Re: The Thing You Left On My Doorstep

[photo courtesy designwallah]

Y'all, I have been saying some seriously hippie shit lately. I just want to put that out there.

I've used the phrase 'spiritual journey' no less than three times in the past twenty-four hours. I talk about the Universe like it's someone I could text from the goddamn bus stop. I am a mere hop, skip, and a downward-facing dog from hanging crystals from the rafters and saying nonsensical things about my 'Chakra'.

Dear Laurie,

Let's tone it down a little.

Sincerely Yours,
The Universe

The truth is that I am both lost and found, simultaneously. Or rather, I have found that I am lost, which is, I believe, its own kind of compass. I am closing my eyes and I am waiting for North to tell me where it is.

I don't want to keep making the same mistakes. I don't want to be so closed to it. I want to be not fearless, but without fear. I want to be open-hearted, ego waiting quiet on the doorstep while the grown-ups do their business.

But most of the time, my heart's hiding, or shriveled, or working against itself. And most of the time, my ego's ringing the doorbell like its finger's stuck on the buzzer. And most of the time, I think existentialism sounds easier, because at least then you know what you're working with.

Anyway, I'll get back to you on the crystals.

This is where I am today.

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My New Favorite Lunch

[photo courtesy jiggs_images]

time: ~ 5 minutes
cost: ~ $3 (if you don't let anything go to waste)

frozen mahi mahi burger, grilled
whole wheat bun, toasted
guacamole, or sliced avocado
2 slices tomato
handful of fresh spinach
the cumin vinaigrette from this recipe (easy & can be bottled in the fridge)
1 slice pepperjack cheese (optional)
pickled jalapeño slices (optional)

1. grill or bake the mahi mahi burger (3-5 minutes).
2. rinse and drain the spinach, then toss with cumin vinaigrette.
3. toast the bun, then top with guacamole, tomato, jalapeño, cheese, spinach, & mahi mahi burger.
4. voila!

At dinner, serve with a chilled chipotle-lime martini & a small side salad of fresh spinach, jicama, and black beans, tossed with the cumin vinaigrette.

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For You, Today, No Reason

[image courtesy tomooka]

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In the Swampland

[photo courtesy toni frissell]

I was born in a city with a most unromantic name. Sprawling highways criss-cross like ventricles, heart pumping smog and seafoam. I was very young when I discovered this inadequacy in my narrative: a French girl on TV, pencil skirts and merci beaucoup, long cigarettes and a certain something. I was still in pink overalls when I began plotting my rebirth.

It took twenty-two years to escape; thirteen-hundred miles and a new way of speaking. The great irony, of course, is that Florida is now the most romantic truth I have. It took thirteen-hundred miles to see it for what it is: half L-shaped Havana; half backwoods back-hand. Palm trees in the yard and gators in the lake; cuban coffee thick as cream. A heat so oppressive as to almost have a voice. Southern discomfort and a tension you couldn't slice with a hacksaw; shot gun houses and winds that will tear you from the ground. Postcards in gas stations: wish you were here. Florida isn't a place to be born; it's a place to visit on a bank holiday, or to die. It's fucked up and beautiful and I don't think I'll ever live there again.

The Florida I resent-- and there is a Florida I resent-- is the Florida that doesn't know what it is. White marble columns and sprinklers by the pool; a twenty-screen cineplex and another three doors down. Don't you know where you are? You're in the swampland, my friend. And it will swallow you whole.

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Colorblind

I'm learning to play this song on the piano, mostly because it's very easy.

But this cover? Is beyond.



It's beyond, y'all.

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