The Geatest Website EVER.

Unbelievable.

I am known far and wide for the size of my hyperbole, but this time when I say greatest, I mean it. I suggest you click on "no" first.

Recipes For Mae, Pt. 1

A while ago, our friend Mae made a request for us to cover vegan cooking in our blog. And what better time than today, Norwegian National Vegan Tolerance Day, to launch this new regular feature! So get out your remaining functional cookware, and lets get to it. And a word of warning: we’re going to start lowbrow, but it’s going to get haute pretty quickly, so watch out.


Lets start with the absolute basics. A good vegan recipe tends to fall into one of two categories:
1) Delicious, reasonably constructed dishes that provide bountiful nutrition.
2) Desperate, fevered attempts to replicate bologna.

For this first recipe, I will be delving hardcore into category 2. Here it is: my recipe for “Chicken” “Fingers”.

You need:
1) A block of firm or extra firm tofu (cut into cubes or strips).
2) A bunch of flour
3) A bit of nutritional yeast
4) Seasoning Salt
5) Pepper
6) Oil

There are other things you can add (I‘ll get to that in a moment), but these are the basics.

So you do this:
1) Get a plastic bag. Make sure the plastic bag is not crappy and full of holes.
2) Honestly, make absolutely sure the bag has no holes. I can‘t stress this enough.
3) Put the flour in the bag. Add the nutritional yeast, seasoning salt and pepper in sensible quantities.
4) Put the cubes of tofu into the bag of flour. Raise the bag in the air.
5) Shake it like you just don’t care.
6) When the tofu cubes are covered in the flour mixture, sift the excess flour with a sifter, or, if you’re living below subsistence level like me, your fingers.
7) Deep fry (should you be blessed with the means) or pan fry them with unfortunate amounts of oil. Wear prescription goggles. Cook until golden brown. Then cook them a bit more. Serve.

Options:
-You can marinate the tofu in soy sauce (or Braggs) with a bit of sugar and hot sauce before breading for added flavour. This is highly recommended.
-You can add stuff into the breading like sage or chili pepper or tumeric or whatever.
-You can serve with a lovely sauce…maybe plum sauce or something. Barbecue sauce?

Mae additionally requested that I write these recipes in poem form; I have not ignored that part, I just chose to do it separately. I’ll give this a shot: here is the same recipe in verse. The parameters are that I have given myself 30 minutes to do it from start to finish, and I can only refer to the recipe for inspiration.


Invisible Detours.

There is music, perhaps, or teaspoons, but they are somehow
misaligned. Why believe them? Your own rhythm quakes through you
and you keep remarkable time, for the most part. Hunger,
longing; you wear this armor just to give them form. It’s
terrifically awkward. Remnantal lumber lies in a wet heap outside
the apartment; rodents skitter by on electrical wires. It all continues
to escape your attention

And the clock, the ringing phone, kettles and pans.
They study impatience. They assume scrappy little
motives and shift to mournful postures. The uppermost shelves
recoil at your touch. Beliefs hiss and harden; globes of
sweat form on appliances. Beneath your skin, things
are in turmoil, too. And isn‘t this how you wanted it.

Elsewhere, servants of landowners cook while the land,
so indentured, drafts a fresh betrayal. Codes appear in
the latticework and in the seams of leaves. What comes next
requires a re-reading: a whistling swirl, a shifting weight,
the cactiform shadows on desert. The gnashing of plates

And in kitchens everywhere, the identical drama.
These grains of sugar that hew soul to body,
the laminated maps of fire exits, escape hatches,
the workspace obscured by flour,
the haunted bits, the orange peels, the detritus.
The quality of your mercy; you
pick at it gingerly through the evening
and nature, in tender siege
sends you love letters on cones of frigid air.

Well…I tried. Anyway, thanks for the suggestion, Mae. And, P.S., if you’re the Mae that wrote to me a long, long time ago and you have a site up at deviantart.com, I just want to say that I'm a fan of your writing, too. If you’re not that Mae, you're probably also awesome, but I just don’t have as much evidence.

Next time: Eggplants. Exact measurements. And more bewitching culinary verse.

With love for the Norwegian work week,
Doug.

