I'm a lover but I'm calling you out

I just stared at the 'edit title' field for twenty minutes with no new title ideas. The search continues for a new name for this dumb thing.  Any ideas?

It's been too long since I awkwardly overshared on this thing. Seems like my silly heart does bizarro shit when I don't talk to myself on the internet frequently enough. I guess it's kind of comforting that getting wicked old doesn't mean I can't still get preposterously emotional about totally stupid things. I am not going to grow out of that at some point. This is it, folks. This is what I turned out like.

Wanna hear about my wedding? Just kidding.

The work hard/play hard crew was out in full force last night. That was really fun. I love them all so hard. I totally can't keep up with them, it's really embarrassing. This morning I feel like a sun-baked turd soaked in gasoline. Don't try to keep up with the youngbloods. How often must this lesson be taught? Ungh. Such a dummy. I felt and acted like a fucking weirdo a little bit. As usual. Embarrassing. Hearts are complicated. (And resilient. It'll be ok.) Ramona Quimby complex, man. Always doing it just a little bit wrong. I try, I swear.

Regret.

Pizza Regret! Coconut Coolouts! I heard about this band from Joe and they are great:

Not one single fuck is given by these little scamps. I will watch and learn.

The Lad Mags recording is done. (Somehow people were getting drunkenly forced to listen to it last night. Sorry. I am pretty sure it wasn't my fault, but that's pretty embarrassing. Really, I'm totally sorry about that.) I am really excited about it. I know people probably wouldn't tell me if it sucked, but I am hearing good things, which is nice. We worked hard. Also a whole crew of people (Fish, Doug, Jessica) also worked hard. We're so lucky. That band is saving my life right now. Also consuming a pretty giant portion of it, about which I couldn't possibly be happier. I don't want to get too smushy about it, but I love those guys. Anyway, we have to get it replicated now. I think a 7" first. Maybe a cassette single. Cassingle. Anyone have a place they use that is awesome? I don't know how to do any of these things. I don't think you're supposed to admit that. Oopsies.

You should listen to this show: https://wfmu.org/playlists/BS

It is The Best Show with Tom Scharpling. It totally rules. He is such a smartass. I am totally jealous. Funny shit. I think there is some sort of licensing issue where they have to take out all the music that he plays when the show is live, which is too bad because he seems to know everything good about music, but seriously, this show is awesome. I demand that you watch it. Watch it? Listen to it. It is a radio show. Ugh. My rotting brain.

Angie Pontani is coming to town, which gives me maximum glitter boners. For those who don't know, she is one of the greatest burlesque artists currently out there, truly an incredible performer, a stone cold fox, an athlete and an artist. Reigning Queen of Burlesque in 2008. Seriously, I can't waaaaait.

Ok. The end. Recipe time. My hangover and this heatwave are begging for Gazpacho-style chilled soup. So refreshing and just a little spicy vinegar kick... Total recovery guaranteed. I might be too lazy to make it happen, but I am increasing the chances by having the recipe out and ready to go, so you might as well make it along with me. This is like gazpacho without a whole loaf of mushy bread blended into it. Ick.  1) Soggy bread is gross and 2) Gazpacho calls for,  like an ENTIRE loaf of French bread and that shit is TERRIBLE for you. It's bare skin season, man. Watch those white flour calories. You're welcome.

Some notes: There used to be onion in this recipe. I always skip or drastically reduce the onion because I actually kind of hate onions and I lots of times add celery because I totally love celery and actually sometimes love adding a little wilted spinach to the mix as well, although that kind of alters the vibe of the soup a bit, just so you're warned. Vibe. Seriously? Jesus, Aspen. Anyway, follow your hearts on this one, buddies. It's a forgiving recipe. You should freestyle. More fun that way.

