Anyway, here is what I ate, watched and read this past week.
Israeli Couscous with Saffron and Summer Vegetables: The photograph that Vegetarian Times runs with this recipe makes this meal look really tall and insufferable. I finally sucked it up and tried it, curious, mostly, about this saffron biz. It goes without saying that there are other things I'd rather spend $9 on. That said, this is a pretty wholesome, nice, healthy feeling and fulling mix of fennel, leeks, garlic, peas, Israeli couscous, arugula, kalamata olives, basil. Not a dud in the bunch. I'd eat this again. Although there are some dead spots in it if you don't get an olive or a ton of salt in the bite.
Coco Before Chanel: This is the story of how a saloon singer who favored men's-style apparel became a fashion icon by so over-staying her welcome at a gentleman friend's castle and mangling his work shirts. It's a nice little story of Coco Chanel staring the always-adorable Audrey Tautou.
Heavy Metal Parking Lot : This shorty, coming in at just 16 minutes, is a delicious slice of 80s heavy metal life. It's a quick documentary featuring footage of a bunch of teens pre-gaming in the parking lot before a Judas Priest concert in Maryland.
Mostly this movie just made me think of how this scene would never occur in 2011. Do people get amped for anything anymore? Like, so amped that they wear an entire zebra-striped outfit and talk about how THIS IS MY FAVORITE BAND EVER! The mark of loving a band these days seems more civilized. Head bobbing at most. Certainly not getting wrecked in a parking lot, stealing a videographer's microphone and going apeshit.
The Chronology of Water: A Memoirby Lidia Yuknavitch: Sitting on my couch. Listening to noninvasive, lyric-less music with headphones. Reading Lidia Yuknavitch's memoir "The Chronology of Water." I stop. Check the time. Two hours have passed since I last came up for air. Whoa. She just drugged me. Plopped me in front of a psychedelic screen saver and had her way with my brain when I wasn't looking.
My friend sent me an email first telling me that she'd had a dream that she told me we don't like the same books. We don't in real life, this is true, she acknowledged in the letter. Except Haruki Murakami. Still, she tells me, read this book. But first she tells me that it starts with a dead baby and then segues into incest, heavy drug use and sex.
It does start with a dead baby. It does have heavy drug use. There is, indeed, sex. And there is this unconventional sentence structure, poetic snippets, soul-squeezing scenes that left me dizzy. This is not my style of reading at all. Prosey-prose, heavy with metaphor. The kind of writing that sounds like it should be read aloud to a room full of people who will later deconstruct it like they are putting puzzle pieces back into a box. In the hands of a lesser writer, which is to say almost any other writer, this would be too written-y and self-conscious. But damn Yuknavitch has a way with words. She knows how to write a word like "bloodsong" and not have it sound like a workshop cliche.
Full review will be here.
Right now I'm reading: Bossypants by Tina Fey.