Does My Posture Offend You?

This blog is becoming quite the mish mash of Matthew Cook observations...

I suppose that's the point. I'm thinking of starting up another one with my poetry and some personal critcism on poetry. I'm trying to become an active member in the poetry community (very slowly) rather than just a mild mannered (drunken rambler) reclusive poet.

Off we go...

DOES MY POSTURE OFFEND YOU? 

So yes, I like beer. I’m not sure if you heard that. I like wine too, but I’m really on a bit of a beer kick at the moment. Here’s a little bit of free advertisement, for a few companies, via my five or so readers. Apart from Brick Brewing, and St. Ambroise, both of which are pretty well known and fantastic Canadian beers, people should also check out Neustaadt which is, yes hard to believe, from Ontario, and 666, which is also from Ontario. Let the 666 sit a bit after pouring it and for whatever reason its taste very noticeably improves. A bit fizzy and bitter right out of the can.

 

So anyways, I like beer. Perhaps a bit too much sometimes, though not too often. And there’s this great little local pub down the road that is quiet, has nice, though kinda lousy staff, and who have recently picked up a fine selection of beer that makes my palate, at least, very happy. It is full of local characters, and those I have talked to are great people whose company I really enjoy.

 

It turns out however, that I may drink beer in a bit of a cocky fashion. It is generally known that I have a bit of a cocky… some might say, even arrogant character at times. It amuses me, I’m not sure where it came from, but if people don’t have a sense of humour fuck them, and really I love you all. Did that come out right?

 

When I drink beer it seems that I get quite relaxed and scoot down in my chair a bit, giving up my normally impeccable straight backed posture, and cock one of my legs up and rest it on my other leg’s knee. I have an elbow up on the back of my chair, and my other arm is attached to my pint, which I sip from generously.

 

On my last visit to my favourite local pub, as I sat quite comfortable, sipping, and chatting with a merry group, it was pointed out, in a slur of languages, including drunken gibberish, that I sat in a way that was “not right.”  This is the only bit of clear information I understood, but I got the distinct impression that there was something about the way I sat that upset the rambler in a fundamental way. It was “not right,” clearly upsetting, and  gradually more upsetting as I could only grin at what seemed like a great farce to me.

 

The whole thing ended up with me getting my nose rubbed in a critical manner, and me roaring with laughter.

 

With only a few tears, some friendly handshaking and much post-event head shaking we all went our separate ways, and I none the wiser.