Piggy Peaches

Jus Cuz.

(Not so) Breaking News.

I have a job. I will be helping Jerry Traunfeld open Poppy. After 5 years of bussing it out across the lake I am rather elated to be able to walk from my front door to my workplace in, what? 5-7 minutes max at a leisurely stroll. What decadence.

In other news, Harry and I just got back from a mini trip to the Pais Vasco/Pays Basque.



We went to Bilbao and San Sebastián. The Guggenheim was pretty amazing. In the ground floor gallery, which is giant, there are 7 or 8 Richard Serra sculptures similar to 'Wake' at the Olympic Sculpture Garden in Seattle. Many of them are these spiral forms that you can walk into. The oxidized walls completely tower over you and as you walk around and around getting closer to the center the walls alternate from leaning out to sloping in. Solemn, claustrophobic and joyful. You find yourself leaning as you walk, like in a fun house. I felt immense pleasure from the whole experience. I was giggling like a little kid. There was a certain feeling of accomplishment and peaceful elation when one arrived at the center of each sculpture. Great, great work.

I also have a new favorite restaurant. As in all time favorite in the universe. Harry and I had made plans to eat at the Guggenheim restaurant. I read they were serving some amazing food. Indeed they were. I was absolutely floored. Our first course of white aspargus came with a broth that was so intensely floral, with notes of bitter herbs and citrus. It was sort of like perfume, but very palatable and pleasurable. Alongside, they served the peel fried as a tempura, which appealed to my sensibilites of serving the whole beast. It was so simple and so effing good, a complete surprise that they had packed so much flavor in such a seemingly spare dish.



Every other dish was likewise stunning, apart from a pasta that we sent back twice for being undercooked (something I have never done, was semi-mortified by, but got over) though it was marvelously sauced. Everything was so delightful that midway through the meal I looked at Harry and said that we had to make reservations for lunch the next day immediately, something I haven't done since the first time that we went to Lumiere, back when I was just a wee thing. Also, Richard Serra (yes, he of the awesome metal sculptures) was dining with the director of the museum right next to us, which was pretty heart-fluttery:



Let's see, pintxos were total fun also. Just grabbing what looked good at the time, or ordering things that sounded tast-ay.



Bilbao seems to really shut down early (after 11 everyone disappears and the metal shutters start to roll down over the entrances to bars and restaurants) which is very odd coming from Andalucía where often people don't even sit down for dinner until 11pm. The second night in Bilbao we ended up in a little pintxo bar that as it turned out was a clandestine homo-bar. They started playing some rocking 80s Spanish New Wave and cute boys were getting touchy feely. We asked the bartenders for a good place for a nightcap once we sensed that they were about to close. At first they looked somewhat evasive. Then the bartender asked what kind of music we liked. I said 'everything' at the same time that Harry pointed up at the speaker and said 'this.' Then he added, maybe something 'ambientoso' which means with (homo-) ambiance. Then she totally transformed and was all smiley. She took us out to the street and gave us directions to this fun little dyke bar called 'La Marina' filled with ladies and their puppies. It was a riot, they played mass ABBA and also a little La Lupe. During that hour and a half I nearly believed in intelligent design.

What else? We saw a bullfight here in Granada. More on that later. Probably.

Also, this appeared to me on a concrete bench at the Guggenheim. It will soon be on a blazer:

Yellow Linen Suit Part I.

This was originally white linen. I painted the suit by hand.

When I put it on it was like putting on something made of paper. This made me very happy because I always wanted to wear a paper shirt or jacket. I love heavily starched shirts. The pant legs had what looked like fins running down the sides of my legs at first until I separated the fabric. You can see this on the bottom outside of the left pant leg.

Awesome Lyric? (if you don't make his breakfast youse a sideline ho)

Harry used Sideline Ho to illustrate a point about a play by Garcia Lorca in his class the other day.

As I used to be obsessed about reading lyrics when I was a teen and I still find it rather amusing and pleasurable I will post the lyrics here, much as Harry did in class.

We just build off each other's weirdness, don't we.

P.S. this is in my top 5 in songs for female self-degradation if I ever get around to creating the list. Other notables, 'stand by yr man' (an obvious one), 'jolene' and 'cater 2 u'

SIDELINEHO:

Ho, Ho, Sideline Ho, Youse a ho, youse a ho, sideline ho

[Verse 1:]
When you called his phone, did he pick it up?
No, 'cause we was making love.
Did you meet his moms, have you met his kids? No, oh, did you know my kid was his?
No, oh.