Ingredients

• 2 pounds Roma (plum) tomatoes, quartered
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 4 cloves garlic
• 1 quart chicken stock
• 1/4 cup chopped fresh basil
• 1/2 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
• salt to taste
• ground black pepper to taste

Directions

1. Place the tomato halves, cut side up, on a baking tray with the garlic cloves. Drizzle with the oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast at 375 degrees F (195 degrees C) for 1 hour.
2. Snip the ends off the garlic cloves, and squeeze the insides into the bowl of a food processor along with the entire contents of the baking tray. Add stock, basil, and vinegar; blend until smooth. Season to taste. Serve either hot or cold.

Like a Rake

I love Townes Van Zandt. No surprise there, most people tend to. Also metal, I love that too. Imagine my delight when I found this:

WINO, Scott Kelly (Neurosis, Shrinebuilder), and Steve Von Till (Neurosis, Harvestman), have put out this three way split record of TVZ covers. Each song is distilled and bare, acoustic guitar and weary, haunted, gravel voices. There's a sense that these guys are infusing these already harrowing songs with their own tragedies, like a tattooed arm flung over TVZ's coathanger shoulders, one depressed alcoholic crooning to another. It's fucking devastating and awesome.

Listen to 'Rake' here (via Broken Beard): http://www.brokenbeard.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/05-Rake.mp3

On a lighter note -

Our new band The Lad Mags were in the studio last weekend. It is kind of funny, really, we are still not even fully cooked yet, a month away from our first show, still figuring out how we work together, still kind of bouncing around in terms of what we want to sound like... But there is a recording! It went really well. I like this band so much and Doug did a great job and in my totally biased opinion, we sound pretty good. This was taken by Doug after we finished recording our vocals (Joe had finished his drummer duties and eventually had to go home because that crazy man starts work at FIVE IN THE MORNING so he didn't get to be in this photo, which is a bummer):

Hoping we can get some sort of shareable version of the record (maybe a 7 inch? That would be ideal) ready in time for our Edmonton and Calgary shows at the end of the month. The Edmonton show is at the Artery on June 29th with Dead Ghosts from Vancouver. The Calgary show is at the Palomino on June 30, with The High Kicks, which is a pretty rad sounding smashing duo featuring Dan Vacon, the bearded and talented. Bison is playing that same night in Calgary, which is a bummer because they are so good, but... what can you do? These are summer problems.

I have been totally into dioramas by David Hoffos lately. When I was in art school I always wished I had more time for assignments because I always wanted to create this little compartmental scenes (not that I would have achieved anything like this, obviously). I like the quietness of a contained other three dimensional space. And these ones in particular are either occupied by holography ghosts or are not occupied at all which makes them sort of terrifying. It's really funny, when I lived in smalltown AB I remember going to the AGA for the first time and seeing this totally involved installation (I can't remember who the artist was, sadly... anyone who knows please share) and it was set up like an inventor's workshop except he made wishes or dreams or something like that, and there were all these motion sensors and as you moved through the installation all these tools and magic looking inventions would start moving or start playing old music or whatever and it was like walking into a better, magic place and I never wanted to leave. Weirdly, my taste in art hasn't seemed to change much. Those are the same things I feel and love about these dioramas. Anyway, David Hoffos. Check him out. He is from Lethbridge.

Maybe it is just that I want to crawl into one of those weird quiet spacey little scenes and hide away. There are so many things that I bet that tiny night-time Airstream trailer would protect me from just fine.

Anyway, let's get to that recipe.


I made fruit crisp last night, and am a recent convert to making fruit crisp. I know it seems weird to be making my first one ever at my age, but it's true. And the timing is perfect. Fruit is so beautiful right now. I love that EVERYTHING GOOD is in season.

Sooooo, you should make this. This isn't the one I made last night, it is first one I made a couple of months ago and it is totally delicious:

I always just eyeball amounts so sorry this is kind of vague...

