Our Dream Union from Gizmo Pictures on Vimeo.

A week ago, I was approached by Keith Walberg of GIZMO Pictures about a poetic opportunity. He and his comrades at GIZMO, like many of us, are concerned with the looming budgets cuts proposed for the state of Kansas, most especially, Governor Brownback’s proposal to eliminate the Kansas Arts Commission. This would make us the only state in the union without an arts council and eliminate support to numerous Kansas artists. Keith asked if the absence of this could inspire me to write a poem that, in turn, would inspire them to create a short film to help bring awareness to the topic. At first, I thought twice about the idea. I wasn’t sure if I was the right person, the right writer, to help GIZMO make a successful statement to the citizens and politicians of Kansas. My wife offered up the advice that my doubts were what the project was really about; the idea of individuals working together to stand up for something they believe in and create change. I sat down at the computer an hour later and wrote, “Our Dream Union” in about 45 minutes total.

When I was finished, I realized that the poem wasn’t for me or my wife or Keith, but it was for every one of us. The crew at GIZMO shared the sentiment entirely and Keith, Doug Stremel and Jeff Carson produced a film that takes the poem off of the page and fills each moment with imagery and inspiration in a way that only GIZMO can achieve. I thank them for giving me the opportunity to create with them and I also thank Dave Crawford, Kelle Thiessen and the mailman for bringing a new voice to the poem.

But the real decision is up to you all. I hope this inspires you as a work of art. But beyond that, I hope it inspires you to talk to your legislator and help us make sure we continue to support Kansas’s artists in the way they deserve.

Our Dream Union

The art of dreaming

begins at birth.

Daily visions of color and form,

bodies and warmth,

fashion themselves in dreams.

This discovery learning grows with us

as our minds widen further than sight,

contemplating cities, fields, space,

ourselves, each other.

Each dream is a construction inside us,

a palette of images together painting

the story of our pasts and futures,

our every days sculpted

by the variety of community textures.

Each one of us is an artist in our dreams

creating a unique masterpiece

of the mind’s understanding

to hold and cherish as our own.

There are those who take us beyond

our dreams and into their own.

They use their art to illustrate secret emotions,

paint us the vibrant histories and places,

sing life and passion and inspiration.

These brave dreamers are the voices of truth,

the writers of legends and the models of possibilities.

Without them, our own songs sit quietly.

With them, we all chorus together unbound,

allied in a shared image of compassion,

supporting one another’s aspirations,

united in our dreams of the stars.

[ Feb. 2011 | Matt Porubsky | video courtesy GIZMO Pictures on Vimeo ]

They say ignorance is bliss. I have to agree in most respects. I mean look at kids: of course that have their own stressors and apprehensions, but don’t you sometimes look at kids running around a playground and think, “If they only knew what real life was like?” or maybe you think, “I wish I was that carefree.” I am not saying kids are “ignorant,” but the loads and preoccupations of adult life make the bliss of childish ignorance seem that much more blissful. Well, I’m not here to help. I am here to ruin something that to even adult ears seems innocent and happy-go-lucky: nursery rhymes. From Yankee Doodle to Miss Mary Mack, these lyrics are full of hidden meaning, passive aggression and just downright disturbing images…when you are educated to what is there. No more bliss for you and your recitation of childhood rhymes! Let’s get to the real juicy ones.

Ring Around the Rosie

Now, some of you may know this one, but to you innocent ones, have you ever heard of the Bubonic Plague? They also called it “The Black Death.” Let me set a scene for you: It’s London, 1665, and every 1 out of 3 people are dying around you. One of the first symptoms of the plague is a red rash on the skin in the shape of a ring….ring a bell? In those days, it was believed that the plague was spread by horrible smells, so most folks carried around a pocket or small sack of herbs or flowers. Most of the bodies were destroyed in mass burnings and the ashes would filter around the town with the wind. And maybe some of you don’t say “ashes, ashes” and say “atishoo, atishoo.” Just know that along with a rosy rash, sneezing was another tell tale sign of “The Black Death.” Think of that next time you see a group of four-year-olds happily prancing and singing this in a circle. Maybe it was a coping mechanism for kids of that time…pretty dark though, right?

Mary, Mary Quite Contrary

Speaking of dark, you are going to love this one. King Henry VIII had a daughter who was named Mary Tudor. You may know her by another name: Bloody Mary. She was ruthless ruler who wasn’t opposed to keeping control through violence. So when the rhyme says, “‘How does your garden grow?” they don’t mean a lovely English garden. It means a stone garden, or cemetery you might call it. The seeming nonsensical “silver bells and cockle shells” are also not what they seem. They are thought to be torture devices. I’m not going to say what cockle shells were, but it wasn’t pleasant. “Silver bells”‘ are thought to be thumbscrews that squished the thumb or finger between two shiny metal pieces. Yeah, the cockle shells were worse. “Pretty maids” sounds nice, but it’s not. Bloody Mary liked to use a precursor of the guillotine on her non-complying subjects. It was called a Maiden. I also have to add that Mary Tudor is said to be in another nursery rhyme: three blind mice.  She didn’t use the pretty Maids in this case and only blinded the three noblemen who plotted against her.

I guess I should stop and let you soak this all in. I didn’t even begin to tell you about the original versions of fairy tales and how the prince in Cinderella was told to look for blood in the glass slipper because women would cut their feet so they would fit or how every step the little mermaid took on land felt as if she were walking on glass. So look at your favorite childhood story and see what’s really behind it or just live blissfully ignorant.

[ Jan. 2011 | Matt Porubsky | photo courtesy greenwichworkshop.com ]

The tuning of a set of bagpipes is a raucous procedure. It is similar to the sound a goose might make if it drank too much Scotch and decided to recite a rousing militant monologue from Shakespeare’s Henry V. Let’s put it a different way. It is the sound of necessary blasting to find the perfect synchronization that, when found, creates a rapturous and expanding beauty of air that cannot be ignored.

