PRIDE AND JOY, ET CETERA

This helped me to sleep, of course.

I couldn't hold out. I broke down and broke my wine fast last night. I was cooking and the temptation was too great. I did manage to control myself and stop after 2.5 glasses, so that was an achievement, but I didn't sleep as well.

Of course, sleep was also tainted by the crazy memoir that has supplanted all other current reading material and obligations, Howard Kaylan's Shell Shocked: My Life with the Turtles, Flo & Eddie, Frank Zappa, etc.... Kaylan was right there in the middle of all the rock and roll debauchery that is now legend, although I was close enough and have read enough to know that it is true. What is nice about it is that Kaylan cops to having being an idiotic pig much of the time. He doesn't apologize or white-wash, but he does acknowledge some perfidy. Kaylan is not deep, probing, reflective, or any of the things I usually enjoy, but he tells his story quickly with enough detail to keep you utterly engaged. Yes, I do recommend this for anyone who can overlook his supreme MCP-ishness, and is interested in rock and roll.

To that end, I do need to finish listening to the last two weeks lectures and take the final before I forget all the stuff I don't really know that well. I stopped being interested in what was popular sometime back in the punk/new wave days, although, of course, a lot of what I listened to BECAME popular. No surprise to anyone here, I never cottoned to heavy metal, hair bands, rap or hip hop (after Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five and some of the very early stuff), so I have to take the test while that is fresh in my mind. 

Up early today, probably because of those weird Kaylan-influenced dreams. Reading about endless groupies, throwing up on Jimi Hendrix' red velvet suit, and touring Europe with Zappa are likely not the stuff to produce sweetest of sweet dreams. Hell, even thinking about how weird 200 Motels was the first (and only) time I saw it is enough to induce confusion. Even writing about 200 Motels, Head, gosh, just adds to a lot of sadness and head scratching and a vague sense of the pain of being an outsider and an object due to gender. The party was fun, the creativity was high, but sorry kid, that vagina and those tits mean this is neither about nor for you. And yet, and yet ...

Fun with laundry.

Sorry to wander off there ... I've been a little more disoriented and vulnerable lately. I got lost for about two hours at the shopping mall yesterday. I had forgotten my cell phone and there I was at Marshall's, thinking I was delighted with the choices of discounted lavender soaps from France. I shook it off with minimal financial damage and headed home.

Plus, I have a lot of cooking to do today unless we are going to let a lot of stuff go to waste. I've already started the prep for the Persian Carrot Soup, Kale and Beet Greens with Pecans, and Smoked Eggplant Soup (can't find the link ... if it comes out well, I'll give you my recipe which will almost certainly be different than what I start out with). All this to babble and say I need to get a few more things at the Farmer's Market before I get back to cooking. The fridge is near bursting and we need to eat our way through a few things. 

It's sooooo much fun to cook at this time of year. The freshness of the onions and garlic is amazing. They are wet and juicy. I was on the telephone with Maman which prepping some delectable tomatoes for cooking down for later use. And it has only just begun. Sadly, our own tomatoes did not happen. Oh well, at least we have basil, oregano, and lots of zinnias.

Pride and joy, et cetera. But not ours.

Birthday shout outs to my dear oldest brother Michael, Becky Sue Randall, wherever she may be, and my stellar sister-in-law, Stella (who I am pretty sure won't see this). Off to the market and a walk.