Fruit Crisp:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F

You'll need
- peeled and cubed mango
- peeled and cubed ripe pear
- peeled and cubed apple
- fresh or frozen berries
- peeled and cubed peaches
(Sub whatever you want. Bananas are good! Plums! Whatever!)
- juice and zest of one lemon - I HAVE LEARNED THE HARD WAY THAT LEMON JUICE IS NOT AN OPTIONAL INGREDIENT. TRUST ME.
- brown sugar and white sugar (every recipe I find calls for TOO MUCH sugar, so I always reduce it. I use between half and three quarters of a cup of white and brown sugar combined, depending on how ripe/sweet the fruit is that I am using. More sugar does not always mean more deliciousness!)
- rolled oats
- unbleached flour
- smashed pistachios (raw!)
- pinch of salt
- about a 1/2 cup of butter, melted.
- 1 tsp cinnamon
- 1/2 tsp ginger
- 1/2 tsp ground cloves
- 1/2 tsp nutmeg

First mix together the cinnamon, ginger, cloves and nutmeg in a little dish.

Put the fruit into a baking dish, add lemon juice and zest and about 2 tablespoons of sugar (or maple syrup or whatever sweet things you like). At a pinch (or 2?) of the spice mixture, and stir until fairly evenly coated.

In a mixing bowl, add one cup of flour, one cup of rolled oats, the amount of sugar you decided on based on what was discussed above, a pinch of salt and the remaining spice mixture and the smashed pistachios (if you want to use them, which you don't have to). Add melted butter and combine thoroughly. It should end up with a moist crumbly texture. Some people add an egg to the mixture at this point, but I never have and the topping always turns out how I want it.

Spread the oat mixture evenly on top of the fruit in the baking dish. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Eat that shit because that shit is DELICIOUS.

xo

Get Wild!

Woah. That was an accidental super-hiatus. What a total life explosion.

Dirt City Dream Captain update: in case I haven't squealed about it to every single human in the universe already: Me and Mr. Dream Captain are making it official this September! So, if anyone cares, sorry I didn't post for so long. Planning a wedding in 4 months is hilariously stressful. It went from a small and simple event to a big event with loads of details to be considered so fast that I didn't even see it happening. Also, in addition to my own crazy feelings and sleeplessness and eatlessness, HOLY SHIT, OTHER PEOPLE TURN INTO MARTIANS WHEN YOU ARE MAKING A WEDDING. Seriously. Previously sweet and lovely people have turned into wicked manipulative monsters. I hear that this is a normal thing that happens and that it will go back to normal after the thing is done, but jesus.... I am starting to fantasize about telling everyone to just get off my dick and eloping to a quiet beach.

ANNNNNNNYWAY. Sorry to go on and on and on and on and on and on and on. I know no one wants to hear anyone talk about their wedding planning. It is hard to have something occupy ALL your time and ALL your energy and ALL your life and to have to bite your tongue

Here are some things that are nice for your eyes and life:

1. These lamps! Holy crap! I want to tear up my home and remake it around these lamps! They are dreamy!

2. These vintage photos of dancers with rainbow laser embroidery! (Thanks Dara for bringing these to my attention) Totally perfect.

3. Speaking of Dara, brilliant Dara Humniski is cooking up some new treasures for her jewelry line, Here With Me. I am drooling already. This is my favorite line of accessories ever. This lady's talent is pretty breathtaking.

I highly suggest everyone get her stuff now because she is going to be the most famous person we know and she will not undercharge for her beautiful things forever.

I have the long version of this necklace and so far I haven't found a single outfit that it doesn't drastically improve. :

Allllso, I am thinking about renaming this blog. I have to. Dirt City was a cute term when it was a thing that 6 people said to each other with a wink, but it is now a different thing and is used liberally all over (sometimes in ways that make me grit my teeth a bit) and it really doesn't mean the same thing anymore. Not to sound like I have any ownership over it or whatever, I really truly don't, it just doesn't seem appropriate anymore. It has been kind of wrecked for me. I don't know what the new name will be yet. I am open to suggestions.

Listen to this: Night Beats did a limited split 7 " with TRMRS.  Hear it here: Night Beats - Messiah

These guys are so good that it makes me feel weird. 

And I think that's it for now? That's all I have time for now. I resolve to be less ignore-y with this blog. Writing, even silly yelling into the void about my own dumb whatever, is my favorite thing.