That’s how the seveneightfive Scotch tasting began. It ended in a similar way, but I’ll get to that in a minute.

This is going to be a short one. I’ll spare you most of the details of the night. They will remain in the memories of each person who filled the Java Bar for this singular experience. Here are some things I want to share along with these photos: our crowd was diverse from age to an ancestral heritage and ready to be led through each sip to find its full potency, our presenters and musicians displayed a truly unique look at Scottish art and culture and I can quickly and efficiently pour 40 shots of whisky. Also, I now know that drinking whisky actually helps you pour whisky better and faster. The smoked salmon pâté and cheese fit perfectly between the Scotches while Tom read Scottish prose and poems. I saw a group of participants being educated in something they enjoy,  a few taking notes on their menus, to discover new avenues of tastes and appreciation. The night was full of smiles and laughter.

The evening ended in an air of camaraderie and discussion. Tables debated their favorites of the night and had second tastings of a few while Tom and the other presenters went table to table to answer questions and ask if each person had a good time. I was able to step back and look at the room that a few hours before was empty but for two tuning bagpipers, now full of people in harmonious conversation. I didn’t have to ask anyone if they had a good time. I already knew.

Thanks to Tom, Barry, Bill, Sandi, Pat, Leah and Kerri. See all the rest of you there next time.

Matt Porubsky is not a licensed therapist, statistician, historian or medical professional. But he is the 2009 Distinguished Kansan of the Year in arts and entertainment. Take that! Most of the time he just makes stuff up. But all of these stories are based on actual events.

[ Oct. 2010 | Matt Porubsky | photos by Matt Porubsky and Kerrice Mapes ]

To reserve a seat at the Scotch Tasting, call 215-8460

As some of you may know, you really don’t need to twist my arm too much to get me to have a drink in the middle of the afternoon. In fact, my arm usually is the first to be raised when someone might say, “Who needs a drink?” Yes, please. I have had quite a bit to drink in the past ten years or so: beer from Germany, tequila from Mexico, sangria from Spain, vodka from Russia, Tuaca from Terry’s Bar and Grill. The one drink I had never experienced was Scotch. I knew there was only one person who could take me step-by-step to true appreciation of the drink on my first sip. That man is known to some as the Interim Chair of the English Department at Washburn University, to others as a great Kansas writer, poet and critic, still others by his penname that I can’t say but those of you who know what I am talking about know what I am talking about and once I even heard someone call him, “Dude.” I call him the best hot pickle eater in town and my drinking buddy: Thomas Fox Averill. He knows about scotch. Hell, he wrote a book about it and just about every other thing Scottish. He’s even actually made haggis and can tell you what the hardest part of the whole procedure is. But we aren’t going to get into a sheep’s stomach and the grass they eat here. We are here to talk about the great liberator and muse: Scotch.

“Each Scotch in Scotland has its own unique water that’s mixed with the scotch to give it the kind of taste it has,” Tom told me. I will add here that Tom and I are not adding water to our scotch. We are having it “Neat.” No ice. No water. Just Scotch.

Tom and I swirl the Scotch in our glasses as the midday sun slips through the blinds of Reed’s Ringside Sports Bar & Grill. It seems a little odd place to have a scotch but let me tell you we got a helluv-a-lota Scotch for our money. Just saying if you like Scotch Reed’s serves it well. Anyway, the visual of the scotch is first. The thin waves cling to the glass and slowly siphon back.

Next, the smell is sampled. At first it hits you right across the eyebrows but then filters in beyond startling and the subtle hints are revealed.

“Now, just a taste,” Tom says. We take a sip. The throttle of it startles my throat and I let a slight cough. Tom laughs a bit as he begins, “Just a taste and ask, ‘Is my mouth happy?’”

The next step was a full drink. “It’s a different kind of animal when it hits your throat,” Tom says as he takes his drink. I follow and am flooded with heat and a strum of intensity. “It has a good kick.”

“Now take a few deep breaths.” Tom breathes and closes his eyes. I follow suit and the heavy metal band in the background is silenced by the lull of the strong liquor. “Let your body process it a bit,” Tom leads. “After a while a flavor will come back to you.” It was like meditating.

I asked him how Scotch was made and he answered off the top of his head better than Wikipedia ever could. So here it is, word for word:

“They get the grain and ferment it, just like any alcohol, with yeast and at a certain point they stop the fermentation process by heating it up. Not enough to burn off the alcohol but just enough to stop it. Then there is that sloshy mixture called, ‘The Wart.’ And it’s interesting, in Malory’s, Le Morte d’Arthur, King Arthur’s nickname when he was young was, ‘Wart.’ He is just a little, tiny smidgen of what he is to become once he has aged. Then you add the yeast to all of that and the sugars and get it going. After that, you put it into a gooseneck kind of thing and heat it up and only the good stuff drops down. That’s very pure stuff, that’s real high alcohol content. You put the alcohol into kegs and you let it age out for ten years, fifteen years, and of course, some of it evaporates out of the cask. They lose a lot to evaporation and they call that the “Angels’ Share.” Then once it has aged, then they take it out and mix it to the proper strength with the water, which is so important. Scotland has very strict environmental laws because one of the main exports is single-malt whisky. They add the water to a certain proof. The old-fashioned proof meant that they would actually use it to light fires. They would shoot off gunpowder with it and that was the proof that is was strong. This is a good one and it’s getting sweeter.”

I snapped back to the sense of the drink and noticed the sugar taste, like a sweet mixed drink, had replaced the strangled hold of intensity originally felt.

Next came some of the wisest words I have ever heard: “The only thing better than Scotch is more Scotch. Even bad Scotch gets better.”

I told you he was a poet, right?

