Emchap's Shit from the Internet 12/18/19 🍠
One of the weirder and more charming parts of moving to LA has been the realization that for the most part, most art produced here has exactly the same "please come to my improv show" vibe that I recognize from the few years of my life that I spent trying to convince people to come to my improv shows in Atlanta. (No one wants to come to anyone's improv shows. Improv as an art form is woven together mostly through obligation and the fact that one out of every ten shows is the funniest fucking thing you've ever seen.)
The difference—as far as I can tell—is just that the weird improv bits here might lead to someone doing something on a show their friend works on and that might become a Whole Thing (though of course that was sometimes true in Atlanta, too).
All of this is to say that last weekend I found myself at an Immersive Winter Fantasy Tavern Extravaganza in a black box theatre in Hollywood because a friend of a friend had invited me and I was already planning to get drinks with the friend of which she is a friend. "What is an Immersive Winter Fantasy Tavern Extravaganza," I asked my friend. "Dunno, but I think there's burlesque?" was their reply, and I said hell yeah for the same reason I will be attending a space/Christmas-themed marionette show later this month.
The friend what brought me is a professional nerd (they make good nerd music! I watched them perform in like 2013 unaware we would one day be friends! The world is small!) but very aware that I for the most part am not, and I think upon being offered the option to put on an audience participant snowflake or not realized that this might not entirely be my scene. This was cemented when we wandered out into the theatre and realized that the bar was on stage, and a nice man dressed as an innkeeper was offering us a crockpot of wassail.
It was this (combined with a woman dressed as a fairy petting my jumpsuit and complimenting my glitter shoes) that prompted my friend to lean over and whisper, "Emily, I think we're LARPing." I would have found this fucking delightful even if I hadn't had two margaritas and a well-timed edible, but also I had, so it was even better. I made smalltalk with the friend-of-a-friend (not the fairy) and wandered off to my seat before the show began.
It turns out that Immersive Winter Fantasy Tavern Extravaganza is code for "D&D themed variety show", and I was tickled how much the cadence was exactly the same as every other variety show at that level which I have seen in my entire life. (Which is... a lot? I've seen a lot of them.) There was an excellent Irish dancer and a man reading a poem that went on too long and an excellent original song from the performer that I knew and the big tiddy goth gf burlesque act (my friend and I absolutely leaned over and whispered "the burlesque!" when she wandered onstage in a half-laced corset because we are beautiful dumb children). The audience participation snowflakes were completely ignored because of course they were, and my ass was pulled up on stage to be a glorified booth babe for a not-entirely-well-executed live action D&D bout with a very large foam d20. It was a great time.
Shit to read
I very much enjoyed this advice for the protagonist of Marriage Story, a film which I have no intention of watching.
Cheap sushi rules. I once ate sushi at a train station. I have no regrets.
Someone sent me this oral history of the folgers incest commercial because it made them think of me and I'd be offended if I hadn't already saved it for the newsletter.
This illustration on this piece about getting too high before a date in LA is perfect.
I love cornbread communism as a concept and I love the cornbread communism possum the most. He is real and true and my friend.
An absolutely gutting piece about medical GoFundMes that don't get funded.
As a former sensitive child this piece made me weep.
McSweeney's going after the NYT is always fun.
Shit to eat
Decide to make dinner.
Decide not to go to the store, because it is 50 degrees out and you have become a somewhat delicate California flower.
Take the half-strength stock and head it up to simmering.
Pull together some refrigerated bacon fat, some frozen bacon, an onion, 7 oz barley, 5 cups of half-strength stock from bouillon, a can of beans, something green, and a dream.
Heat up the bacon fat and chop of the frozen bacon; toss it in a pan.
While that's happening, slice up an onion.
Toss it in with the dope-ass bacon fat and some dried thyme. Cook it until everything softens up.
Toss in that ancient grain, and toast for a few minutes.
In goes a cup of stock.
Stir everything up half-heartedly every minute or two while also texting.
Add a half cup of stock each time the previous one is absorbed.
Stir, stock.
Roast some broccoli.
After 35 minutes, you'll have some ancient grain soup. Stir it up, add a handful of parm and some butter, add a drained can of whatever beans are around. Real shelf stable meal for the most part.
Taste; add salt as needed.
Your house will smell like bacon and it will be good.
After a minute of stirring everything up, ladle some some and bits into your bowl. Add your roast broccoli on top of it.
Enjoy a hearty winter meal.
(Adapted from Smitten Kitchen. I used pintos.)
Shit to Watch
Shit to buy
Someone buy me cashmere sweatpants. (I will be purchasing a second pair of non-cashmere, Uniqlo ones at some point. I live my truth.)