[Chorus:]
Get your shit together you're making a fool of yourself,
it don't matter if he spends the night, his home is somewhere else
Ain't you tired of being on the side line, tired of getting yours after I get mine baby?
second place don't get a prize when you gone realize
you're wasting your time baby
Ain't you're tired of him getting, hitting real quick, then rolling and
Ain't you're tired of when you need a little change and he lies about what he holding?
Ain't you're tired of spending all the holidays alone, tired of being his little sideline ho?

Do he take you out, do he foot your bills, no oh, 'cause I know what his balance is
have you been to his church,
do he ask you to pray, no oh 'cause Sunday's Family day

[Chorus]

[Bridge x2:]
Do you got benefits, no, credit cards, no, house keys, no, then youse a sideline ho,
do you get pillow talk, no, held at night, no,
if you don't make his breakfast then youse a sideline ho

[Chorus]

[x3:]
Youse a ho, Youse a ho, sideline ho

Dark Lady

So I am now obsessed with another Cher song. I recommend it heartily! A tale of passion and betrayal and evil fortune tellers. I thought the last line read, "dark lady would never turn a collar red no more" which cracked me up. It is still pretty funny. I don't quite understand why a Gypsy fortune teller would have a limo with a driver, but I definitely like the image of her brushing her cat (!) in the backseat. It gives the song a certain Prince-ish fantasy woman quality. So I sort of imagine it's Sheila E. or Lisa or Apollonia.

She also looks like a total drag queen in the video, with the limp wrist and all.




The lyrics are:

The fortune queen of New Orleans
Was brushing her cat in her black limousine
On the back seat were scratches
From the marks of men her fortune she had won
Couldn't see through the tinted glass
She said, "Home James" and he hit the gas
I followed her to some darkened room
She took my money, she said, "I'll be with you soon"

CHORUS:
Dark lady laughed and danced
And lit the candles one by one
Danced to her gypsy music
Till her brew was done
Dark lady played black magic
Till the clock struck on the twelve
She told me more about me
Than I knew myself

She dealt two cards, a queen and a three
And mumbled some words
That were so strange to me
Then she turned up a two-eyed jack
My eyes saw red but the card
Still stayed black
She said the man you love is secretly true
To someone else who is very close to you
My advice is that you leave this place
Never come back and forget you ever saw my face

Chorus

So I ran home and crawled in my bed
I couldn't sleep because of all the things she said
Then I remembered her strange perfume
And how I smelled it once in my own room
So I sneaked back and caught her with my man
Laughing and kissing till they saw the gun in my hand
The next thing I knew they were dead on the floor
Dark lady would never turn a card up anymore

Chorus

Also, for kicks, check out this Bowie&Cher cocaine tripout:

Kathi

I just read that Kathi Goertzen is going in for brian surgery again to remove part of a tumor which has grown back. I have grown up with Kathi and this news affected me oddly; I felt tenderly and protective toward her all at once. Who cares if she shoplifts? That's just more hardcore.

I remember once when I was probably 11 I spotted Kathi down at the Pike Place Market strolling a stroller (presumably with her kid inside it). I pointed this amazing sight out to my older sister who wouldn't believe me that it was her. We sort of followed K. through the people for awhile, me saying, "yuh-huh," my sister saying "nuh uh, don't lie." She finally yelled out "Kathi!" in the huge, obnoxious bellow that only to a certain age of teenager can produce. Of course, K. turned around, rather startled. My sister and I ran.

Cherish you Kathi.

Pictures of stuff I've been cooking

Feast at La Oliva

The night before last Harry and I had dinner with a few people at Francisco's shop. We had:

regañas (little sesame crackers)

wafers with hemp seed (tortas de cañamones)

oil cured black olives

gazpacho with garnishes

tortilla de patatas (slightly runny on the interior)

chorizo blanca in Montilla wine

cogollas with white anchovies in vinegar

gambas al pil pil - shrimp in garlic sauce

hake roe with lemon oil

jamon serrano with baby fava beans

asparagus en ajopollo (this is in a sauce made of bread, garlic, vinegar, oil and pimenton)

chicken al ajillo

rice with artichokes, peas, peppers and pork ribs

cheese: aged sheep; blended cow n' goat; Aged goat; soft goat cheese with peppercorn (this is the best goat cheese I have ever had, literally. A lovely lady named Luz makes it nearby. Fransisco took Harry and I to visit her farm and cheesemaking facility a few weeks ago.)

torrija with rosemary honey (like delicious french toast, but eaten chilled. A typical treat served during Semana Santa.)

palitos de leche (little hard cinnamon cookies)

empanaditas de boniato (turnovers stuffed with sweetened sweet potato)

rosco de vino (A thick donut)

It was a good time.