Here is a summer recipe, as it is now summer. Thank god. It seemed like this winter was going to go without a hitch, and then suddenly a whole bunch of people that I love just totally fucking unraveled and there was just the smell of smashed heart bits on everything and just a feeling like a stomach full of rocks because I wanted to help and totally couldn't and it's not really my business anyway but that doesn't mean I won't lose sleep over it for weeks at a time. Anyway, it seems like the smashed things are being rebuilt and everyone is working hard and the best thing is that everyone just made themselves no-time-to-think busy with making totally great art and music and projects of all kinds, so at least out of the shit storm will come a whole bunch of really great stuff.  Oops, right. Recipe.

Ok, this is sort of made up so please forgive the inelegant language, but I swear it is super delicious.

Fruit Salsa and Cinnamon Chips OR how to be the most popular person at a brunch potluck:

Cut the following into small salsa-appropriate chunks:
(these are suggestions, feel free to GET WILD)
-mango
-strawberries
-green grapes
-bananas (don't cut these too small, they get mooshy and give your salsa a really gross snotty texture)
-grapefruit
-kiwi
-pomegranate seeds
-gala or pink lady or golden delicious or some other really sweet kind of apple

In a separate little bowl mix together the juice of one lemon (eyeball the amount according to how much fruit you use. Use more or less according to how big the salsa batch is!)
A couple of very generous splashes of maple syrup (don't use fake stuff! It's gross!)
and here's the secret winning ingredient: A TON of grated ginger. Like seriously a ton. The more kick the better. Don't worry, the sweetness of the fruit and maple syrup will mellow it out.

Pour the mixture over the salsa and mix it together really well. This salsa is really good right away, but fucking DEADLY if it can sit and marinate for a while.

Then you need these things:
- soft flour tortillas
- a couple of tablespoons of melted butter (in a pinch regular canola oil or whatever will totally work, but will just be slightly less delicious).
- a mixture of cinnamon and white sugar.

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

Brush one side of the tortilla with melted butter and then sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar. Cut into little wedges, spread them out on a cookie sheet and bake them for about 8 or 10 minutes, until they are crispy and brown. Keep an eye on these because the time between browned and blackened is not very long. These are super delicious so make lots as you will likely "test" a few before you head out to the brunch you are about to be the queen/king of.

There you go!
xo!

Button Down

I am totally feeling Roky Erickson lately. That howl. There's this restless hunger. Maybe it's spring. Maybe it's staring down the barrel at the funnest vacation of all time (1 sleep! Or rather one night of staring at the ceiling hoping I don't forget to bring pants!) that I am secretly a little bit afraid I'll never recover from. Restless unsatisfied, in spite of so many nice things right in front of me. Maybe it's that I can see (sort of? I think?) where I should be/want to be and have no idea how to get there. My friend Fish (smarter and better than most) said we're "like cats staring at meat through glass". That seems right. It's a weird thing to be shaking with impatience to get to the next thing and to have no fucking idea what that is or how to start to get there. (Sorry, I know it is brutally obvious to post this video, but I LOOOOOVE this song. I LOOOOOOVE it. I don't care how many shitty cheesy compilations it has been put on. It shreds.)

Things felt a little sparkly for a while there. That's done now. It was all nice hearing about friends taking over Berlin and inventing art and ideas faster than our wine mouths could say them and having Coe in town and feeling like this was a different life, a freer more glamourous one,  and seeing beckoning options, enticing, in all directions. I forgot how things are for a sec. Nothing gets me hotter than a lost cause usually, but eventually you get tired of listening even to really great records. A little break from Dirt Town is coming at the perfect time. I'm going to worry about being at multiple shows at once rather than contemplating the complexities of human emotion/developing protection strategies for the damage people are determined to inflict on themselves. Who the fuck do I think I am, anyway? Excuse me, I am going to be over here minding my own business via this bottle of whiskey.

Who just posted this on Facebook the other day? I can't remember. It is a Roky Erickson cover that is pretty rad. Thanks whoever posted that first. Joe maybe? I don't know. Whatever.

