Archive | Weather Matters
I am coming downstate tomorrow and am not yet willing to be conversant on the following topics: Trump, Olympics, Pokemon, Stranger Things, Kimye, #AllLivesMatter, the freaking heat, flying cockroaches, movies, gluten, the decline of NYC, more Trump. For weeks I haven’t worn a bra, haven’t honked my horn or bit my cuticles, haven’t made small talk. I have only eaten food from local farms, fallen asleep to crickets rather than honking cars, read musty paperbacks, combed yard sales and thrift stores, bicycled down quiet green roads, listened to old records, drunk rosé on a screened-in porch, talked to animals, and taken long tromps in the woods rather than gritting my teeth through prissy gym classes. I’ve got my color back. Heck, I’ve got my sense of humor back. So why am I returning to the alleged grid? Why, to see you, my pretties.Green Was the Silence
I wake at five, when the world is still sleepy and quiet, before the day has knit its brow. I sit by the open window while the air is still cool, and I watch the sky wake, sweet as a toddler. I admire my coffee and my permakitten, both steaming at my side, and smile at the mango beneath my fingernails: a little more sweetness snuck into this morning. For the rest of the day, I will complete onerous errands and overdue assignments; it will be very hot and very humid; the news surely will be very bad. I am wondering, I am really wondering, if there will be another moment as pretty in this long, troubled July.
Revolution Ceviche
All I want to eat in this weather is ceviche, ceviche, ceviche. I don’t trust myself to make it–raw fish requires an expert touch, I fear–but I wolf it everywhere I find it, especially at the swoony jungle rooftop garden of the Llama Inn. I’d eat ceviche for breakfast, lunch and dinner if I could possibly manage three meals in this heat. Maybe a fish taco for variation every once in a while, but, really, bring on the ceviche. We can solve the country’s problems with ceviche, I think, because I’ll devour even the most unappetizing fish if it’s been marinated with many habaneros. So let’s do white supremacist ceviche, NRA fanatic ceviche, transphobic troll ceviche. Fuck it. Let’s do Trump ceviche.