From the Cutting Room Floor, Pt. 1

Here at Paperbacks Central, many songs are prepared and nurtured over periods of months or years only to be buried in the constant, crashing waves of progress, indifference, or general forgetfulness. These are the songs that don’t get performed or recorded until, like, 2 years later we find an old set list in the back of an amp or something, see the title, and are suddenly overcome with nostalgia for something that we initially didn’t really care much about. Anyway, I thought that instead of waiting for that set list/amp/future thing to happen, I could put the lyrics to those songs up here, and it could serve the same purpose. You know, we all get together and gather around the blog and…hey! Old song! In the meantime, gentle blog reader, you can come up with your own melodies to these in your head and then be disappointed in us when yours turn out to be superior. Everybody wins! Here’s the first one:

Retreat Into Genius.

Deaf to the ironies that engage you
and muted when it’s time to explain.
A weak faith is taken
that’s easily shaken,
but also effortlessly regained

As you retreat into genius
to analyze the motivation behind each breath.
Retreat into genius
and fall back refreshed into death.

Yours is the sort of flawed effort
only truly gifted artists can make:
marred by ambition,
marked by obsession
and delivered over three years late.

As you retreat into genius
to analyze the motivation behind each breath.
Retreat into genius
and fall back refreshed into death.

When the architecture of your gallery
competes with your art,
it defeats your art.
The funding gets slim,
the lighting gets dim,
and there’s just one way left to depart with grace
and leave no trace.

Chorus.

I'll have some more lyrics to songs from the new album posted later in the week. Thanks for bothering to read this stuff.

Sincerely,
Doug.

The Paperbacks' Guide to The Paperbacks, Pt. 1

Hello, and welcome to the first installment of The Paperbacks’ Guide to The Paperbacks, which will, hopefully, serve as self-promotion in the guise of self-mockery (which I have now lifted the cover on, thus providing a third layer of subtext). If you have ideas for future topics, please, please, let me know. The topic this week was suggested by Karilyn Smith of Southbridge, MA.

We begin:

Sometimes at a Paperbacks performance, you may be moved by our marginal charisma, and that movement may manifest itself in the form of wanting to buy one of us/all of us a drink. The truth is, we should really be buying you a drink...I mean, here you are, driving all the way from Bristol or Hamilton or The Hamptons or something to see us and you have to work tomorrow at 6AM. Or, perhaps you just missed the last bus because we just kept standing on stage, riffing on a variety of tiresome in-jokes rather than playing songs. The thing is, wherever we're playing, we're probably getting paid -$30.00, so the only drink we could reasonably afford to buy you would be tap water with grenadine, and that's only if we remembered to sneak in a flask. So we will accept your drink, in spite of who may deserve what. To help you in your thankless task, here's an attempt at a guide to the refined palates of The Paperbacks. Corrections are welcomed.

Jack Jonasson (Drummer Guy) - Jack enjoys beer, especially in these formats: a) Thick, ridiculous ones with visible barley floating in them...frothy things that take the patience of Heracles to pour, b) local specialties and curios and, c), any other kind.
Please note that due to the recently signed Treaty of Aalborg, Jack is no longer allowed access to Jagermeister within 24 hours on either side of a performance.

Jaret McNabb (Bass Player) - Jaret tends to eschew beer, but he is full of wonderful surprises. In general, I've found his tastes tend to gravitate the more brightly coloured orange-juice or lemonade-rich drinks. The kind of drinks that have names like wrestling holds; the Kentucky Leg Lock or whatever. Lots of flavours and starkly stylish labels. I have no definitive ideas, as his tastes are broad and ever-changing…like the Changeling of myth. So you may want to ask.

Mike Trike (Guitarist/Stage Left)- This one’s easy: Jameson and Soda!

Jason Churko (Guitarist/Stage Right) - Jason has been seen with the following: Grande Soy Latte; Slurpee; Herb Tea; water.

Tanya Zubert (Piano and stuff) - A beer? Tanya, to my knowledge, usually doesn’t drink in excess, so if there is already one present, maybe ask for an alternate suggestion.

Rémi Labrecque (Guitarist/Montreal Division) - Rémi is very open-minded. We do have appx. 74000 pictures of him drinking on stage; if you would like access to the archives in order to observe the labels, just send me a written request.

Rod Slaughter (recurring guest musician) - Straight Edge For Life. Ask to see his many tattoos.