“If you made it in Kansas, if you bought the Scottish barley and everything, it couldn’t be called ‘Scotch,’ because it is regionally protected. Like Champagne and it is supposed to be true of Parmesan cheese and Basmati rice.”

A completely original Scottish experience in each glass. Could I interest you in six? That’s one of the real reasons I am sharing this with you. On October 20 from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. at the Java Bar next to Ice & Olives Tom will be leading The seveneightfive Scotch Tasting so you can experience it the way I did…just six times over with six different single-malt scotches from various regions of Scotland. I’ll be there, too. Tom will also supply more information about distilling and distilleries, read some Scottish poetry and from his book, The Slow Air of Ewan Macpherson, play some bagpipe music and chew the fat with you about all things Scottish.

Co-owner Sandy Wilbur prepares a tasting at the Java Bar at Ice + Olives

If you are interested, you need to call 785-215-8460 to make your reservations, and there are only 40 seats available. It is $25 per seat but you get a lot for that, including some snacks, some Scottish, some not, supplied by Ice & Olives. Did I mention you’ll get to taste six different Scotches some costing nearly one hundred dollars a bottle?

Anyway, I’ll see you there and Tom can take us all through it, step-by-step, to appreciate the truly unique taste of scotch and Scottish culture.

Matt Porubsky is not a licensed therapist, statistician, historian or medical professional. But he is the 2009 Distinguished Kansan of the Year in arts and entertainment. Take that! Most of the time he just makes stuff up. But all of these stories are based on actual events.

[ Oct. 2010 | Matt Porubsky | map courtesy campsmoke.fmallen.com | other photos by Leah Sewell ]

I know I haven’t posted anything in awhile. Don’t think I haven’t been working on things. I certainly have been. I realized a few weeks ago that I had been neglecting something very important in my life: poetry. Poetry used to be the only kind of writing I did and over the years I have found several other outlets for my creativity. But poetry has always been what I do best, what makes me happiest. The past three weeks I feel like I have been joyously reunited with an old friend.

In 2006, Coal City Press in Lawrence, Kansas, published my first book of poetry, “voyeur poems.” At that time, I had no draw to write journalistically at all and blogs were few and far between. When Leah came into my life, so did a new kind of support for my writing which led to my confidence in a new style of writing. When seveneightfive magazine came around, not only could Leah and I share our writing with fellow Topekans, but I had the opportunity to become poetry editor and share the work of other poets in the community with our readers. This was the beginning of my neglect for poetry, in a way. I was so involved with getting others’ poems out for people to read and writing stories for seveneightfive that my poetry started to disappear from my priority list. Not to mention my other duties with two children, my job with the railroad, the conception, execution and promotion of the documentary film “Porubsky’s – Transcendent Deli,” and, among other things, the arrival of this blog. I had a lot on my list. I still do but I am starting to prioritize a little differently.

Last issue, I handed over the poetry editor position to the capable hands of Dennis Etzel Jr. and assumed an interim managing editor position for a short time. Ande Davis has since returned to the managing editor position so I am now a writer/photographer for seveneightfive. Also, a few weeks ago, GIZMO Pictures and myself completed a final additional scene for the documentary, a hot pickle-eating contest featuring the firefighters of Topeka Fire Station no.3. Even though there is still editing to do, that was the last big piece toward the final cut of the movie. Leah and I finished the design of an international literature journal, Coal City Review, as well. Poetry slipped into the places in my mind and creativity that had previously been occupied by all these things. I have written and edited over a dozen new poems since. Talk about opening the floodgates.

I realized the importance of this poetic overflow on my way to Kansas City to work the other morning. I was heading East on I-70 and there was a storm moving in from the north with the sun rising behind the rolling-thunder clouds. The sun lit the dark clouds electric and they were colored in bloom like a deep space nebula.

deep space nebula

My first thought was to grab my phone, take a photo and share it with everyone on Facebook, but I stopped. I know it is not safe to do all that while driving, but that wasn’t the reason. I wanted to keep it for me. I wanted to keep the vision of this sunrise special to me, and me alone. I took a deep breath and watched the rising unfold in Technicolor. I realized how much I had been sharing and how little I was exclusively holding onto and fully appreciating. It was like a moment after writing a poem: that moment where it belongs to me, unedited and original. An honest expression.

I enjoy writing this blog and even more that people gain enjoyment from it. Satisfactual will not end and neither will my involvement with seveneightfive. It will be trimmed down, though. This blog probably won’t happen every week, but it will happen. My main focus, besides finishing some current collaborations I am still working on, will be seeking publication for a completed manuscript of sonnets and to finish writing a third book of poetry. So, if you ever wonder why it has been a couple weeks and why the heck isn’t Matt working on stuff, know that I am. I am working on other things that I will be happy to share with you when it is ready. I hope you all will be there to share it with me when the time comes.

Matt Porubsky is not a licensed therapist, statistician, historian or medical professional. But he is the 2009 Distinguished Kansan of the Year in arts and entertainment. Take that! Most of the time he just makes stuff up. But all of these stories are based on actual events.

[ July 2010 | Matt Porubsky | photos by Kevin Rabas / contributed ]
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Today is my and Leah’s three year wedding anniversary. This prompted me to go through some old files of writing and I found this article that details our first road trip together. It’s not just about my “Illustrious Travel Companion” and me, though. It is a time capsule in a point of Topeka’s history on the cusp of change. Four years ago this month, I submitted this piece of non-fiction to Washburn University’s arts and entertainment magazine, the ARGO. Leah, the then Editor-In-Chief of the ARGO and I had recently completed our first big arts event, The Jayhawk Theatre Revival, and were ready for a break. The Revival had a great showing and we did raise some funds to help the theater, but it seemed to us that the rest of downtown Topeka was still stagnating. This was pre-seveneightfive magazine (its premiere issue wouldn’t be out for another few months) and the ARGO was the only publication trying to push change along and have the voice of Topeka be one of pride and less of defense.