On Repeat (once I finish listening): The Kills

An album that fills you up with the understanding that you can only hear an album for the first time for the first couple listens before it becomes familiar. You want time to stop, or to read a book page by page slowly, forcing yourself to stop mid chapter to prolong the enjoyment. Chewing very slowly.

I am halfway through the new Kills album, "Midnight Boom" and am filled with a sort of giddiness that can only come from a new classic. Now she's singing about dead ponies. Or a bed pony. Both suit me well. Ah delight!

Double Plus Good! Massive!

Los Italianos

Today I saw two cocacolos (teeny boppers, often with bad frosted hair and the following piercing (s): jeweled stud in between nose and upper lip; huge blinged out cubic zircons in each ear (boys only); pierced eyebrow with or without Vanilla Ice style shaved in dashes (also usually boys).) eating ice cream. That minute I knew that something had changed in Granada. Spring had come. Los Italianos had opened.

Los Italianos is a super on-the-money gelato shop that is only open half the year. The other half the owners pack up and head to Italy, obviously I suppose. Taken after a kufta (beef/lamb kebab cooked on the griddle and rolled up with tomaters and iceberg lettuce, also yogurt, harissa. Harry and I are addicted to them) a two scoop cone is the perfect meal, also economic. It is the gelato ideal, soft and light, not too sweet. They have all the classic flavors, including turron, yogurt and pistachio that is not bright green.

I am slightly afraid of the implications this brings on my "average" living schedule.

In other news, last night I made jello in layers: blood orange; cucumber with basil.

A dialogue

Harry: I don't like it that your Oscar Wilde T-shirt says "dandyism's not dead."

Jason: You don't think a dandy would use contractions?

Harry: Exactly.

"Vienen manolas comiendo

semillas de girasoles,
los culos grandes y ocultos
como planetas de cobre."

"[Working gals] come eating
sunflowers seed, their
big, hidden asses
like copper planets." -Federico Garcia Lorca

In Madrid, Harry and I stayed on San Bernardo, very near Chuecas (the queer district), right off Gran Via which is one of the main streets in the center. Every night about 10ish, after the shops closed, groups of putas would appear along Gran Via along with Chinese men who sold beer by the can and half sandwiches wrapped in cling wrap. To call your attention the gals make this kind of hiss, which made me think of angry geese. Or, as happened to me once, they would address you in English in a slightly pleading tone ("excuse me") and then, in a wondefully vulgar bait and switch ("Vamos a follar" i.e. "Let's fuck") This gave me great happiness. I also got hit up by a desperate looking and potentially, probably strung out tranny who called from a dark stoop on a backstreet. This also made me happy. A short distance away we found this graffiti, so I took it as a sign.

In Chuecas we walked by a bar/sex club which had a paper sign posted on the door upon which, written in permanent marker, was a proclamation that translates approximately [isn't all translation an approximation?] to "If you didn't come to fuck, this isn't your place."

Pretty Pony

Today I accidentally bought horse meat. For lunch. Harry, on looking at the label, refused to eat it and I admit a certain awkwardness and betrayal at not realizing what it was before I brought it home. I should be honest and say I also feel a certain squeamishness after I understood what I was dealing with. Before this knowledge I was excited about the potential of the meat. The [horse] meat sat on the counter to come up to room temperature for maximum flavor. I wanted to consume it with celery bits and yummy olive oil. I had already cut the celery into little bits. My intention was that we eat the meat raw.

I feel halfheartedly lame.

This just in!

Xiu Xiu is coming to Spain! Yes!!! Barcelona AND Madrid.

By the way, I suggest Aubrie and Christian have a playdate and go see the Xiu at Chop Suey on the 8th. I miss Cafe Presse (not on topic, but I would prolly go there before or after seeing XX I imagine). Go get some frites yo!

I had the worst meal of my life today. Seriously. Even after I vowed never to eat pasta in Spain, I did it.

I'm ashamed.

Impressive feat, as I am usually shameless.

Le Tigre vs. Jem

Jem is one of those things that is very specific to my generation I think. A brief phenomenon that simultaneously ripped off Barbie and made punk and new wave seem bubble gum. No small feat. She was sort of like Duran Duran's "Girl[...] on film" brought to life, er, cartoon. As a kid I thought she was rad, though I always much prefered the "bad" band, The Misfits. I liked that they were just a harder and would stop at nothing to get what they wanted.

Nobody remembers Jem unless they were fans. Too bad. This video is killah. I wonder if someone mashed up M.A.S.K and Danzig somewhere.

If you haven't seen the original "Deceptacon" well, it's here too and it is hardcore! I heart youtube:

Pop Music Experiment (Serial/Vday)

Quiz:
Is love (as it relates to yr. world view) wholesome?


