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Thank you God for this fine dayAnd bless all the children all over the world
Thank you for the plants and the animals
Oh bring me sweet dreams tonight
And help me be good tomorrowNoah's ark came to my house one day
With all of his animals and took me away
One summer in college I had this particularly bad boyfriend who introduced me to some of my favorite music (Robert Earl Keen, for one) but who also listened to stuff I couldn't stand. We had a particularly messy breakup, after which I thought to myself "well, at least I don't have to listen to any more Jackson Browne."
This summer I was in a car with my then-boyfriend and he had on a mix CD with a big block of...Jackson Browne. I already knew we weren't on the same wavelength about music and other essential elements in my world, but the sudden appearance of Jackson Browne really kind of summed things up for me. One of the songs, however, I actually like, as the usual JBrowne smugness is for 5 minutes 42 seconds overtaken by a breathtakingly understated expression of baffled grief over romantic loss. I looked up the lyrics later, because what I heard seemed to articulate the disconnect between me and my kindly, in-all-other-ways-awesome then-boyfriend. And I was impressed by this song's short-story quality, with the reference to the existing holes in the wall of a rented house and the way he circles back to the ruby necklace.
What I heard in the car that afternoon was the line "I guess I never knew what she was talking about; I guess I never knew what she was living without." I knew we wouldn't last the summer, even though he was/is so dear to me and I so wish I could stay with him and make him happy and vice versa. But there's something we don't/didn't have, some sort of connection that makes the work and obligation and sacrifice of a romantic relationship seem do-able. And there's no good reason for why I can't keep up with the quite minimal work and obligation and sacrifice for a good man who asked so little of me, other than that I am romantically retarded.* And I don't understand why I'm like that, which is why my distaste for Jackson Browne is overcome by my gratitude to him for articulating in this song so perfectly the bewilderment of loss. Because too often I am as bewildered as anyone.
It was a ruby that she wore
On a chain around her neck
In the shape of a heart
In the shape of a heart
It was a time I won't forget
For the sorrow and regret
And the shape of a heart
And the shape of a heart
I guess I never knew
What she was talking about
I guess I never knew
What she was living withoutPeople speak of love don't know what they're thinking of
Wait around for the one who fits just like a glove
Speak in terms of belief and belonging
Try to fit some name to their longingThere was a hole left in the wall
From some ancient fight
About the size of a fist
Or something thrown that had missed
And there were other holes as well
In the house where our nights fell
Far too many to repair
In the time that we were therePeople speak of love don't know what they're thinking of
Reach out to each other though the push and shove
Speak in terms of a life and the learning
Try to think of a word for the burningYou keep it up
You try so hard
To keep a life from coming apart
And never know
What breaches and faults are concealed
In the shape of a heartIt was the ruby that she wore
On a stand beside the bed
In the hour before dawn
When I knew she was gone
And I held it in my hand
For a little while
And dropped it into the wall
Let it go, heard it fallI... I guess I never knew
What she was talking about
I guess I never knew
What she was living without
People speak of love don't know what they're thinking of
Wait around for the one who fits just like a glove
Speak in terms of a life and the living
Try to find the word for forgivingYou keep it up
You try so hard
To keep a life from coming apart
And never know
The shallows and the unseen reefs
That are there from the start
In the shape of a heart
*Perhaps the fact that I copy down song lyrics and say "OMG, this is JUST LIKE my life" along with a million other 13-year-old girls is some indication of my level of immaturity. Just saying.
and somebody else's favorite song...
*Technically, it's "nothing but blues and Elvis" but I prefer my misheard version.
Things I have done this Tuesday evening:
1. Yoga till 6:30
2. Picked up my bike from the shop (new bottom bracket and brakes! trued rear wheel!)
3. Walked my dog in the shockingly delightful 92 degrees--heavenly!
4. Went to Central Market for lunch makings for the rest of the week (red bell peppers 2 for $1! organic grapefruit only $1 a pound!)