The idea of our downtown was heavy in our minds as we saw the similarities and differences.

I’ll also say that this is a LONG one. There is a contemporary epilogue at the end when you need me to wrap it up.

***

Stemming from a growing disillusionment with my surroundings and the simple things that are here in Topeka and aren’t here in Topeka, I gave my Illustrious Travel Companion a wink, packed lightly, purchased a variety of crackers, created a makeshift pallet with old pillows from my closet in the back of the Explorer and set out for the North. Escaping a town can be simple but there is something that lingers along that can’t be hidden behind music and miles and hours of silent speech.

Finally existing in Waterloo, IA.

A road trip consisting of two daydreamers sharing directions and driving isn’t the safest of ways to travel. It could be a elderly man grooming a overrun cemetery on the side of the road or a strangely shaped cloud or cracker that causes road signs and off-ramps to be shrugged off until it is finally realized you are eighty miles off course in the middle of Iowa. Along with this, a quick u-turn and an old highway is the way we cruised into Waterloo, a small college town in Eastern Iowa.

Coming into town we were instantly transported back to Wanamaker Street in Topeka by the generic strips of stores, corporate roads to parking lots moving in casino circles to trap you in to commit reoccurring commerce, clone-like store signs pushing constellations to blindness in hopes of that one person who will love their new triple-patty Philly cheese steak burger that is only around for a limited time. So we sought the usual escape and searched for a drink.

The walls of A.J.’s were lined with windows filled with a classic collection of beer cans and bottles, shining dim through dust and rust spots, with peeling labels reading, “Big Cat Malt Liquor,” “Hamm’s Real Draft” and “Metbrew Near Beer.” For a Saturday night the place was relatively vacant except for the usual construction workers playing pool, the absent-dated ladies scowling in the corner, servers drinking more than serving and silent drunks waiting to speak. I stepped to a table of young noisemakers to see if this place was the spot.

“This a blue collar bar, a getaway,” commented Nelson who was defined by his friends as being his own brand of cattle. “It’s amazing how many people you meet here that are from somewhere else and I say, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ What the hell are you doing here?” I started to respond that I was writing a piece for an arts and entertainment magazine in Kansas but was quickly ceased by the whole bar singing Garth Brooks’ “Standing Outside the Fire.”

My Illustrious Travel Companion asked with blinking bronze eyes if the bar was chorusing, “Standing Outside the Barn,” and then I realized we weren’t far enough away from home yet.

Subtle Rockford, IL.

The landscape began to filter away from familiar Kansas’ coils and overgrowth to a prim and shaped line of sight in fields and freeways as we made our way into Illinois. The farmway roads took us deeper through thick tree canopies and wide tilled and fertilized fields with a vision of a nuclear power plant fuming in the distance on the way to downtown Rockford.

The downtown was quiet and still but, as opposed to Topeka’s, had filled store fronts and stood classic with few renovated sections keeping the downtown the way it was started and sustained with a air of concern and circulation. There were pool halls, numerous restaurants and bars, theatres and shops embracing the Rock River’s slow streaming.

Visions of Topeka crept along in an envious fashion: the idea of being able to walk with a river without having to climb through rocks and tall weeds watching for trash and broken glass that adds insult to inconvenience, the idea of walking downtown and not seeing as many empty shops as filled. I reconciled myself to a white cheddar Cheez-It, where I knew I would find satisfaction.

It’s pronounced, “Eau Claire.”

Wisconsin brought on the northern trees, tall, pined and thick, and a much more adventurous view along with a total dead deer count for the day of 23. We believed Eau Claire, Wisconsin to be a fine place to stop for the evening when we continuously viewed signs stating the direction for the downtown, thinking them to be providential challenges.

The signs ceased and we arrived in downtown to find it in sad shape. Not many storefronts, even less people about and the only signs of life consisting of bars and auto repair joints and strange reproductions of DaVinci’s “Mona Lisa” attached to the sides of random buildings. To escape from the void of absence and Renaissance art, we sought refuge at the end of the main strip in a tall green bar with wide windows by the name of Wigwam Tavern.

Now this was a blue-collar bar. Dropping eaves as I usually do, I overheard patrons stating they were coming in for a drink before going to the shop and talking about their weekly hangover Sundays. I didn’t work up the gumption to ask the name of the man who stated matter-of-factly, “So I just threw some sticks of dynamite in the living room.”

My Illustrious Travel Companion ordered a salad but neither of us were prepared, and I’m not telling tales here, for the mountainous amount of cheese on the damn thing. The rumors of Wisconsin are indigestibly true.

Just to hear the accent and for general information, the waitress had to be questioned. “The downtown is in the middle of a re-do,” Elisa informed in her own Sconnie way, “The town started as a loggin’ town and when that went away so did a lot of everything else.” She continued about how they have a farmers market daily on the Chippewa River, which runs by downtown, and how they have local art shows where the art is displayed from a projector onto the side of a building before she told us she had to go check on the fryer. It sounded as if the community was realizing and becoming involved with what could happen instead of the way it is. A concerned community is something every downtown should have.

We were directed to another bar that Elisa said that we would, “luuv,” called Clancey’s. I was leery of the suggestions based on stereotyping but the place was tops! We were served vodka tonics in mason jars, fell into two free games of pool and the jukebox, for any sized town, was phenomenal having choices of Ryan Adams, Buena Vista Social Club, Shins, Bob Dylan, My Morning Jacket and a mysterious version of “House of the Rising Sun” by Nina Simone. There were distracting paintings of parrots in sunglasses muralling the place and a head of a mountain goat mounted facing the bar, but yes, Elisa, stereotype away. My Illustrious Travel Companion gave me a knowing wink and I felt like I was truly on vacation.

Unbeatable Minneapolis, MN.