Please select one of each of the following *and keep track batch:

A. A statement:
1. Love is a sickness
2. Love resembles death
3. Love is (ultimately) lonely and distancing
4. Love is an imaginary mirror

B. My ideal:
1. a fork
2. a knife
3. a spoon
4. a plate

C. Love makes another statement:
1. “I was seventeen when I felt the countdown start . . .”
2. “I take a drive in my car. . . I see the sun disappear . . .”
3. “As a child, I knew that the stars could only get brighter, and we would get closer . . .”
4. “Your breath: it rests inside of me.”

D. If it has to end, let it end:
1. with “love and understanding” in the bitter cold
2. with gasping for breath and chanting
3. in a motel room, waiting
4. with rain falling on homeless kitties

E. A position in love:
1. “Cut ‘love me’ into your breast . . . crush an ashtray into your breast . . .”
2. “I hate my body. I hate the desert.”
3. “Turn away from it all.”
4. “You’re unsure if he’s legal”

F. A desperate moment:
1. “Take my VCR. Take the keys to my house.”
2. “A beast that doesn’t quiver anymore . . .”
3. “Why can’t we all just be alone? Why doesn’t everybody just want to be alone?”
4. “Sober: you’re old and ugly; Shit-faced: who needs a mirror?”

G. The end:
1. opiates
2. razor blade/bathtub
3. skyscraper
4. lake/leadboots

H. The best:
1. “On the roof drinking zinfandel . . . I feel awesome, so give me five!”
2. “Extra pork . . . push in the tape . . . turn it up so it bumps!”
3. a “double chocolate cone!”
4. “I just wanna dance!”

I. Revenge:
1. “Your worst enemy gets killed by ninjas.”
2. “stabbing . . . with a stake”
3. “going back to blonde”
4. “don’t bite me in the face”

J. Best place:
1. “close to givin’ in”
2. “in the backseat of yr car”
3. “tied to the headboard”
4. “center stage”

K. A pain:
1. “ . . .you don’t wanna see me no more”
2. “engulfed in flames”
3. “Not believin’”
4. the one “you can’t control”

L. A conflict:
1. “I was thinking we should sleep in separate beds”
2. “pretty, petty thieves”
3. “We don’t know how to love without fear.”
4. “If you hold me close, you’ve got to hold me up.”

M. A food:
1. “a free Tootsie Pop”
2. “Hardee’s”
3. “crumbs from your table”
4. “strawberries, cherries”

N. A group:
1. “[the kids in the park aren’t innocent]”
2. “tan and blonde and seventeen”
3. “The broken-hearted”
4. “Smiling faces; no cares in this world”

O. A regret:
1. “The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.”
2. “I can hear them clawing at the window.”
3. “Whether he heard, I’ll never know.”
4. “So many songs we forgot to play.”

P. In a disco track:
1. Kylie Minogue cooing and breathy / echoey handclaps / honky tonk piano / (Woo!)
2. cold, empty, swooning synthetic strings / “bring my baby back home” / cigarette smoke in a dance club and Italian horror film actress
3. Opening handrums from “Everything She Wants” / Best walking anthem since “Stayin’ Alive” / Alison Moyet gets channeled
4. Janet Pre-Miss Jackson if yr nasty / also exuberant, muscular sonic fantasies about bleeding to death / (Woo!)

Q. A flower:
1. Wood Anemone
2. Poppy
3. White Hyacinth
4. Narcissus

R. An Andy Gibb song:
1. An Everlasting Love
2. (Love is) Thicker Than Water
3. I Just Want to Be Yr. Everything
4. Shadow Dancing


Tally yr. score with amts. of each number and post the results in the comments plz.
(discs in fabrication)

Lurv,
Bambi

Flagellation

Today I broke my dryness regarding painting even though I've had paints here and paper and jackets purchased expressely for the purpose for nearly two weeks. This is the back of a jacket. It resembles Mel Gibson era the passion slightly, which wasn't neccessarily intended but like it.

Jordan are you coming to Granada soon? I think we can easily find some deliciousness on par with monkfish eyeball.

Hey Ladies! when yr man wanna get buck wild . . .

I generally hate the Seattle Weekly, but maybe they have some sense after all.

I just realized that Miss Kiana looks a little bit like my Mom.

Click me!

Notes on Food in Spain, Part 1

I've been eating a ton of potato chips lately.

After a terrible lunch the other day at a supposedly fancy (albeit casual, albeit expensive) place (spongy skin and fat on a duck leg; salad dressed by pouring to much dressing over the top in the style of Prego spaghetti sauce commercials) I've been reflecting somewhat on the state of food in Spain, or at least in Granada.

