I was laid off 2 days before my birthday in 2009, a dismal blessing. I miss health insurance and payroll, but I haven't bought bread since the pink slip because I have time to bake.
Sometimes I'm a serious job hunter, sometimes a serious slacker, but mostly, I'm an underemployed, freelance Jaqueline of many trades including writing and dogsitting. Either way, I scrapbook my finds and activities here for your benefit and amusement.
Follow me on Twitter if tv/movie/pro-cycling spoilers and unplanned live tweets won't hail on your parade. And yes, I do work blue so don't be huffy with me if you don't like cursing or merciless roasting of public figures.
Some entertainers don’t pay attention to what’s going on around them. They just go, “Oh, cool, I’m playing this place.” They just do it, and they take the money. But if you pay attention, you find out that the economics are very simple. If you want more money, the fans pay for it. They just pay. And so I decided, “Okay, I’m making enough. Let’s drive the ticket prices down a bit.” I decided to do that a couple years ago, especially because the economy was shitty.
I haven’t looked like a committed punk in a long time—no shaved head, no dyed hair, no spikes. I came up in punk in America where it was considered non-mainstream, but it wasn’t dangerous to look or think differently. For someone like me to hold up a photo, like this one, of Myanmar punks and tout how they rouse the punk in me seems so facetious and patronizing.
But, man, look at these punks from Myanmar. Look at them!! They are so fucking…I don’t know! Just look at them!!
BEING HARDCORE CAN BE A VIRTUE in the culinary world. “[Punk] kept me from being intimidated by people who were trying to close doors, in terms of who could be a cheese expert,” says Gordon Edgar, who sometimes goes by his “cheese name,” Gordon Zola. “That just rolled off my back.” It also provided another apt skill for a self-taught cheesemonger, who prides himself on having “a low tolerance for bullshit, which is a prized trait in the punk scene.
How come I didn’t know the drummer from Born Against was a pastry chef at Del Posto? Even though I never went into the food biz, I absolutely feel this piece about going from punk to food.
At a certain point as a punk, you get tired of “the scene” posturing and standing around forever for the headliner. Food is easier. Being on my feet in the kitchen for hours chopping and cooking doesn’t seem as bad as standing, waiting for shitty opening bands to finish their sets. Instead of cigarette smoke, scent of hardwood charcoal and smoked meat wafts from your locks. At some point, expressing my beliefs with blue hair and painted leather jackets got replaced by shopping at farmers markets and making as many food items from scratch as possible. It’s all in the same spirit, just better hours and aromas.
But the best is having both punk and food. My favorite thing ever is a lazy Sunday morning, playing records (yes, vinyl) and making a fat-ass brunch.
“So how can I undo the tangle of these webs I keep weaving. I don’t know if I should be believing, deceptive perceiving. But if you don’t mind, I don’t mind.”
Do you mind? I don’t mind. I’m not sure if I’m made of Buzzcocks songs, or if they pulled out my insides and made it into their songs. Either way, when I die, I want to be reincarnated into a Buzzcocks record to be worn out on someone’s turntable.
The first thing we noticed about Keith’s results was that there’s a ton of uranium in his hair. The report said that this isn’t the type of uranium that turns people into superheroes or kills them, but we’re still a little worried for him because it’s fucking uranium.