i’m counting down the days (second and minutes) until my west coast escape and recently stumbled upon scribe winery. it looks like my absolute dream come true — combine wine with swings? i’m done. i’m just done!
I’ve been reading Woolgathering for two mornings now on the subway and there’s an essay in it called Nineteen Fifty-Seven — it explains the story of this beautiful song Patti Smith wrote for her sister, Kimberly. It makes me grateful that I have a sister of my own, and that I now know how this song came to be sung.
ramp season (this happened)
1/4 lb bacon
3 oz ramps
2 eggs
1/2 to 3/4 c grated Parmesan cheese
salt and pepper
Cook pasta in boiling water. Meanwhile, saute bacon in skillet over medium heat until crispy. Remove to a plate lined with paper towel. Chop bacon. Chop ramps. Grate cheese, and beat eggs into cheese. Season egg mixture with salt and pepper. When pasta is almost done, add ramps to bacon grease and saute over medium heat until almost totally wilted. Return bacon to skillet to warm. Drain pasta and add to skillet. Pour egg mixture over pasta and toss well to coat the pasta. Serve with more Parmesan cheese.
and i didn’t hate it. not one bit.
Can you find the egg?
We Wanted More (Justin Torres)
Walking home yesterday, I found a box of books on the street. While this is entirely normal for park slope, those boxes usually include various mishmashes (young adult fiction, romance novels, and old 99 cent paperbacks). This box was unusual in that it contained about 15 copies of We The Animals. I had read this book about 3 months ago, and quickly picked up several copies to send out to various friends — it’s worth reading for the language alone. The first opening paragraphs are absolutely astonishing:
We wanted more. We knocked the butt ends of our forks against the table, tapped our spoons against our empty bowls; we were hungry. We wanted more music on the radio; we wanted beats; we wanted rock. We wanted muscles on our skinny arms. We had bird bones, hollow and light, and we wanted more density, more weight. We were six snatching hands, six stomping feet; we were brothers, boys, three little kings locked in a feud for more.
When it was cold, we fought over blankets until the cloth tore down the middle. When it was really cold, when our breath came out in frosty clouds, Manny crawled into bed with Joel and me.
“Body heat,” he said.
“Body heat,” we agreed.
We wanted more flesh, more blood, more warmth.
I like inventing the story of how there were so many copies to be given away — perhaps someone worked in publicity, or they’re a friend of the author’s. Either way, I’m grateful to now have a copy to call my own and to be able to mail it to others near and far. What could be a better mid-week treat than to receive a book in the postal mail?
One singular, gorgeous peony grows in Brooklyn.
reading a review of doe paoro’s music, someone mentioned that it could fill the gap while waiting for the new d’angelo album. i wasn’t sure how this could be possible, until i started listening. and now, however incongruous, i see the link between doe paoro and d’angelo. it exists, i swear. listen to the whole album here.
missed.
I’d never read Margaret Weatherford until today, three weeks after her passing. And now all I want to do is inhale everything she ever wrote.
found through fathom, my most favorite travel site. i love this map for two reasons:
1. the handwriting looks deliciously maira kalman-esque.
2. THE america. not just america. get it right.
sunday
1. drink tea
2. read. endlessly.
3. slippers.
4. brownies.
5. listen: awesometapes. com
6. count-down: 
