Emchap's Shit from the Internet 04/14/21 đ
One of the things that is very weird to me about LA (particularly compared to New York) is the degree of urban wildlife. Iâm in a city, obviously, but at the same time, everything constantly smells like flowers, and I can see hummingbirds out of my window all the time, and a raccoon ambled by the other day, and we have some very determined bird shouting at god outside my window.
And it makes sense, of course; the climate during non-gigafire season means that weâve got more chances for animals to live full lives versus the spite-gremlin vibes that surround most northeastern wildlife. But it continues to be surprising, particularly since my entertainment at this point in the panini mostly consists of sitting in one of the two non-plumbing-oriented rooms in my house with the door open, listening to the various sounds of nature around me. (Sometimes, to shake it up, I get a beer and drink it on the porch to try to witness the birds firsthand.) The wildlife is certainly nicer than the other very audible thing from my house, which is police helicopters, which are both irritating on a practical level and on a âshouldnât existâ one.
I get my next vaccine dose next week, and I am very thankful for that (even as I am aware that thereâs like 14 million fucked-up things about the rollout and our export policies and everything else), but it feels slightly fake that Iâm about to be sticking my head back out into the world as spring starts to hit its full stride. (We do have spring here, it feels like, or at least a first false summer before May Gray and June Gloom become a Thing.) Itâs been a long time since I was around the nature thatâs not just on my block or in my yard; Griffith Park could have burned down at some point for all I know. (And I know I could be socializing outside; the issue is more that I am looking forward to feeling comfortable taking transit again.)
(Itâs also, frankly, good that this is happening in spring because if it was summer and too hot to go outside Iâd just be back inside picking fights with leftist astrology teens on the internet about their many terrible beliefs until it cooled down enough for me to route my energies towards Tinder again, and nobody needs that.)
While I was writing this the bird I was listening to stopped screaming at god, either because it found someone to bird-make-out with or because my loud neighbors scared it off. If itâs the latter, the bird and I have something in common; my neighborsâ desire to watch Loud TV and listen to Loud Singles From Rumours late at night has impacted my sleep badly in the last few days. But nonetheless the bird will be back and my neighbors might stop it and spring will still be here when Iâm able to go back out into the world again.
Shit to read
I thought this, about digital blackface and the root issue with it (and specifically not falling into the mega-weird bioessentialist thing that sometimes happens with that criticism) was really interesting.
I wound up chatting with my dad about Cheryl Strayed this weekend (heâd watched Wild), and about how she used to write Dear Sugar, and I wound up rereading some of the old columns; itâs weird to finally be re-reminded of the concrete origin of things that have been bopping around your head for a decade. The note about the casual unkindness towards her mother hits differently now that mine is dead and happens in the exact same letter as âwanting to leave is enoughâ and âbe brave enough to break your own heart.â The story about her dad tearing up her momâs textbook which has stuck with me for years and years and still made me cry when I relayed it is in the middle of her commencement address, which is tremendous. This piece about how to be kind to a grieving partner made me sob for an entirely different set of reasons than it had previously. The advice about someone who is essentially jealous of ghosts still holds completely resonantly true for me a decade after it was written.
Americaâs housing is so fundamentally broken.
This dumb asshole.
Shit to eat
Cut up and cube a mango.
Put it, some pickled red onions, some roasted red peppers, some lime juice, and some salt in a food processor. Blend until itâs a sauce; adjust seasoning as needed.
Take half a sack of frozen shrimp. Thaw them while youâre in the shower or making salsa or whatever else is going on right before dinner.
If you remembered an hour ago, make rice in the rice cooker; if you didnât, heat up a pita or something.
Take the shrimp; toss with salt and pepper and oil and your favorite spice mix.
Put it in a skillet over high heat for 4 minutes or so, until cooked through. Your fire alarm will probably go off.
When done, toss the shrimp with lime juice and cilantro.
Serve over rice or pita or whatever, top with
Shit to listen to
I have been stressed out for very boring reasons this week, and have found Japanese spa ASMR to be, like, remarkably soothing, which is perhaps a triumph for mirror neurons that I will not think about any more. Who doesnât want their hair brushed while they stare at a garden? (I cannot wait until the Korean spas are safe to have open again. I will be in a tub like a capybara.)
Shit to buy
I just bought a bunch of this fabric to make a dress that (lord willing, etc.) Iâll be wearing to picnics this summer. It seemed appropriate.