That is all. I am adopting buttoned-down cynicism as my method of surviving SXSW with the rowdiest group of friends one could imagine travelling with. Maybe we'll see you in a week. Maybe never again. Who can say?

Also baffling: this is a thing. Gabber. Fucking weird. If you want to feel like you are being jabbed in the brain with a dick, follow the link to the music. Jesus. I like the testimonials about dudes seeing these wasted people in matching colourful sweatsuits and thinking 'man, I NEED TO DO THAT'. I don't understand anything at all.

xo

A Stern Lecture on Shame

So, let's talk about shame spirals. I have them (lots, loudly), you've had them. Some people I know seem to have them basically constantly. It is a recurring theme with a bunch of people I really like recently and I have been thinking about it a lot. So here it is.

A friend recently linked to a blog post by some guy who wanted to talk about shame and I read it and just wanted to smack the writer upside the head. In his case, his shame was around the fact that he failed at business and had to move out of NYC and found himself lying to people and acting like a shithead because he couldn't admit he was struggling. He was talking about the process of coming to terms with that, which would obviously be incredibly hard, but that fucker whined and WHINED and acted like both his behaviour and his subsequent shame about it was somehow outside of his control, or out of character or something. An affliction that was happening to him that he was learning to carry with him blah blah blah. He vaguely mentioned his marriage ending throughout this process and I see why. No one wants to be married to (or do business with, apparently) someone who treats their life like it is something that just happens to them and then weeps about their shame when they are not winning. Whatta dipstick. I flipped through a few other posts and he's a good writer, likeable when he is not talking about himself, and has some really good things to say, but is ultimately a victim in his life. Sad.

We all know that feeling shame is our choice, right? I mean it's kind of fun to wring your hands and smack your forehead on the table and howl about REMORSE once in a while, but really, if you think about it, shame is totally invented to insulate you from either knowing or admitting what kind of person you are. You get that little twinge that lets you know you are not a psychopath, but beyond that the rest is basically just making yourself feel better (or feel gratified by feeling worse). And also it is a pretty useless waste of your time and emotional energy. You have better things to do, I know you do. Just fucking deal with it. You act like yourself all the time, no matter what you are doing. To have a nervous breakdown about it after the fact just means that you are trying to fight being what you actually are.

People are funny. We do stupid things, even really smart, awesome, driven, kind and lovely people do them. We drink too much or get too stressed out and flip our lids, act like maniacs, do things that do not reflect the person that we think we are. But seriously, if that wasn't the person you are then you wouldn't be doing the things you do. So, instead of spending a week laying on the floor feeling like shit about living your life like a normal healthy person (because we ALL do these things) why not congratulate yourself on not being a fucking corpse, and head on to whatever you have to do next? By all means, freak out if you want to, shame spiral and wring your hands and feel TERRIBLE. But just understand that it is a self-indulgence. You are authoring this, it is not being done to you. You should probably just laugh about it all instead.
xo


(P.S. In all fairness, that blogger sort of arrived at the fact that shame is stupid too by the end of his post, but it was still in a new age-y transcendent way that suggested he was overcoming something difficult, rather than rethinking his choice to torture himself, still not really admitting that he acted like a lying shithead because part of his personality is a lying shithead, which makes me think he's still got some work to do).

On paper

 Say what you want about how he ended up, but Jack White used to shred. It's been a while, but I bet he still can, when he's not busy inventing crappy supergroups. This Captain Beefheart cover has always been a dirty favorite and I bring it out whenever I'm feeling like I need to shake it all off and just fucking howl for a while. It's like that now. I will convince you all and myself that I do not give a microfuck. Watch me.

I stopped sleeping again, so everything seems the weirdest. I don't know why this happens. Cursed fretting. I wish I could be more selective about when I stay up all night in knots about things, mostly about things that are not my problem, my fault or my business. The upside is that the psychedelic state my poor fatigued brain is in has made it lots easier to write songs for this new thing that is starting to come together. It is going to be so awesome. I can't wait to be able to tell everyone about it.