5. Came home and blasted my two favorite fellows, Steely and Dan, while drinking red wine out of a juice glass with a picture of a cow and the word "Moo" on it, and prepping the bell pepper and carrots for salads. Yowled along with my fellas.
6. Went over to the CD rack to replace Royal Scam with Gaucho and briefly considered putting in Steely Dan Gold.
7. While chopping peppers, wondered why on earth I have Steely Dan Gold when I already have all the individual albums. (Up through Gauco, anyway. I'm afraid to listen to current day Steely Dan, terrified of disappointment.)
8. Sat down at computer to email various people about the Girl Scout event I am organizing (September 19! Very soon!), and suddenly realized that I have Steely Dan Gold because it has FM on it, a song otherwise available only on a soundtrack for the 1978 movie FM. Quickly checked: Netflix does not have FM available.
9. Added FM onto my computer as an MP3 to load onto this blog post. Seeing it is taking forever to upload, restarted Gaucho on the stereo.
10. All in all, an excellent evening.
A few years ago I was in love or something like it with a guy whose favorite band was Low. That was one good thing I got from him: Low. This song: 2-Step. I have this song on a CD somewhere at home, not sure where. Somehow I ran across a reference to Low this morning and went over to iTunes to see what was in stock. I listened to the sample of 2-Step and immediately pressed "Buy Song." I had to hear it right away. HAD TO. Could not wait another moment to hear the rest of it, even though I have it on CD somewhere at home. It's bone-crunchingly beautiful and mysterious and starts and ends with a phrase I don't understand but love the sound of:
And the light it burns your skin,
In a language you don't understand.
I think the song may be about prayer or a religious ceremony, but who knows, other than the folks who wrote it. To my knowledge, they're not telling. It goes on:
It's not that hard,
it is not that hard.
That's not all, voices small--
Heed them either way they call.
This seems like prayer, or the act of/talent for listening to the divine. Putting on a pair of headphones and listening to this song is a prayer, partly because I can't do anything else while this song is playing but close my eyes and listen. The review on iTunes says that "The music is so warm it's a literal caress from the speakers--and that's no mean feat in their notoriously chilly genre" (slocore). Right now The Onion has in their Inventory section a list of songs to commit suicide to and a list of songs to bring you back from the brink of suicide. I'm not sure which list this song would go on, but the iTunes reviewer is right: 2-Step is a warm caress from the speakers, the sound of the ineffable offering sad comfort.
I don't know what this song's intentions are or how it is made so beautifully but it is endlessly fascinating and also sacred in that it connects me to the divine, which is both in the words and around them, in the music.
I used to feel much more connected to the divine, used to spend much more time in prayer and meditation. I try to pay attention to the small voices and heed them, either way they call. I try to pay attention when the universe sends something my way for me to consider and respond to. The man who introduced me to Low was absolutely sent by the divine--on some level we were connected, energetically/cosmically/karmically/whatever--for me to respond to in a constructive fashion. And I did, because when he broke my heart my response was to give him a gift, tell him all the good I saw in him, and so exited the situation with much more dignity than I ever thought possible. Made possible by opening my heart to the creator's will and allowing that to dictate my response. I'm a little less emotionally retarded for that experience.
I had thought at the time that when you encounter someone with whom you have some sort of energetic/cosmic/karmic/whatever connection, you got to keep that person, like a missing puzzle piece that fills in part of you. Aren't puzzle pieces meant to stay together, once united? Now I feel that these connections are answers to which we need to determine the question. That's why I might feel the sensation of a puzzle piece snapping into place: it's a just a signal from the divine that I have another question to unearth in response to this answer.
This song is answering a question the listener doesn't get to hear, which is why it starts with the word "and," indicating the answer is already in progress, and doesn't specify what "it" is that is "not that hard." This song is a portrait of all the people to whom I have felt deeply, cosmically connected but did not get to keep.