The trip continued in that fashion as we flew through St. Paul to Minneapolis and its spotless streets and gutters, northern air and simple welcomes of skyscrapers and brick buildings, the looming presence of the arts embraced as we picked up magazine after magazine focused on arts and entertainment in the cities.

Dinkytown is near the University of Minnesota just over bridges and across streets where there are numerous bookstores and coffee shops that call in the most pleasing views of community. Just downstairs in the Dinkytowner Café you can find a special of eggs and toast for two dollars and fifty cents and have a New Castle as you wait and play pool on red felt. The walls are mirrors and there is no way to be unhappy with what is seen all around.

From there we smiled our way to Nicollette Street where there are fourteen blocks known as “Eat Street,” comprised of restaurants, Chinese markets, bars and some of the finest scents in the city. My illustrious travel companion suggested Malaysian cuisine and we strutted into The Peninsula, which was said to employ the finest Malaysian chef…well, this side of Malaysia. I suggested a tall glass of Sapporo and the shrimp pancakes. It sounds unimaginable and that is the same way it tastes. Outside the window, volunteers picked the street clean of trash.

The cascade of classiness in each establishment continued. There was the Loon Café downtown where they call Jäger Bombs Viagras and there was Dulono’s with its small bluegrass stage in the back, shingled roofs inside and a pizza comprised of tomatoes, onions, green peppers, pineapple, pepperoni, mushrooms and garlic and a scent in the place that seeps into your clothes.

More impressive than this was a place called Bryant Lake Bowl on Lake Street. The front sidewalk was a dotting of pews and tables for hipsters, artists, mothers and smokers. The front half of the joint was a bar and restaurant offering drinks like a Russian Spring and a Palmer along with portions of grilled salmon, salads and gourmet pizzas. Toward the back was a full bowling alley, greased and primed for whoever had the guts, and over to the left of that was the theatre where that week you could see “Attack of the Atomic Trash Monster’s Bride.” Later that week was performance art and a controversial puppet show.

Speak-Easy Chicago.

Leah in China Town (film)

My Illustrious Travel Companion was reading to me from a poetry book by William Stafford called “Kansas Poems” and we again lost our way and I sweated as a Kansan in Chicago traffic. With near misses and sporadic movements, we made it to the Lucky Platter on Main and Chicago Avenue. The stage for the brunch was set by folk art around the café; a picture of John Kennedy with an over-sized head, a mongoose made of cans and forks and golf-ball-sized foil balls glued to the ceiling. I had grilled turkey hash topped with mozzarella beside thick, crisp toast and two eggs over medium. I felt as if we were eating in my kitchen.

A long ride on the El-train around and under the city took us to China Town. Its elaborate buildings and coercing aromas made us wish the Lucky Platter had been hours ago. As the rain sifted down in drops nearly mist, we decided that there had to be some kind of taste made of China Town, so headed up a long flight of stairs to Won Kow for some authentic sake.

Matt in China Town (film)

The old Asian Bartender repeated our orders and poured us two servings. He then filled two tea kettles with steaming water and put our sakes inside after pouring our first shots. Burnt fingertips are a small price to pay for euphoria. I saw a map of the United States on the wall and wasn’t sure where I was.

The Green Mill is one of the most famous bars in Chicago, having a rich history from the prohibition days, including both jazz musicians and mobsters, which probably excuses its horrendous bathroom, dank with only bar soap, and the overly moody staff. The stage was set for an 18-piece band that evening and the regulars were adamantly discussing sales tax as my companion and I drank vodka tonics from miniature fish bowls.  A customer made an order and our waitress/bartender stepped to the place in the bar in front of us, bent over to lift something, all this followed by a loud slam and the sound of a latch. The woman then sank in steps behind the bar and was gone. In amazement, we peered over the bar to see that she had entered and secret room where they once must have stored moonshine and had hidden good times and laughs away from any cop who hadn’t been paid off or was drinking themselves. The others in the place hardly noticed, but my Illustrious Travel Companion and myself knew there was nothing like this back home, and we would be on our way back there the next day.

Talkin’ Top-City Blues.

From circumstances beyond our control, someplace between fortune and fate, our road trip ended in Chicago and we hopped a plane from O’Hare back to K.C. We were shortly back in Topeka with articles to write and lingering memories of recent glories. Driving downtown proved to be slow and disheartening. It all seemed a vague reflection of what could be if the city had some gumption to take a step away from its normal movement West and stand strong in the true heart of the city. I saw many things that this city could be in our trip: embracing of the arts, courage to make a change, realizing the attributes this city has and punctuating on them. There is no reason for this place to seem somber and lacking…unless really nobody cares and this town stays the way it has always been, full of nothing but talk.

***

The ending seems a little harsh. It was very true, though. Four years ago nothing was happening downtown. Since then, our community has gone beyond talk and taken leaps and bounds. Let’s take a roll call: RowHouse Restaurant, Warehouse 414, Break Room, Tinkham-Veale Up/Down Gallery, Hazel Hill, Marion Lane, Wrap City, Buttercups and Daisies, Kansan Grill, Upstage Gallery, The Office, Giovanni’s Pizzeria, Topeka Community Cycle Project, Three Flowers Metaphysical Treasures, Dupree’s, Avenue Hairstyling and Day Spa and not to mention the newest members Blue Planet Café and GIZMO Pictures. BOOYEAH! We all should be proud but realize there is a lot more work ahead of us. In 2012, the renovations of our Capitol Building will be completed…kind of exciting to think about what else will be downtown by the time that ribbon cutting happens.

Matt Porubsky is not a licensed therapist, statistician, historian or medical professional. But he is the 2009 Distinguished Kansan of the Year in arts and entertainment. Take that! Most of the time he just makes stuff up. But all of these stories are based on actual events.

