders, plus a sort of kinky "uniform" enjoyment. The same way you expect to see a stern, moustached face above a uniform, the sight of a woman in uniform must turn many men on (not me! unless you're talking about Ornella Muti).
Or, the other way, I can imagine a man softening up from seeing his wife, all greasy and dirty, trying to fix something underneath the car, dressed in an overall, smears all over... (I have to stop - shouldn't have mentioned Ornella Muti).
Man cooks: of course it turns women on. For her it has to be a chore, day in, day out. Men take it on as a hobby, fresh, new to the topic. They feel like it, it is a challenge, they go for it. Women sit back and marvel. Let's not forget though that there are some women chefs out there too: such as Delia Smith, Lesley Waters or (alas, not a naked chef) Nigella Lawson. But be a man and become a good cook and you earn the respect and love of many women. One drawback though, as Jamie Oliver puts it: "no one ever wants to cook for me anymore".
But I am sure men don't start cooking because of these consequences. Men are lazy at heart. When they do something, it's because they really want to do it. I think.
After all, we all need to eat. That can be dealt with indifferently, or you can make it an art to feed yourself. Art, cooking is an art. With finesses, nuances, and lots of colours and smells. It can also go wrong, of course. It's not foolproof. And that's also the charming element of it. It is something to start small with, and then to grow as experience is gained. You see me coming, don't you? I definitely do NOT aim at becoming another Jamie Oliver! But I recently started cooking. Trying to. I had thought that it might take ages to make food, it doesn't. I had thought that by the time my food would be ready, I'd already be sick of it. I'm not. I had thought that my appetite would drop after having treated every ingredient myself. It doesn't. Though I'm still at the very very early stages of getting somewhere, I have to say: I enjoy it! One piece of advice though: never ever embark on a long cooking spree while already being extremely hungry. This I have already learned. If you're interested, you can read how I am doing.
Do you know these moments, when you feel a gentle, yet powerful knock on the door of your soul? A bit like the sudden appearance of an old friend. You did not expect him, but his arrival is sweet and familiar. And promising.
I get these moments mostly when witnessing simple things. Never when being entangled in more difficult subjects. What does that tell me? Yesterday night, I watched (again) the magical movie 'Il Postino' (The Postman), not to be confused with Kevin Costner's movie. I won't go into the movie, go and rent it, if you want. Simplicity. Take 'The Others', with Nicole Kidman. Simple story, happening entirely inside the house, with a handful of characters. And yet brilliant.
And there is the knock again. Knock knock. Just like Neo was awoken from his troublesome sleep, to be introduced to the real look and feel of The Matrix. It starts with a knock. Gently. But powerfully. A sudden whiff of recognition and insight, a realization. The only way is the sober way. Maybe in the past years I have heard too much rubbish and now my soul is desperate for something "real" to cling onto. After watching Il Postino last night, I felt strangely cleansed. Purified. Ready to start appreciating the little things of life again. Ready to start creating, from scratch, relying on the basics and not falling in the pitfalls of abundance and overwhelmingness. Ready to start afresh. Ready for a New Way of Living. Oh there is so much work to do first.
Alas, the moment of bliss is only short-lived. In a matter of minutes, the revelation has vanished. Until the next time.
Maybe I need the help of a white rabbit to be able to grasp the moment. And never let go. Or maybe these kinds of moments are not to be grasped.
Lately I am under the spell of a band from England. Their name is Oi-Va-Voi. On their site, you can listen to two full songs. What is the band about? In their own words:
Oi-Va-Voi represent the cutting edge of new wave klezmer. Their unique sound infuses the traditional music of Sephardi Jews, Transylvanian gypsies and the Ashkenazi shtetl with the dub and breakbeats of urban London. Odessan freylekhs, Yemeni devotionals and Macedonian wedding tunes explode effortlessly into the drum n bass heavy club-oriented tracks.
I love these bands that are not stingy and use their website to promote their material by giving access to some of their songs. And I'm not talking about a fragment of a few measly seconds. In the case of Oi-Va-Voi, you can't download the two songs (not as far as I can tell), but that doesn't matter. Every day I just go to the site and play the songs.
Only a few days ago, Oi-Va-Voi performed live in Bruges, for the festival of Klinkers. They were great!
There is only one blog that I visit regularly. And it is this one. Why? Because it never ceases to interest me. It is varied, it is inspired, it is close to earth. And to the universe.
I have visited blogs. Believe me. I have a soft spot for sites with little "fuss". There is too much fuss around. State your facts, express an opinion, or a viewpoint. No need for much more. More is less. Less is more.
Every morning I check my e-mail accounts. Every morning they are there. Loyally. The spam people. I hate them. Not just for what they are. Probably there is some sense of indignation also. Like with the mailbox. You hope for I don't know what. And then all you find is this rubbish, junk.
Spam is worse. They pick up your address somewhere, somehow. And then bomb you. Needless to define spam here. But the mechanical removal, day by day (after all, they tell you never ever to reply to them, or try to "unsubscribe"), is always accompanied by a deep-rooted hatred. Be gone, maggots. If ever a day comes that offers me an all new, revolutionary "spam gun", I will not hesitate to use it. I don't believe in violence. But every spammer should get a beating. If anything will ever contaminate the Internet, it will be commerce. Privacy intruders. Spammers.
Will they ever learn, the commercial invaders? Attacking you with messages will not do the trick. Pop-ups will only raise irritation. Banners will be ignored. So what's the point?
But I'm drifting. I hope Wacondah lives a long life. I am sure Morpheus keeps a watchful eye. Oh look, his sunglasses are for sale. Cool.