So my old friend and I have begun our taco tour. We went to Maria's Taco Express, which is No.4 on the List of Taco Places To Eat At. I've been there many times, but my friend has not (she's a northsider and rarely comes south). It was an easy stop close to home, which was essential on this last Saturday, as I had a Girl Scout meeting that afternoon to purchase groceries and clean up for. (We were practicing cooking with pie irons that afternoon, in preparation for demonstrating this technique at the Outdoor Cooking Demonstration later this month. Which reminds me: I need to tell my troop about this. I'm organizing the event and have filled in the whole service unit with details, but haven't given my troop the news yet. Funny how that works.)
So why am I going on about pie irons when this is supposed to be a record of the Taco Express experience? Because the tacos just were not that remarkable. They were tasty enough, as always, and an excellent value but I do not drool in retrospect. Instead, I'm looking forward to toasting more sammiches with our new pie irons. First, we did a classic grilled cheese, using bread, cheese, and turkey. About 3 minutes on each side, with the pie irons resting on the coals, made fantastic sammiches. Then we experimented with croissant dough, cheese, and turkey, which bakes WAY faster than we thought it would. The scouts were, as always, enthusiastic, high-spirited, and surprisingly level-headed in matters of cooking and open flame and other hot things. I am so lucky to have such a bright, mature group.
I'm finishing The Professional, which I started watching for perhaps the fifth time on Tuesday evening. This half of the movie has lots more of Gary Oldman's character, Stan, which is an absolute treat. I understand Gary Oldman is quite the alcoholic nutjob but it can't be healthy to so utterly inhabit the psychotic characters he's known for. It's just a treat to watch him work, although it makes me sad that he pays a high pyschological price for his abilities. On his drinking, he noted at one point "Someone once described alcoholics as egomaniacs with low self-esteem. Perfect definition." He has the gift of disappearing into his character, so you know, yes, that's Gary Oldman, but you're watching his work unfold and you're so totally sold on the character you forget who is creating it, you just know that it's been created and it is perfection. No one else could have delivered lines like this with such utter conviction, such truth:
Stan: Do you like life, sweetheart?
Mathilda: Yes.
Stan: That's good, because I take no pleasure in taking a life if it's from a person who doesn't care about it.
Also a treat: when Leon and Mathilda are trapped in the apartment and snipers are firing at them, Leon has to save his potted plant, the only family he had until he met Mathilda, which is in its place in the window, so he sprints past the window and grabs his plant out of the window and is running through the apartment with the plant in one hand and his gun in the other. Such a fantastic bit of follow-through on his character.
And wow: that shot when Gary Oldman's character shoots him in the back, but you don't see the shot or the bullet hit him. You see the doorway he's walking toward, the daylit doorway leading out of the basement of their apartment building, he's almost out, and then there's a flare of light, the doorway goes white, the camera stops and slides slowly down to the floor. It's the first/only shot from Leon's point of view and it's both unexpected and heartbreaking. And the wonderful suprise gift Leon has for Stan. So good.
How much do I love breakfast tacos? So much I named one of my IMP mix CDs after them (complete with photo of the original Las Manitas* as the cover image).
So I was quite excited when AustinFit magazine listed Austin's Top 25 Tacos in their October 2008 issue. I haven't gotten the chance to explore all the options, though, and the magazine just sits in a basket by my front door. Then last weekend I met a friend from high school at The Screaming Goat for tacos and a how've-you-been-the-last-20-years conversation and I mentioned my desire to conduct a tour of these 25 taco joints, allowing both my friend and I to experience the taco spectrum and also hang out on a semi-regular basis. Sadly, AustinFit does not have the list archived and I will have to type it out. Rude! So, here are the places I propose Miss Pat and I experience:
[bolded = I haven't been there]
1. Nueva Onda: obvious, I know, but I've never been
2. Galaxy Cafe: I've eaten post-group-run breakfast there a couple times and it is fantastic. Terrific coffee, too, in self-serve urns.
3. Juanita's: this is the little caboose outside of Body Adorned, where I've gotten some excellent fill work done--so fast and yet so solid; never thought to stop in for tacos. (Post-tattoo, I've always walked down to the Ben & Jerry's store for comfort). Like many cabooses, Juanita's has no web page.