[ July 2010 | Matt Porubsky | reprinted from the ARGO (via right reversion) June 2006 | photos by Matt Porubsky and Leah Sewell ]

About a month and a half ago, the beginning stages of deconstruction to the Center
Building at the former Topeka State Hospital Grounds got my mind rolling. Today, the head of the Center Building was rolling, brick by brick, to the ground for all to see. It caved into itself like so many who found it home years and years ago. Living down the street, I was able to watch it crumble, visiting almost every hour, until its face was shattered to piles and sifted to dust. In my final encounter with the building as a whole, or, rather, as it fell from a whole to pieces, I saw the places between over a century-year-old bricks split and shatter. I was humbled by the ideas and emotions that had been trapped in those walls and plaster now sent as clouds into the wind.

A place like the Center Building is also an example of the ease of commenting and criticizing after the fact. Why wasn’t something done? Why couldn’t we save it? Why do they have to tear a beautiful piece of architecture like that down? I guess I ask, What did we do to save it? I saw dozens of folks there taking pictures of the building splintered to ruins. Are they going to make sure this doesn’t happen again, to our existing historical structures? Am I?

These questions lead me to think about our city as a whole…that leads me to downtown…and that leads me to seveneightfive magazine. Four years ago, when the magazine began, there were no other organizations routinely on peoples’ radars showing them what was going on in the City of Topeka and especially downtown. When seveneightfive magazine started with the tagline, “Proving Topeka’s nightlife is more than a vicious rumor” no one else had the guts to say that, then. There are many groups now that are painted with the colors of a vibrant Topeka, the now and the future. I have to say, you could check your backlog of stories in seveneightfive magazine and on our site and you’ll find information on the building I saw being destroyed today, the early stages of ReThink and Think Big Topeka, Chords and Oil and all other arts and entertainment happenings in the city from four years ago to the present. We were and are the alternative source for information in Topeka.

Over the years since, Topeka’s pride has swelled and we are certainly proud of that pride. My understanding is, a lot of folks don’t recognize what needs to be done until they have some kind of investment in it. Back in the day, the Center Building was a symbol of one of the great things about our city. Now it is gone.

I must be a little grumpy. Maybe it’s the dust from a recent demolition settling on my sidewalk, a defeat coming a little close to home. Maybe it is the weird taste in my mouth from the dust clouds themselves, softly floating through the neighborhoods. Maybe I am thinking about the way that we are always building on something that has come before us. There are instances in this city that have made it great and some that have made it much less than that. seveneightfive magazine has always been a publication to express and share the views of the evolution for our town. There is a need to work together to make things happen. If we ever let you down, realize we are trying to cover everything for everyone. If we don’t let you down, let everyone know what we are up to. If you think we might be dropping the ball, take a look at where the ball was before it was in our court and how we let you know it was there.

It is strange to think that this whole line of thought started from watching the building fall. It is an ugly thing. I have seen worse, though. I just don’t want to see it again. Let’s all make that not happen.

Matt Porubsky is not a licensed therapist, statistician, historian or medical professional. But he is the 2009 Distinguished Kansan of the Year in arts and entertainment. Take that! Most of the time he just makes stuff up. But all of these stories are based on actual events.

[ July 2010 | Matt Porubsky | photos by Matt Porubsky ]

I didn’t know Micah Rolfs very well. I knew his name and photos from his work with the magazine. I have very few memories of him and they are very much like the artwork he shared in seveneightfive magazine: pictures. The first time I met him was before last year’s Arty Party at Oscars. He was sitting with Kerri, the publisher of the magazine, at the bar. We shared some excitement for the evening, but I don’t remember anything we really said to one another. Then, another evening at College Hill Tavern, I was out with my friends Brie and Zach after a graduation party and saw Micah there with some of his friends. They were dancing and jumping to the live music and Micah was happy behind his camera, documenting the night for everyone to remember. He took a picture of Brie and Zach and I that night.

Matt, Brie and Zach, photo by Micah Rolfs

I can’t remember saying anything to him, but I do know that he was having a blast and helping everyone else to share that same feeling. When “Porubsky’s – Transcendent Deli,” a documentary I co-created with GIZMO Pictures, premiered at Hollywood 14 Theaters, Micah somehow was the only person there with a camera and managed to document that night for me. I was running around like a crazy person, but through Micah’s pictures, I was later able to enjoy the night in a way I never could have if he hadn’t been thoughtful enough to bring his camera.

At the Porubsky's Transcendent Deli premiere, photo by Micah Rolfs

Hours before Micah slipped into a diabetic coma, he attended a contributors meeting for seveneightfive. I wasn’t there, but my wife Leah told me later that evening how well the meeting had gone and, strangely enough, how excited Micah was about his next assignment, a photo essay of the renovations of the Capitol Building. I really didn’t know him, but I was glad the meeting went well. I think it was the next afternoon that Leah called me and told me what had happened to Micah. Just about everyone I knew either worked with him or rode in Critical Mass with him or went to Universalist Unitarian Fellowship with him or were friends with him. They were all in a kind of slow moving shock, like a cloud of breath on a cold, cold night. I can’t imagine how his family felt. I didn’t know him, though. Those next few days were full of changing information and fluxing emotion and everything was up in the air. My next real memory of Micah was the celebration of his life a few days after he passed away. It was during that mosaic of Micah’s life and accomplishments that I first learned about his love of kites.

When I heard that ReThink Topeka’s next event was to be Micah’s Kite Flight I wasn’t surprised. The artists of ReThink Topeka and the riders of Critical Mass, along with many others, painted and shared a last image of art on the coffin Micah’s body was laid to rest in. His impact on their lives cannot be written and, again, I really didn’t know him, so I can’t share those kinds of feelings. Something happened for me at the kite flight, though.

ReThink Topeka events always have a light and carefree mood, so it is completely natural to enjoy yourself and just go with it. I think at one point I was trying to fly two kites and take a picture at the same time.