It's pretty common for folks (especially in the food world) in the States to think that everyone in Europe has fabulous bread, fantastic cheese and wonderful, cheap wine all the time. Obviously these are available. I've had amazing ham and chorizo and morcilla. Fantastic raw milk goat and sheep's milk cheeses. That just doesn't seem to be what most people are eating. The culinary world almost seems mired in the 1970s.

I must say that it's nice to see middle class, middle aged women decked out in the fur coats they go shopping in enjoying a beer midafternoon. I like (read: love) corn nuts and they are a pretty popular snack here and I am pleased to be able to eat them with no shame. However . . .

It's very common to see pre-boiled potato or beets or corn vacu-sealed in plastic in the super market, even the ultra-fancy El Corte Inglés, but I have yet to see a fresh beet. Or maybe I saw one bunch, very sad and very old. How much effort does it take to boil a potato? Mayonnaise commands deep devotion, reaching its inexplicable heights in the ubiquitous "ensalada rusa," like american potato salad with three times the mayonnaise and often the addition of canned peas. I have a great fear of this salad, which even at its very best is . . . well, just not very pleasant to eat, IMO. Canned vegetables are very common still, even at nicer restaurants as are bad sauces covering badly cooked fish or coating decently cooked meat. I forgot the last time I ate (or saw) a slowly congealing white sauce with mushrooms. Don't get me started on what passes for Italian food. I've almost never been so revolted as watching a woman feed her child fettucine with graying pesto the other day at a pizzeria.

No one seems to mind bad food going out. The good restaurants are more packed than the bad ones which are still packed, but the nastier schwarma places seem just as busy as the better ones. Maybe it's a lack of knowing those foods? The way Italians feel about their restaurants just seems so different. I think there is still some of the ghost of Franco floating about. Maybe attitudes will change when the generations die off who lived under his rule understood eating as purely a means to feed themselves. You can get used to eating bad food, but it is soul crushing. It makes me very sad, anyway. A restaurant may have access to great products, but why bother when no one seems to know the difference. Or maybe, more correctly, care about the difference.

Cooking in house is going well. I have yet to cook brains.

And the chips are fried in 100% olive oil, at least.

Anxiety (Women is Losers)

I am waiting and have been waiting since this morning when I bolted, sluggishly, from my bed to turn on the computer, open itunes and growl (yes, I literally growled, and clenched my fists). Still nothing. I have been waiting for Xiu Xiu's new album to come out and it is torture and it makes me grit my teeth. Here, at 9am, it was of course 12am the day before in the states (or 3am on the East coast) and I was expecting that little digital package to be bundled up under my digital tree. It was not. It is still not at 10pm my time.

This is not the first time that I have waited until midnight to get an album when it is first released so I could listen to it that night, the next morning and on the bus ride to work, although few artists would cause such dire exasperation. Morrissey, obviously, or Of Montreal, or maybe the Gossip. I imagine someone at this very moment strolling into Sonic Boom, casually thumbing past the new Xiu Xiu (the shame!) and selecting an old XTC album instead. Oranges and Lemons maybe. I desperately want to thumb through the Xiu Xiu selection and feel that particular little thrill as my sweaty hand closes around the jewel case. To each his own I guess.

The first time (last week, as I thought it was released last week) I searched for it I looked it up by title "Women as Lovers" and itunes presented me with this question: "Did you mean 'women is losers?'" I did not. I did get a kick out of the strange and sinister suggestion though, and wondered what kind of terrible southern crunk hip hop song would be titled thusly. Maybe some remix of the Ying Yang Twins terrifying "Whisper Song" (aka Beat the Pussy Up)? I finally, cringing, clicked on it and got a song by Janis Joplin. Southern crunk has its roots.

Oh, Harry and I visited a ham factory. It was really impressive, if slightly creepy in a Japanese Horror sort of way, and fun. It was forbidden to take pictures unfortunately. There was a giant hanger filled maybe 1/6th with garlands of ham that ran on knotted ropes from the floor to the ceiling. It smelled like heaven. I have, in my little fridge, some Iberian Pig Lard.

I used some today for a pot of beans and must confess to licking the spoon. I need something to stand in for my Xiu.




UPDATE: I love the new album (duh, I guess) which boasts a cover of 'Under Pressure' as a centerpiece. I wasn't sure how I felt about it at first: the song is such an iconic era defining one. At first it took me out of the movement of the album. But now I love it. The best parts of the song are the squalling death saxophone which fill in the crazy high Freddie Mercury vocal fireworks. I'm sure I will post about it later.