4. Maria's Taco Xpress: ah, been here many times. I'll make sure my friend has. Meaux's Special Award: most fucking annoying web site.
5. Taco Shack: local chain; I think I've eaten at their Guadalupe location
6. El Sol y La Luna: never been there but I like their sign.
7. Las Manitas: this place is quite gone now. It was supposed to be relocated but no news yet.
8. Juan in a Million: this place has been mentioned several times as a post-group-run spot, but I have yet to make it.
9. Mr. Natural: aw hell yeah--their ability to make vegan Mexican food so delicious is simply magical.
10. Torchy's: oh, the Brushfire = Jamaican jerk chicken, grilled jalapenos, mango, sour cream, and cilantro served on a flour tortilla with our Diablo sauce = YUM. I've eaten at their dine-in store but want to hit the trailer too.
11. Mi Madres: another east side favorite I have yet to experience.
12. Las Cazuelas: never heard of this place but the magazine review mentions an "addictive creamy verde salsa"
13. Tamale House #3: promoted in the magazine as a bargain for two-item tacos
14. Curra's: This place's parking lot is so packed on weekend mornings that I've never eat there, but the magazine mentions "Oaxacan coffee (mmm...vanilla)" so I suppose we'll have to work something out
15. Whole Foods: I've eaten WF breakfast tacos many times and highly recommend them. The taco bar staffers really stuff these things so full that they can hardly roll the tortilla up, and you can get all kinds of healthy options, such as whole wheat or spelt tortillas, roasted veggies, or vegan chorizo. And they are fricking cheap too, and come with fresh salsa. Big ups to WF for their taco bar.
16. Little Mexico: part of the TexMex Mile on South 1st, Little Mexico is kind of a scary looking shack, which is why I've never eaten there. Must be bold in this endeavor, however.
17. Joe's Bakery: another eastside place I've never heard of.
18. Wheatsville Food Coop: although rife with hippies, Wheatsville does provide other yummy deli items so I'd be willing to wade through the hippies to reach the taco counter.
19. Amaya's Taco Village: located close to my friend's house and is supposed to be one of those hidden gems
20. La Cocina de Consuelo: "All you need to know is that the tacos are expertly made, they're not served after 11 a.m., and the kitchen is closed on Saturdays." Interesting that they are closed on Saturdays--Consuelo a Mexican Jew observing the Sabbath? Must investigate.
21. El Arroyo: another obvious place I have never been. Meaux's Special Award: 2nd-most annoying web site.
22. Taco Deli: I've had Taco Deli as post-race fare; they put shredded carrot in their tacos, which I find off-putting. Must visit their point of origin and see if it gets better.
23. Rudy's BBQ: These are OK.
24. Austin Java: As the prices and level of crowding at Austin Java continue to escalate, their tacos might not be worth it; must discuss.
25. El Chilito: a favorite eastside tacqueria of mine; I'll make sure Pat has been there too.
Meaux's #26: You know who has an excellent breakfast taco setup? Lava Java. Not only do they provide a high-value deal of 2 tacos with 3 fillings plus a coffee for sub-$4, the fillings they offer are unbeatable. They offer grilled onions and grilled tomatos that are out of this world, particularly when combined with the black beans in a whole wheat tortilla. YUM. Must make sure my friend has this delicious experience.
*I ate at Las Manitas only twice, as I don't get downtown that often, but the first time was an iconic event for me. I'd come to Austin for a couple days in May 1993 to find a place to live when I returned in the fall to attend UT's grad school in Russian language and literature. What a lost little semester that turned out to be--I returned to Chicago at semester's end, having realized that the Russian professor's life was not for me. It was a wierd time. ANYWAY. That day in May, when I was so filled with optimism and excitement, I drove into Austin early in the morning from my parents' place near Marble Falls and happened upon Las Manitas as I drove through downtown looking for the apartment locator's office. I'd been living in Chicago for 2 years and was amazed at how tiny Austin's downtown was, and how quiet. Although it was a weekday, I easily found parking on Congress (this was many years ago, remember) and an open counter stool at Las Manitas. The breakfast tacos were excellent and cheap and I came to associate Las Manitas always with that May morning, the stillness of the tiny downtown, which made the city seem so easy and approachable, lacking the rush and congestion and density of downtown Chicago.