It was liberating to let my kids run through the fields around the Governor’s Mansion and exhilarating to get kites in the air and watch them swerve, bend and climb higher and higher. With the heat of the day, I was completely opposed to a hike through the woods, but when my daughter wanted to join in on a hike and I let myself lighten up, we went ahead and headed into the flora. The short hike, though, the short one.

We were led through a winding trail and saw beaver-gnawed tree stubs, blue and black dragonflies and knee high Queen Anne’s Lace, stretching high and fanning out, like the kites flying in the distance.

When we got back to the kite flying site, I started to help my son fly his kite, which happened to be sporting a fantastic design of Brobee, from Yo Gabba Gabba, wearing a pair of huge headphones. He was a natural with the kite. He would tug and pull and tease the kite in the wind, letting it move freely. His smile was breathtaking. He was doing it and he knew it: that’s why it was so breathtaking. While I was watching, I noticed that Micah’s mother, LaVetta, was there and was watching him fly his kite. I introduced myself, mentioned that I knew of Micah and was glad to finally meet her. She didn’t bother with small talk and shared her excitement for the event and told me that a couple of Micah’s kites were being flown, not as well as he could have done, but they were being flown. I thought about asking her how she felt about an event like this named for her son, but it didn’t seem right. She started to comment on my son’s kite flying ability as Brobee nose-dived into the grass. She was quick the grab the kite to help him get it back in the air. She had seen his explosive enjoyment and was ready and willing to help him get to that moment again. I thought of Micah and that night when he was taking pictures at the College Hill bar of all his friends.

Watching LaVetta helping my son fly a kite, I think I finally got to know Micah, in a way. I will never know him in the way his family did and does. I will never know him in the way that his friends in ReThink know and still do, along with those in Critical Mass Topeka and seveneightfive. But what I did see was his mother sharing a moment with my son. I did see the happiness in the faces of everyone there at the Governor’s Mansion as they tricked kites into the air to fly in circles and sways. I did enjoy every minute that I was able to take photos of my children and friends to save that exact moment and the emotions contained within. I finally knew Micah Rolfs in a way: the idea of appreciating a moment, preserving it and enjoying it for all it was worth.

Matt Porubsky is not a licensed therapist, statistician, historian or medical professional. But he is the 2009 Distinguished Kansan of the Year in arts and entertainment. Take that! Most of the time he just makes stuff up. But all of these stories are based on actual events.

[June 2010 | Matt Porubsky | photos by Matt Porubsky + Micah Rolfs]

There is a new magazine in town. Brand spankin’ new. We here at seveneightfive have been trying to keep it “hush-hush,” but now is the time to start spreading the word…we just want to make sure the info you are hearing and reading is true. My friends, that’s why I have always been here for you. XYZ magazine is our new magazine and it is here for you and everyone else you know. XYZ.

Our tagline for XYZ is “everything for Topeka families.” Months ago, the editors of seveneightfive recognized that everything that happens in Topeka cannot be covered in seveneightfive magazine and those omitted topics seemed to center around family and child oriented material. We saw that there was no publication in our fair city that exclusively curtailed to this audience. It is Topeka’s widest audience, from great-grandparents to grandchildren, and there needed to be a voice that shared information with them about Topeka that they may not know. XYZ magazine came from those realizations.

There has been a lot of information circling around town about our new sister magazine. This really hasn’t been a surprise to us since we know we have been a little tight-lipped about it. We are glad everyone is talking and sharing anything they know about XYZ. It is something we are very excited and proud of and we are glad that the excitement is shared by our future readers. So, to go along with everyone else, I am going to share the information I have about the publication, which is right from the horseseses mouths. By horseseses, I mean the publisher Kerri Mapes and the editor Leah Sewell.

This is what I know about XYZ magazine:

- XYZ is a quarterly magazine by season. Yesterday was the first day of summer, and the magazine that came out on that day is the summer issue. Subsequent issues will be released for Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer again and so on. It is a fifty page magazine (with more pages slated each issue) and it is full-color. It gleams with vibrancy. Verily.

- We got the issue in-hand yesterday. It arrived two days earlier than we thought it would. We were able to distribute it to our advertisers and a couple of the businesses featured in the articles. In the coming days, we will be getting them out to more places. Here are some sure fire places to pick one up: Warehouse 414, Via’s Pizzeria, O’Dooley’s, Merry Maids, the Topeka Shawnee County Public Library, ERC, The Mulvane Art Lab and Envy Salon. Check our new website, xyztopeka.com, for a full listing of places.

- What do we cover? Just about anything. We answer questions on where to go out to eat with picky eaters and where to have the coolest kid parties. There are recipes from local chefs/moms/grandpas/teachers/doctors…something always different. There is information on youth art and artists, how to save a boatload with coupons and picture searches where you have to find what is missing or changed. Not to mention a stellar calendar of events.

- The staff is made up of quite a few of our regular seveneightfive staffers, talented photographers and writers who were enthusiastic when we approached them to write about kids and families. There are some newbies, too, like Heather McKee, the calendar editor, who has been running TopekaParents.com for over a year, Justin and Bailey Marable, local artists who know a whole lot about art for children and Karli Davis, with her superhero-like design skills.

- Find us on Facebook for updates and check out our website for everything else: www.xyztopeka.com, which is still in its infancy, but will grow with each day. You will be able to subscribe to XYZ magazine on the website. This is very important, which leads me to my next point.

- This first issue is FREE. After this issue, XYZ will be a subscription-based magazine with there being a few local places of business where they will be available. These places are yet to be determined, but go to our website for updates or subscribe now at a discounted rate.  Business subscriptions are available and are a great way to offer the publication in your office.