I guess this insomnia is going to be good practice for SXSW next week. There will be no sleeping. There will be tacos, there will be The Best Wurst, there will be an open bar at our hotel every single day (seriously, that's how Texas does happy hour) there will be sweaty dirty savage little rock & roll monsters roaring around in the streets and I am going to roar with them and I am not going to worry about one single thing. Take that, adult life.

Speaking of roaring monsters, I am pretty excited about High on Fire's new banger. Everyone should go listen to it right now. Except Anna Coe. Anna, this is not for you. Everyone else, stream it here.

I don't feel like writing so here are some photos of things that I am looking at:

I think Karl Lagerfeld is a twat, but then look at the jewel encrusted cuff, the gold and amethyst breastplate and that clutch (!!!) that he just showed! God. I'm dying. This is from the Chanel RTW FW 2012 show, in case anyone cares. Accessories! (re: the above link, I don't care about Adele, just to be clear).

 I have to perform at this 1920s Prohibition themed party at some place called Suede Lounge tonight for Yelp and I have been scouring the internet for ways to make my ass-length scruffy mop do this:

So far, no luck. What a disaster! I hate sucking at period costumes.

Obviously I need this bag in order to have a fulfilled life:

(It's by Vlieger & Vandam) 

Whatever. This post is dumb. Sorry! I need a nap!
xo!

Love the Sinner

I'm back to hanging out in the bathtub again, metaphorically speaking. Unexpectedly. Things were looking so good. There has to be some way to put more distance between these involuntary toe gazing sessions.

This weekend was 100% lovely in every way. One million wine dates with my best favorite human, Anna Coe, who has finally come back to us. We went on fancy lady dates and drank all the wine and funny Prohibition era gin cocktails. We wore furs and gloves and I realized how terrible it was having my best friend on the other side of the world. (I got lipstick on one of my pairs of vintage Dior gloves, which TOTALLY SUCKS. Nice one, drunky). It really was the nicest thing to have her here. I'm going to spend a lot of time on the QE2, I think.

Most beautiful lady in all the land:

We went to Jessica and Sarah's adorable Vintage Pop-up event. It was so great! And so busy. I'm so happy for them. It's nice that we make this city a place we want to be in. More of this, please. I bought a pendant from Jessica's line of accessories and haven't taken it off since. I don't think she has a site, but the line is called Chaos and the Dark and her stuff is great.

I got to spend some time with the Coe siblings, who are also the greatest. I love how they are together, they tumble over each other like puppies. They love and smash and are maniacs. I've been inducted as an honorary Coe, and I'm delighted. They are the best crew. Even Helen, who seems determined to take me for dim sum and make me eat chicken feet. This is the one she sent me in a to-go container. Ack!:

Things went a little sideways, as they do, and I feel like kind of a crappy friend now that the wine glow has gone out of my cheeks. It's no big deal really. Just sighing a lot today. I wish hearts were sturdier. I wish it were less easy for humans to jump to the worst conclusions. I'm a good friend. I really am, I swear. (Sorry guys. Too squishy, I know, but that's where I'm at today. Probably just a symptom of consecutive days of too much wine, mostly. So it goes. It's a lesson I've learned enough times.)

I'm on a sad movie kick lately, which isn't helping. I have decided to never watch anything with Charlotte Gainsbourg in it ever again. She is too good at tragedy and her performances always fuck me up for days. This one did me in a couple of days ago:

Most definitely time to get busy and stay busy. Less feeling, more doing.

SXSW adventure countdown is on. 9 days until I get on a plane, watch my troubles shrink until they are a tiny winter patchwork quilt thousands of feet below. Too tiny to see and too far away to fret over. I get approximately 200% more excited every day. At this rate I am just going to be howling the whole time we are there. Lifesaving, I have no doubt. There will be no time for sitting in the bathtub in Texas.

(This is a Maarten Donders drawing. He is awesome. Look at more of his stuff via Boooooom.com)


Ok, that's all.
xo