On Prince, et Cetera
Dancing isn't a super-coveted activity for me, and I don't worship at the altar of Prince like some. But, if I must dance, it shall be to Prince. This is how I really feel.
So naturally, when I get invited to a birthday party where a Prince cover band is playing (not just any Prince cover band—the best Prince cover band in the WORLD) I always go. And I dance.
Such was the occasion on Saturday night. A crowded dance floor. Neon spotlights reflecting our neon hearts. A lot of touching. Prince, as you know, is very sexual. Now, try to imagine my surprise when the band played "Nothing Compares 2 U." A Prince cover band covering a Sinead O'Connor song? Fucking meta! Thought I. But as a fellow to my left told me , Prince wrote that song. It's a Prince song! I apologize for my tardiness on this matter. The world is, was, and always will be a baffling place to me.
February-ness
I'm almost 100% positive that nothing good ever happened in February. The days are generally bleak and the ground smells rotten. You're all stir crazy—ready for something new but you don't know what. Fuck, I mean February—what's this month even FOR??!!
I guess it's a month for planning, and for planting seeds. Figurative seeds—but literal ones, too. Which is what I did a bit of this weekend. The planning and planting of the following: lettuce (spring mix), herbs (cilantro, dill, basil, arugula), kale, tomatoes (yellow pear, red cherry, red beefsteak heirloom), pattypan yellow squash, sugar snap peas, and cucumbers.
As I've said elsewhere, I’m interested in getting to the beginning of things. How much closer to the beginning of food (which is the stuff of life, yes?) can you get than this?
3 Things
Birthday karaoke for George: Basic wonderful stuff like tiki bars and daiquiris and singing The Cure's "Just Like Heaven" in front of all the buds (while they laughed) (at me).
Marc Maron's WTF podcast interview with Paul Thomas Anderson: You know, the director of Boogie Nights, Magnolia, The Master, Inherent Vice, etc. His movies are, like, pretty challenging. What the fuck are any of them really about?! Listen to this, and find out. The guy's touched—he knows things we don't know.
Lefty's medical woes: First, his claw tore off. Blood everywhere. Whimpering. Eyes like deep pools of sadness. I mean it's the equivalent of someone extracting your fingernail with a pair of pliers! Anyway, after a week of limping, he eventually convalesced. Once better, though, the guy immediately pulled a hammy playing wild-style with his brother. Benched for another two days. Life just sux sometimes, huh?
Northwest Passage
Arose somewhat late on Tuesday after working all weekend and did things I liked. Such as scaling a goddamn mountain.
Hiking's kind of weird, isn't it? Just walking. But it's nice.
Anyway, Hamilton Mountain. The trail was very steep, winding through dark, quiet woods that may have been haunted, cutting across barren meadows that fell steeply into thin air. I overheated and then froze in the crazy wind. But the view. The frickin view!
To the East: Idaho and a veil of rain. To the West: silver river waters rolling straight into the sea. You get a sense of perspective up there, comprehending how glaciers carved out all of the valleys and that the looming cliffs really do wear the stains of the ages. As I've said elsewhere, catching a view like this can be, if you let it, kinda cosmic—the sort of thing us non-“devout” folks do to appreciate the mysteries of the universe. And so on.
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.
