Once every 100 years I cook a meal that was not first frozen or packaged in plastic. Tonight I learned what it really looks like to cook 6 cups of rice (listen, it’s a LOT more rice than it sounds like!) Tonight I made enchiladas, which is maybe a 0.5 on a cooking difficulty scale of 1-10. But they were awesome, and now they are in my stomach, and also in my refrigerator (to be stomached on another day). I need to try cooking more often. I don’t think women should have to cook and clean and do laundry and powder their nose but I think they should at least be able to do one of those things and I am pretty awful at all of them (men should be able to do them too, PLUS shoveling driveways and fixing cars).
I just got a text message from my Dad! I tried an experiment and sent him a message and he did indeed reply. How intergenerational! I don’t think I talk about work very much here but part of my job is that of an Intergenerational Coordinator, which means that I am in charge of programs that bring youth and seniors together. Today I was at our intergenerational choir practice and in the corner of the music room was a drum set just calling out to me. I managed to wait until practice was over, when all of the kids had left the room, and then I sat down at the drums and started playing a simple enough beat. It felt great.
Rachel and her boyfriend have loaned me some random bits of percussion for a project that I’ve hinted at (and will share soon enough). Currently they’ve loaned me a snare drum, a cowbell, a wood block, a tom (a tiny tom!) and a shaker. I want to play them all loudly but I am afraid the neighbors might not appreciate that. So I put a t-shirt over the snare drum and play it quietly. Quiet IS the new loud.
There are certain weekends that are just destined to be great. This weekend may be one of them. This weekend not only marks the beginning of the Olympics (of which I have mixed feelings this year but am still growing daily more excited for) but it also contains the day on which I turn another year older. I’ll get to see my family this weekend and some of my best friends, and no matter what kind of events unfold, it’s an August weekend, so I know it will be a good one.
If I may, then, I’d like to designate in advance another sure-to-be-awesome weekend: September 19-20. I don’t know how to begin building this up with the right amount of suspense, so I’ll just give you the facts: Friday night we’re going to be in Chicago to see… Jenny Lewis! Ahh! Jenny and her acid tongue. I can’t wait. Then the next day we are driving all the way up to Green Bay for, are you ready? The Art Table Reunion Show! It’s officially happening! September 20th at the Eagle’s Club. Be there, all right? We’ll even have a few new songs, just for you.
Finally, I’d like to close by saying that today I had lunch at a popular burrito chain which I suppose will go unnamed. I went there because I won a coupon for a free burrito, otherwise it’s not really on my dining circuit. On the way in I read a sign on the door that said, “Our burritos are so good you’ll need a cigarette when you’re done. Just don’t smoke it in here.” Funny, right? It was their attempt at a clever spin on the No-Smoking sign, meant to suggest, I assume, that their burritos are as good as or better than sex. Kind of a bold assertion (probably wouldn’t want to explain that sign to my kids) but more upsetting than the crude analogy was the basic encouragement of smoking. Just not there. Smoking is cool, but not in our restaurant, okay? Smoking doesn’t give you lung cancer, and our burritos won’t give you a heart attack. Heck, why am I protecting them? The restaurant was Chipotle Mexican Grill! Kind of a tasteless move, for a pretty tasty burrito place.
Today I cut up an onion, just to see if I could cry, to see if I had any emotion left in this dried up, crippled heart.
Boo hoo, haha. That’s Xanga style! Take that you emo kids.
Actually, I DID cut up on onion today, but it was really only because I was making red potato salad, which went rather deliciously with my black bean burger topped with lettuce, tomatoes, and avocado. Holy yum! I am beginning to understand this species’ fascination with food. Once my stomach settles a bit (I had quite a large dinner) I am going to make myself a mango-pineapple smoothie and sit under my daylight lamps in my studio and give painting another try, because truth be told, I couldn’t ever give it up. (And thank you to anyone who wrote me an encouraging comment yesterday, although some of you technically did break the rules laid out in the title. I appreciate it anyway!)
We are almost halfway through March now. Halfway through the worst, most depressing month of all, at least if you live in Wisconsin (no offense to all March birthdays!). March is a tease, normally, but this year it’s been just plain prudish. It’s not giving us even a glimpse of spring. Even today, when it was supposed to be in the mid-40s for the first time in too long, it felt cold, although it must have been above freezing because along with the potholes I drove through lots of puddles on the way home from work. Day light savings has hit extra hard this month; just as we were getting used to the lighter mornings we are plunged back into something like January, and although I hear birds when I wake up they seem to be saying, “Hey, what the heck! Who woke us up?” instead of “Tra la la, spring is near, spring is here!” Well, all of this sounds like one big paragraph of complaining, but I assure you it’s not. Because, remember, I was rather into winter this year. I opined about the beauty in desolation and despair, and the recurring thought in my mind through the onslaught of snow and ice and wind chill advisories (and repeat) was how silly it all is, this arctic lifestyle we lead. No, I wouldn’t want you to think I am complaining, but I freely admit that I am looking forward to spring. Especially after a winter like we’ve had, as I imagine every ray of sunshine will feel that much warmer, every sugary-scented blossom will smell that much sweeter. I even read in the paper today that Madison is going to start a Pothole Patrol, which makes me happy. The potholes are dangerously close to becoming natural wonders: “Junior, smile for the camera, now, hey! Don’t get too close to the edge!!!”
Anyway, today’s title doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a phrase that popped into my head while I was chopping up my onion (and was, in fact, a bit weepy). I thought it would make a good title for a blog post, but didn’t want to wait around for a pertinent subject matter. It could also be an appropriate title for a Harlequin Romance, if you’re interested in buying the rights. Come to think of it, it could also be the name of a good emo band. (Xanga!)