- You can also pick up a magazine and subscribe at our launch part on June 26 at Kansan Grill, 705 S. Kansas Avenue, from 11:30 am to 1:30 pm. The discounted subscription price will be available at the event along with live music, balloon animals, face painting and 20 percent off your lunch. It is a part of the Topeka Tweet Up, and afterwards, at 4 p.m., you can join us for the ReThink Topeka event, “Micah’s Kite Flight.”

That’s what I’ve got. You might have more questions and feel free to ask. I’ll talk to the horseseses. One thing you can do for us is keep spreading the word. We are proud to be celebrating the fourth anniversary of seveneightfive magazine this summer and we are extremely happy to have a new little sister, XYZ, to share the celebration with. Please, if you believe in Topeka and believe in the people, places and families that make it great, share XYZ with them and join the good times all around town.

Matt Porubsky is not a licensed therapist, statistician, historian or medical professional. But he is the 2009 Distinguished Kansan of the Year in arts and entertainment. Take that! Most of the time he just makes stuff up. But all of these stories are based on actual events.

[ June 2010 | Matt Porubsky | image courtesy XYZ Magazine ]

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Sometimes we don’t realize what we have.

A proud assortment of supporters, organizers and dignitaries, foreign and local, gathered beneath a white tent today to honor Topeka’s newest point of pride, the “Lantern Light” sculpture by Master Ye Yushan. It has been the buzz of periodicals, television and the Internet. Heck, you can even read about it on our website. So all those facts about what Topeka has been honored with and the great people who made it possible I’ll leave to the pros because I know I would leave someone or something out. I’ll just tell you the scene: It was a dark and stormy night…just kidding. It was a dark and stormy day…

The ceremony started with a short-lived rain and a number of speeches beneath a tent some seventy yards away from the sculpture itself.  It seemed like half the attendants had cameras and were capturing every moment, from Mayor Bunten’s joke about renaming the sculpture, “Google,” to C.J. Wei, President of the Kansas City Chinese American Association, who provided an amusing anecdote about when he was twelve at the Beijing Hotel and had his first drink of Coca-Cola Classic and nearly vomited. The speeches were honorable and noted all those who should have been thanked. 13 News anchor Ralph Hipp even did a bang up job on pronouncing the Chinese dignitaries’ names. It was a proud international moment for Topeka.

Everyone was drawn to the  “Lantern Light” for the ribbon cutting and clapped at the moment of commencement. The sculpture sparkled with rainwater and the mingling continued. This was my first time to get a close-up look at the piece. The characters on the triangle base glowed brightly and the bending red steel shaped in angles and neat lines. It looked like an abstract Chinese paper lantern in straight lines glowing red from the mirrored reflection at its base.

The ceremony meandered toward Washburn’s Bradbury-Thompson Center for a luncheon. Being the sole representative of seveneightfive magazine, I was, as my kindergarten teacher Mrs. Boxberger put it when I was the only person at my table at school that day, “a lonely squirrel.” So I had to look for another lonely squirrel to sit with. Then I saw Shannon Reilly, Artistic Director for Topeka Civic Theater and Academy, sitting at a table alone in the back of the room, and I knew I had found what I was looking for. I asked if I could join him and Shannon said, “Sure. I wanted someone else to heckle with.” I had the best seat in the house.

Our conversation started with hot pickles and continued toward our daughters, who were/are obsessed with dressing like princesses and how to handle taking them into public in their attire. Brenda Zimmerman, a long-time performer at TCTA, soon joined us at our “lonely squirrel” table along with her mother. Brenda had played roles from Glinda the Good Witch in The Wizard of Oz to the toothless hag in Sweeney Todd. That’s when the real entertainment started to present itself: great tales of backstage high-jinks and inside jokes, under-rehearsed performance successes and stand-ins. I asked Shannon, as a director, how many times he had to stand-in for performers. He quickly responded, “18 Times,” with a sense of pride lined with the stress of each one of those performances. He laughed with remembrance. When you think about it, though, he knew every part of every one of those plays or musicals. Every movement of every character and every line they spoke as they moved. He has rewritten scripts to suit the audience. He has made impromptu performances so the show could go on for the audiences. He once stopped a show mid-scene, when the home of TCTA was in North Topeka next to the levees, when my grandfather Charles Porubsky passed out from health reasons, and continued with the show once he had recovered and felt good enough to watch the rest of the performance. Brenda’s mother, across the table from us, commented on how chilly the room was and Shannon gave her his jacket to wear.

Shannon shared with me that TCTA is approaching its 75th anniversary. They are putting together a story journal and DVD of interviews in commemoration. He did tell me that things aren’t always easy. Every year he and his board read hundreds of scripts of comedies, dramas and musicals to choose what would best fit TCTA. Out of those hundreds come about a dozen, and still cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to get the rights to perform, not to mention set design and everything else that comes with creating a professional production. The economy isn’t helping them much either. TCTA will soon be producing “Peter Pan” and Shannon stated, “I have less money to build the show this year than I had to do it the first time 11 years ago.” That’s a sad fact when taking into account what the theater has given and is giving our community.

That was the moment I realized TCTA was a lantern, too, a huge light that has been active in our community and making Topeka great for decades. I am not trying to overshadow the privilege we have in being a home to one of four of these priceless Chinese sculptures at all. I find it to be quite meaningful, especially the side of the base of the sculpture that has the signatures of average Chinese citizens who were born in 1979, the year China and the USA began peaceful diplomatic relations. It is a symbol of the common person. TCTA has been entertaining the common Topekan for seventy-five years. I guess what I am really trying to get at is that you should go see the “Lantern Light” on the Washburn campus and realize its value. But don’t forget the lights that have been shining in this city longer, like the footlights at Topeka Civic Theater.

Matt Porubsky is not a licensed therapist, statistician, historian or medical professional. But he is the 2009 Distinguished Kansan of the Year in arts and entertainment. Take that! Most of the time he just makes stuff up. But all of these stories are based on actual events.