IMDB mentions that for The Professional (aka Leon),
All of the interiors of Léon's apartment were shot in Paris; all of the shots of the outside corridor were shot six weeks earlier in New York.
I would not have guessed that from watching the movie, although Jean Reno does look perfectly the part of the downtrodden French laborer. (The way he slumps over his ironing board is almost a caricature of the melancholy French peasant, except for how committed he is to his movement.) And his character, Leon, is indeed in his own little world--in a city of one, deliberately foreign among his neighbors. Placing his apartment shots in another country brilliantly underscores his separation, an artistic decision I'm utterly delighted by, although I never knew till tonight that it occurred.
I'm watching The Professional again tonight, my first free Tuesday in a long time. I see that Leon betrays tremendous loneliness when he is showering after the movie's initial hit job, but the rest of the time, he seems so utterly contained in the simplicity and routines of his life. He always buys 2 cartons of milk and drinks nothing else, wipes the leaves of his single houseplant each day (a houseplant, by the way, called an aglaonema, which is supposed to be difficult to kill--perfect for a hitman), does his daily batch of situps, and sleeps sitting up in his living room. His profession limits him in many ways but within limitations resides a certain peace. I'm not a professional killer, but I think I'd like to live like one.
IMDB also notes that
According to Patrice Ledoux, Luc Besson planned Léon as filler. At the time, he had already started working on The Fifth Element (1997), but production was delayed due to Bruce Willis's schedule. Rather than dismiss the production team and lose his creative momentum, Besson wrote Léon. It took him only 30 days to write the script, and the shoot lasted only 90 days. Ironically, Léon is now generally considered to be a far superior film to The Fifth Element.
How delightful! One of my favorite movies just sprang up as filler, without the writer/director really thinking about it. Love it.
As an aside, I'm amazed at how much Matilda's character reminds me of my daughter. Natalie Portman was 11 when she was cast for the role and my daughter has just turned 10. Matilda shares with my daughter a certain pluckiness, a fearlessness and certainty that she can handle anything. Also, they bluff in the same self-assured manner. I can see my daughter playing this role (she wants to be an actress, which horrifies me, but she has seemed remarkably good in the various plays she's been in).
I ran across a reference today to Betty Blue, a French movie I saw several years ago. I remember having no patience for the main character, a man who goes to ever greater extremes to accomodate his insane girlfriend. I think the idea is that she is schizophrenic. She eventually dies--suicide, I think. Which was a relief at that point for me and also possibly for the main character, Zorg. The movie appears to be a meditation on love and its attendant insanities, writ large. What would you do for the woman you love, etc., etc. Betty royally screws up everything for him, alienating everyone who can do him good, getting him fired, and forcing him to abruptly leave his pleasant seaside home to follow her crazy ass around. (At this point in time, I'm reminded of my ex-husband's girlfriend, who is bipolar and also alienates everyone around him, although not so much with her mental illness as with just being a freeloading, repugnant narcissist. ANYWAY.)
At any rate, the movie opens with Zorg making some sort of bean stew on the stove of his beach house. He makes his living as a handyman for the beachfront community. He's self-sufficient and seemingly self-contained, as epitomized by his quiet, nourishing meal at his kitchen table. Then Betty arrives on the scene and he doesn't get a good meal again until the end of the movie. After grieving for a while, he's back to cooking for himself again and seems to be renewed by eating his soup right out of the pot at his kitchen table. He has grief, loss, and a good meal and that seems like a good start for him.
As I'm trying to get back into my old-maid groove, which I was so happy in, once I got the hang of it, I'm hoping to achieve that eagerness he shows to regain himself and his peace as he spoons his self-made meal into his mouth.
