Emchap's Shit from the Internet 03/6/19 🍠
I generally speaking don't go to concerts that often, because they are expensive and I am lazy about remembering to check artists' web sites to find that info out. So, entrance into the era of constant monitoring of my activity by #apps has actually been a boon to my live music consumption—Spotify, because it knows everything I've shame-listened to for the last several years, presents me with a very accurately-curated email list of musicians it is 100% certain I will like and when they'll be coming into town. It is the one legitimately useful application of my personal information on the whole internet.
All of that is to say, I found myself at a free Dessa concert on Monday night. Dessa, for those who don't know/didn't listen to her with an intense exclusivity for 6 months in 2018, is a 6 foot tall white lady rapper from Minneapolis and she is great; funny and sly and angry sounding.
I wasn't sure if that would carry over to her live performance (I saw her once, years ago, from far away and before I was independently a fan), but I wasn't disappointed. She's beautiful (and because of her height, striking in an old-school sense) and takes advantage of that—because of the small performance space she was able to get right up in everyone's faces without anyone recoiling, and once she had, she'd jump out and startle folks, or steal their phones, and at the end of her show she climbed up a balcony by the soundboard to hold court. She seems vaguely feral in a way that I always admire and so rarely am.
She's got a slightly Caroline Lamb energy and the truest-sounding song I've ever heard about running into your ex and trying to be an adult about it, which is a skill I have a million percent never in my life mastered.
Last week I finished up reading Good and Mad, the Traister book about a particular moment in women's rage. (It's good; I recommend it; I think it does a really solid job of analyzing its topic through a lens that includes the divergent racial experiences of women on top of its core subject.) A thing that runs through a lot of the book is the idea that people freak out when women get angry, and there's a lot of social pressure for women not to be furious even when it's warranted.
Towards the middle of the set, Dessa sang Fire Drills. It's a fundamentally angry song about how much it fucks up your life to have to devote half of it to trying not to get sexually assaulted ("I think a woman’s worth/I think that she deserves/A better line of work/Than motherfucking vigilance"). The crowd had been into the show anyway before she started the song, but when she kicked it off every single woman in the room lost their fucking minds, and Dessa's reaction to it suggested that that's not unusual. It was fascinating to see half a room get really angry in this brief, approved way. I liked being part of the angry group for a brief moment, before we quieted back down and finished up the show.
Shit to read
Possums are good now.
Aminatou Sow talks about money and obligation and sponcon. I dug it. I like her mercenary "whatever makes me the most money is what I am doing" approach to life, particularly as someone who is periodically shamed by family members about not following my dreams due to my pursuit of boring, lucrative work.
Great and belated Oscars content.
I loved this letter about trans identity and moving away from shame about wanting things. (Again, as someone who is horrified to be see wanting things, ever.)
I love that Tayari Jones' boring day job is working at my college.
I have never been to Sqirl, though I did once have a bracing morning at a waxing place across the street. I loved this conversation about the food scene and gentrification and parallel LA's right near me.
So apparently meth is a Thing because of this one lady?
Shit to eat
Go go the Krogralph's nearest you.
Meander to their butcher counter.
Look for pork shoulder.
See no pork shoulder.
Look again.
No.
Eventually find an employee. Ask for pork shoulder.
They do not stock it.
At this point, frantically google what might be substituted for pork shoulder. Have a small and weird breakdown in the butcher aisle before purchasing 4 lbs of bone-in pork ribs.
At home, sear the ribs in a dutch oven with some oil until they're brown-ish (15 minutes, and do them in batches to avoid crowding the thing). Put them aside.
Add a sliced up onion and some garlic, and cook it for 15 minutes. Your house will smell very good.
Toss in a couple of tablespoons of tomato paste and cook for another 8 minutes.
Toss in half a cup of whatever chap red wine you have around. I used Barefoot, because it was $6 and I'm not about that wine life.
After 5 minutes, toss in a can of tomatoes. Add an assortment of green herbs and 2 cups of water.
Toss those ribs back in.
Cover and cook for 3 1/2 hours.
Salt as needed.
Eat it for the next week because it makes a TON but also it is TRULY phenomenal.
Shit to listen to
You saw those Dessa links.
Shit to buy
Discount king cake.
A bunch of pork.
This hanging shower storage, which has dramatically improved my shower life. It holds your razor! It's great.