Doug McLean (Singer) - It really depends on what kind of show you want. If you’re looking for a train wreck, I would recommend depriving me of food for the latter half of a day, then mixing a bunch of blush wine and cooking sherry in a mop pail. If you’d like a reasonable reading of the songs punctuated by short spells of forgetfulness and incomprehensible banter (that Jack will instantly derail), it would be best to provide me with two drinks I’ve never heard of, followed by a steady stream of beers. If you’d like to see a masterful, assured Paperbacks show, the formula is: a) one beer, b) two waters, and, c), an injection of Super-Soldier Serum from a decommissioned laboratory in the Arizona desert. With grenadine.

One final note:

Vegans - Doug, Jason
Non-Drinkers - Jason, Rod Slaughter
Not Allowed Jagermeister - Jack

And that's that. Anyone got the next topic?

Love and rockets,
Doug.

A New Holiday.

Today, a number of dull, mildly irritating things (dropped a book in the snow; lost my mitts and, somehow, a grapefruit; walked to the W. Art Gallery and it was closed...things of this nature) tipped my somewhat fragile mood to the sad side. However, my spirits were ironically buoyed by learning that today has been scientifically proven to be the most depressing day of the year.

The formula itself is kind of disappointing and capitalist, but the spirited nihilism of the calculations cannot be ignored. I would suggest that you write to a government of some sort to have it recognized as an official holiday. Imagine the parties. Or the parades. The Charlie Brown Special! It's gold, and best of all: it's science. Pure, concentrated science.

Respectfully,
Doug.

Quarterly Report.

Any suggestions on what we should use this thing for? I mean: what would enhance your enjoyment of The Paperbacks, and, by extension, our "blog"? I mentioned my own plans for it to be ostensibly used for tour journals or recording journals, but then almost immediately fall victim to misuse and malaise, perhaps even before touring or recording occur. But what would you like to see? Honestly, we live to serve. That is why we choose to make no money with our band, so we can all continue working in the service sector.

By the way, you all look very wonderful. That/those item(s) of clothing really suit(s) you. The singular version is in case you are wearing a radioactivity-protective jumper with connected facemask.

Here's some lyrics to a new song. I'll slowly begin posting some more if that would be of interest. It'll kind of be, like, "blog" exclusives. Even other band members don't see these things until 10 minutes before recording. I'm big on editorial. This blog entry, for example, took over 13 months to write.


A Plague of Doctors.

Graves, depicted on highway signs
To give pause to drivers prone to drifting off.
But in the mid-afternoon
As we drive towards the hospital
They are the scrying stones of oracles.

And when I’m there, they stare, because I’m the youngest here.
I embody their worst fears.
I embody their worst fears,
Because I could be a daughter or a son.
Genetic legacies at work.
I will linger like a curse.

Wherein you shall be beset by a plague of doctors who
Contradict each other and fight against you, too.

At night, cats flit around my bedroom, and
They press their heads to the fresh wounds of a surgery.
And the pain tears through me
But I grit my teeth and suffer it.
Oh, I’m exhausted by my fearlessness.

I know all bodies are inclined to death
And some incline more than the rest
Yes. Some incline more than the rest,
And are reduced to just a totem of these things:
The circumstances of your birth
The limits of your time on Earth.

Chorus.

Love and Rockets,
Doug.

p.s. That's not part of the song.

p.p.s. I'm playing a couple of acoustic shows on the 17th and 18th. Details are here.

Bold Mission Statement.

Well, okay, this all seems to be working. So this is The Paperbacks "blog", which I thought would be a handy tool for when we were traveling or recording or something and we were suddenly overcome with a violent, collective urge to say something to the "world". Also, I figured we could put up pictures. Can't you do things like that? I think you can. Anyway, that was my idea. Oh, and I also have some completely outlandish, nonlinear and largely misspelled theories about various random celebrities/financial institutions/sea creatures; this shall be my forum to expand upon them.

In all likelihood, this whole project will devolve into monosyllabic arguments between me and Jack about whatever's happening on the current episode of "Alias". But I foresee much magical text being issued while we slide down that slippery, slippery slope.

Before wrapping this all up, I feel compelled to mention that our website has been updated.

Happy New Year!

Sincerely,
Doug.

Introductory Blathering.

Hi!

Well, this is another step in our continuing battle to represent ourselves a little better on the intraweb, or whatever it's called. As always, I have no idea what I'm doing, so I'm just going to post this and then check it out to see how badly I screwed everything up.

Love and rockets,

Doug.