Nothing Can Hurt Me
Just watched the new rock doc about 70s power pop band Big Star , all about how they recorded amazing sad/warm/vulnerable rock stuff but remained in a relative obscurity that sort of elevated them among actual musicians and rock critics. In fact, a lot of big-timey bands (the Flaming Lips, the Replacements, R.E.M., etc.) are in some kind of love with Big Star.
Anyone who appreciates rock and roll and documentaries and documentaries about rock and roll should watch this thing. Unless you're a particular breed of music nerd, then much of this story will be uknown to you. There's all the good stuff in there—romance, self destruction, tragedy, and redemption. I love all the warm guitar work and all the hair (was hair—especially men's hair— just more magnificent in the 70s?).
Movie trailer!
Awesome power ballad!
Summer Stories
I know a lot of you appreciate the magic that is a good summer weekend, so no need to cover a bunch of details and talking points here about my wood-smoke-scented, watermelon-flavored past few days. I'll just say that the backs a' my knees are sunburnt and there's sand in the bottom of my shower and there's a mountain of potato salad leftovers in my icebox and there're a bunch of new phone numbers in my tele. It's the kinda stuff you store away and use as fat to chew on later when the sun's setting at 4:30 p.m. and gray rain's a fallin.
Peeps on my patio!
New friends, new arts down at Commonwealth. Arizona breeds good folks.
He looks nice enough but when you get him wet ...
Mom Thoughts
Been thinking about my mom, who's turning ??? years old today, and how she's not perfect (but who is?!), but that that's okay, because she loves me. And you need a mom's love around, floating like a gas, just in case you ever have to breathe it in—like on those really tough mornings when you didn't sleep, just turned over and over until your legs were all tangled up in the sheets, and coffee isn't nearly enough to do battle with the kinda day facing down on you. That's what you need a mom's love for. And you need her for her potato salad recipe.
Also, it's bonus mom goodness if you can get her to cry at your wedding (as above, at my big sis's wedding). Love you, mom!
A Year Of Food Life
Just finished Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Have you read it? Do! It’s all about the rural life, food, and what it’s like to eat only things grown, raised, or made in your neighborhood. “Locavore” is what the kids are calling it these days.
Now, I’m not a hardliner on the subject of food. I’m longtime vegetarian, and I like eating the nourishment of simple folk. Fresh bread, a chunk of hard cheese, a pile of chopped greens—this stuff fills me up. No big deal. But growing and making your very own food (or knowing the person who did) is a concept I like. I want to knead my own bread dough. I want my kitchen to smell constantly of berry jam bubbling on the stove and big piles of basil about to become pesto. I want to sprinkle seeds in the spring and chop wood in the fall and potentially do all of it from a cabin in the woods ... But everyone’s gotta make that paper, right?
Anyway, a couple points I latched onto:
We should all spend more money on food and less on other, like, stuff. I mean, food—we’re gonna eat it! Let’s care about it and shit!
The school carriculum should teach kids where food comes from and how to cook, and we should def make those little people help us prepare all our meals. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to cultivate a little health and gratitude.
The recipe for zucchini chocolate chip cookies.
Gardening rulez: “Nothing is more therapeutic than to walk up there and disappear into the yellow-green smell of the tomato rows for an hour to address the concerns of quieter, more manageable colleagues. Holding to the soft, viny limbs as tender as babies' wrists, I train them to their trellises, tidy the mulch at their feet, inhale the oxygen of their thanks.”
Favorites 7.11.13
Your friends' weddings: The centerpiece of a summer night. A place where you can make poor decisions concerning alcohol and cupcake consumption. Where you power bond with new pals age 8 to 80. Where you don't say goodbye when you've reached your party limit but simply fade out the back door—off to ride a late train home through the city, phone dead, feet aching, head spinning, happy.
Weeding the herb garden: This is work, but it's also quiet time and you're creating order out of chaos and it smells really, really good in there—alternately like lavender and like rosemary—and thus it's not just a worthwhile thing but a favorite thing.
Soba noodles: Made with buckwheat, cooked with love, eaten with pleasure. So much rich, nutty flavor you can go just sesame oil and salt on top. Minimalist delicious.
The Doors, "My Wild Love": It's primordial, haunting ... is it even a song? Or is it dark magic—sweat and chanting in the deep southern heat. Does it reach your deeper consciousness? Thanks to my fave Portland couple Jen and John Vitale for this one ...