wknd 6/14-6/15: funky monk
I woke up this morning with a TV at the end of my bed, between a new comforter and new sheets, my books finally tucked into shelves. Ten months since moving to Brooklyn following The Breakup, I'm allowing myself a tiny bit of luxury. The monkish life is good, but then you start to seem like more of a weirdo than you actually are (and you're already so fucking weird). My bed is still just a mattress on the floor, though. I am not ready to let go of that touch.
The TV seemed like too much, but then I was reading on my stoop and going through my notebook, where apparently last week I wrote: I want a TV so I can have my favorite movies on all day like they're paintings. They are, of course; the high art available to the working class. I have been obsessed with how class affects our consumption of art, obvs. I'm also ready to have Basquiat on a loop for my workdays.
Also, maybe no one else noticed, but I did not post a recipe at the end of last week. This was because a lot of work things and complicated wiring issues with our party took up all my energy—and clearly I didn't have enough to begin with, because usually I'm looking for 10,000 things to do at once. I'll be back on track this week.
This fucking weekend, though! It began with the aforementioned party, our Teenage Guide to Popularity's Music Video Make-Out Party: Sex, Drugs, & Violence Edition. We moved to Alaska in Bushwick and could not be happier with how it turned out. Beforehand, though, we had a feast at Tutu's, where the fries are TO DIE FOR (I'm a fry connoisseur). I also got a strawberry-jalepeño cocktail of some sort—pictures and memories are lacking because I was starting to get VERY excited to VJ all night. Our first couple of hours burned slow, but people were into it from the get-go—our first big fan being, of course, someone who was very pleased to hear/see the Dandy Warhols' "Not If You Were the Last Junkie on Earth." This was also the first time we played Right Said Fred's classic "I'm Too Sexy," which we were dying over during our practice session earlier in the week and will now just make a staple of our parties. It might strike some as too much of a novelty, but it's so silly and self-aware that it is just brilliant.
But oh my lord, did we go hard that night. Alaska has Sixpoint Hi-Res on draft, and that is my favorite beer on earth, and also it is 11.1% alcohol, and also we'll not talk about it until it inevitably happens again. After what I'm gonna call just a nap, I got up to go to brunch. We were heading to The Rookery but instead stopped at Mominette on Knickerbocker, where I had a lovely chilled cantaloupe soup...and a side of delectably seasoned home fries.
I then met my longtime Twitter friend Mensah at Swallow for coffee and a preliminary discussion of a potential writing group, where we bring each other our work and discuss. This is necessary in my life, so I'm incredibly grateful. We ended up having a two-hour conversation about writing, but also life and love and Brooklyn. Between that and the fact that he was wearing a Joy Division shirt, I am sure he is my people and I'm happy we've connected in real life.
After that, it was over to the Cinnamon Snail at Pine Box for their special of grilled tofu with pesto, kalamata olives, arugula, and truffled cashew cheese. They killed it, of course. Sareen ate a Yeah Dawg with all the fixins; I took a little bite of the dog itself, which is soy- and gluten-free and truly plant-based, and think they really nailed something there. It had a proper hot dog taste. I should definitely eat an entire one next chance I get. We also stopped into the new Bushwick Beacon's Closet and I bought a jumpsuit, because I've been wanting a jumpsuit, and so all day in my head yesterday while I wore it, I was singing, "I was looking for a jumpsuit and then I found a jumpsuit, and heaven knows I'm wearing it now." Later that night, there were truffle fries at Hunter's in Cobble Hill, where the playlist included Sting's "Fields of Gold" and Madonna's "Deeper and Deeper"—i.e., that place is heaven. I made some crazy statement about maybe taking a break from potatoes THAT I WHOLEHEARTEDLY RECANT.
I spent yesterday afternoon out on Long Island with my siblings and padre, where we all overruled my sister's hatred of Greek food, listened to and laughed about Drake, and did a little bit of shopping. My brother's been away for a bit; spending time with him and my sister, both of us drinking our coffee black and mindlessly singing along with "Iris" by Goo Goo Dolls—I couldn't have asked for a better Sunday afternoon.
On my way back to Brooklyn, I stopped at Whole Foods, slipped, and did a split in front of the greens. There's a big bruise on my butt. Just figured I should drop that in.
The weekend ended at Brooklyn Bowl for Eleanor Friedberger. Doug turned me on to Personal Record at the end of 2013, knowing me and my life and how resonant the lyrics would be. And oh man, were they and are they. The songs as a whole are just so good, too, of course. She opened with a harder arrangement of "Stare at the Sun" that I was flipping over. She is wonderful and the show was wonderful and Brooklyn Blast is wonderful. Life! It's pretty good.