I have no words. This is just the sublimest of the sublime. “Turn me loose! We shall overcome! Where’d you get that funk from, huh?”
I could be wrong about this, but I feel like Janet Jackson is one of the most under-appreciated feminists in pop music. This song, off of her “Rhythm Nation 1814” album, proceeded her musical “coming out” of sorts, her album “Control,” which announced her emancipation from her father and manager. That record was such a success that she was counseled to make a kind of “Control 2.” Instead, she made an album whose focal point was social injustice, racism, sexism, and the state of the world. Proving wrong those who said that such a heavy topic would tank , “Rhythm Nation 1814” generated seven Top Five singles – a record-breaking number at the time – and the record as whole ended up going sextuple platinum.
So, y’know, trust your instincts, or something.
The exceptionally funky band The Roots cover the exceptionally cool George Kranz. This track is basically a vehicle to showcase Questlove’s amazing drumming and general rhythm skills. But I love it for its spare modernism. It reminds me a lot of what would happen if Bobby McFerrin and Laurie Anderson got together. It’s an amazing and fun soundscape until 3:20 when the rest of the song drops.
IT’S SNOWING IT’S SNOWING IT’S SNOWING IT’S SNOWING IT’S SNOWING
The Feds shut down at noon today, which put everyone on the road and on the Metro at the same time, which went totally fine by the way thanks for asking (oh how it hurts to lie). But now we are ensconced in our homes, or in the homes of our friends in my case, watching the rising snow drifts and the synchronous diminution of city activity. So crank that bass up and let’s get down to business.
Your fearless heroine had a, shall we say, “wet” December. The gauntlet that shoots one from Thanksgiving to New Years turned into a slip-n-slide of festive parties. The moon rose on events and the sun rose on headaches. It was a lot of fun. Until it stopped being fun and started being kind of stupid. There came a moment, around December 31st, when I woke up just felt generally unpleasant, like a washcloth that had been used too many times before being cleaned out. So Mr. Yankette and I decided that we would have a “dry” January. This means I haven’t had a single one of these drinks at all this month:
- A Blood & Sand
- A Presbyterian
- A Rob Roy
- A La Perla
- A Greyhound
- A Ginger Gold Rush
- A Gimlet
- A French 75
- Or the following drinks made by the best cocktail bar in the city, The Gibson:
- A Blue Blood
- A Cricketer
- Literally anything else (no that’s not the name of a cocktail)
I also haven’t had any of these, which are of course in the liquor shelf in our kitchen:
- Tanqueray 10
- Green Hat
- Green Hook
- Oban Little Bay
- Aultmore 12
- Santa Teresa
- John Myer rye
I’m not here to preach the gospel of dryness. Of course I feel great. Obviously I feel great. I am as clean and unblemished as a brand new window pane. I’m squeaky and practically translucent. And, this feeling is certainly nice enough to skip over what people who attempt this generally do after their dry month, which is plunge head first into a booze pool in February. I’ll go back to my pre-holiday moderation, no problem.
But. As a working professional in a busy, high-maintenance city, where networking happens around happy hours and drinks lubricate the awkward few minutes of conversation, I hadn’t fully grasped the extent to which drinking punctuates daily life. It’s the lingua franca of collegial complaints (“what a terrible meeting – is 11am too early to drink?”), and the liquid that forms the social cement (“We should get drinks sometime!”). Substitute almost anything else in that sentence and you sound batty: “We should play tennis sometime!” “We should paint landscapes sometime!” “We should take a walk sometime!” (That last one sounds suspiciously like a date.) What to do?
Well the obvious answer, the best answer, is, order ginger ale at the bar when you meet your friends. It’s not rocket science. But that won’t protect you from good-natured ribbing, which is a curious phenomenon. There is something of a wall between my friends and me that I didn’t notice until this month, and it’s entirely unexpected. Friends feel very slightly awkward drinking around me. They ask if I mind (I don’t). They ask why I’m doing it (I say I felt gross and needed a break). They consider this. Time lumbers on. It’s weird. So I can’t deny that, once February comes around, I’ll feel a little more connected.
I also can’t deny that, while watching the GOP debate last night, I didn’t long for a dirty martini (or a hammer to the head, whichever is fastest). A fun new parlor game is considering what my first drink will be on February 1st. But a habit can turn into an identity, if left unchecked, and I’d much rather be more deliberative about drinking. So my New Year’s Resolution is to only drink exquisitely delicious things, and to take my time about it, and savor it. Chin-chin, y’all.
Today in 1809, the 10th Congress (one of about seven that haven’t totally sucked) created the Territory of Illinois. That being awesome, and Chicago being awesome, I give you the Blues Brothers.
Curried tuna salad sandwich with avocado
• 4 oz. can of tuna
• ½ carrot, diced
• ½ celery stalk, diced
• 2 tbs. red onion, diced
• 1 tsp. curry powder
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• 2 slices bread
• ½ avocado
Place bread in toaster.
Toss tuna with curry power, carrot, celery, salt, and pepper in a bowl.
Scoop avocado out of its skin, and spread on toast, using a fork to mash into the bread.
Place tuna (or egg) mixture on the avocado toast bread.
Delicately season with salt and pepper again, to taste.
Serve open face.
…What? So what this isn’t about the music, or a funny story, or whatever? I just gave you the recipe for a delicious sandwich. Get your own blog.
I had the great pleasure of seeing these guys live a few months ago. Drop everything and go see them if they swing through your town. They are a real powerhouse.
“ABC: Always Be Cool. They need to teach at every school. ABY: Always Be You.”
Oh Sharon Jones, you magnificent bastard. Every component of this song works together. It’s so tight. There isn’t any extraneous mess. That bass guitar, that bari sax…I’m having a hard time typing this…while standing up…and dancing…
Shameless Friend Promotion! Portia, aka Piz, is the best chef I know. If you want to try your hand at her kind of culinary mastery, boogie on over to Portia’s TurnTable.
Here’s an antidote to the ebola hysteria. “Every man, woman and child is catching it. It’s called the Dap Dip, and they say you get it in your pants.”