Favorites 4.23.15
Guys And Power Tools: A cliche, yeah, but still hot.
Sip: The pricey juice carts you can find around town. I'm too lazy to juice myself—but unfortunately I'm addicted to that life-affirming shit, and so I'll gladly part with my hard-earned loot to have someone else serve it to me.
Bryce Street: A mythical lane (sometimes I can find it, sometimes I can't) that takes you like a wormhole from inner Northeast where all the bars are to further-out NE where my house is without bother of stoplight or traffic. When you're tired and/or tipsy, there's nothing better—hope I stumble upon it this weekend.
Steady Rollin': Dusty tune straight outta SF. My bud Cairo got me hooked on this one—makes you want to get behind the wheel and go.
Three Things
New car: I did not "bargain hard." I'm civilized, I just paid what they asked. It's possible that I got hosed. Actually, I'm feeling pretty broke now—but Lefty's happy and anything for the kid, ya know?
Front stoops: I wish I had a front porch. What is it about them? They're better than back porches. There's a potentiality there—hanging on the stoop, you could see someone you know and yell hey and they might come over and tell you about a show or a party going on later, maybe, or you could see a cute dog walking by and go out to force cuddle it, et cetera. The other night, we sat on Colleen's front porch, under white twinkly lights, safe from the spring rain, and everyone felt really happy and comfortable to be among friends and to not be stuck inside.
The Drop: A hard-boiled Brooklyn crime movie with a crazy little twist at the end. Y'all know how I feel about Tom Hardy (he's my guy), but James Gandolfini (RIP) and Noomi Rapace (the chick from the Swedish Girl With The Dragon Tattoo movies) are so, so great, too.
Favorites 3.26.15
Chilled Sake: Not hard alcohol, but not really wine, either. Crisp, austere ... it's cold but it warms you up.
How It Smelled Yesterday Morning In Portland, Oregon: Damp, really rich, drenched in deep forest mysteries. If you inhaled and closed your eyes, you could see little white flowers and fauns prancing around.
Acupuncture: It doesn't matter why you're getting it. Just let ’em stick you with the tiny needles, and then lay back and sail away on a sea of endorphins. It's dreamy.
Listen Up Phillip: The movie a meaner, angrier Wes Anderson might've made.
Favorites 2.18.15
Sloans: A dive bar on Northeast Russell. Old Portland magic. Cheap drinks, grandma's-house decor, rad rock-and-roll pedigree. They let our buds' bands play right there in the dining room! I hope it doesn't get bought out and replaced by a new Portland hipster bar with antlers and edison lights everywhere.
The Gone-Away World, by Nick Harkaway: Hilarious post-apocalyptic existentialism. I'm not a rabid sci-fi nerd, but Nick Harkaway's my guy.
The first 5-7 seconds after you wake up in the morning: Before you tip toe off to the shower—before you even have a single thought. Before you remember about your life, all the ways you blew it and all the ways you made magic happen, all the things to look forward to and all the things to dread, all the fears, all the worries, all the wild happinesses. Before all that shit, when your mind's all empty like a newborn babe.
A concrete backyard miniramp: Fuck a lawn, anyway.
Favorites 1.26.15
Foggy-Night Quiet: Spectral stillness is the secret known only to people out 2 a.m. when the streets are empty and the fog has cloaked everything, causing the traffic lights to hover inside halos of vapor.
Leeks: Leeks didn't used to be part of my repertoire. I think I thought they were some kind of potato? Anyway, they're pretty magic. The savory edge of an onion, but more rich and buttery. Cut one up, sauté it, and throw it in anything—that is, if you like delicious.
2-Day Dirty Hair: It's a basic equation. The day you wash your hair: regrettably poofy—it can't be helped. The next day: acceptable but still unruly. The 3rd day: just right.
Peaky Blinders: An epic turn-of-the-century Brit gangster drama on the BBC (also streaming on Netflix tho!). Everything is perfect: The music (Nick Cave/PJ Harvey/Dan Auerbach from the Black Keys), the direction of photography (elegant Old-World gothic), the casting, et cetera. From a female perspective, getting to look at a bunch of bad asses (including but not limited to Tom Hardy) with cool haircuts and accents—I ain't mad at it.
