On Friday Az. Shawn and I went to a party at house of love (this big multi-story apartment on fulton). You had to wear pink to get in.
fig a: you'd look smug too, if az. were kissing you.
fig b: shawn in french mode; jen is clearly awed
The party was crazy. Az. and I had eaten our homegrown treats prior to arriving, and by the time we got there all textures were pulsating and my jacket (indeed, all objects) appeared unfathomably complex. Costume parties are the best; you can be entertained just sitting and checking out people's outfits. There were various bands playing and it was fun to sit/stand in corridors listening to music and watching people float by. Felt like we were standing on a street corner in a crowded city. They were projecting Big Lebowski onto the wall of the building next door, and the Dude's presence comforted me throughout the night.
They had a cozy room set up with a camera inside that fed to a big TV outside. I went into the room and peered at myself in the lens. Shawn and Az. claim I kept jumping out of the room trying to see myself on TV, not grasping the fact that I had to be IN the room to appear on camera. I claim I was just checking out their hysterical laughter and trying to identify its source.
4AM: I am lying wide awake in bed listening to Entroducing and experiencing a few thoughts that reoccur every so often.
1. Do critics chronicle or ordain preeminence? I remember reading the Spin review of "Entroducing", where some writer waxed ecstatic about this modern day masterpiece. Does talent of DJ Shadow's caliber always eventually surface though? I periodically attempt to figure out what my true opinion of an album or band is, only to realize that I can't separate it from what I've been told to think.
2. I am slowly turning into my dad. When we drive in the car he plays his cuban music and turns it up loud if people are talking. He wants everybody to listen appreciatively. I do the same thing except with The Fall and Max Tundra. Overall I can think of worse role models but it's still eerie to see these patterns unwittingly emerge.
After the long trip, I was left with only one deep observation:
A watched pot does eventually boil, but only if you watch it for a really really long time.
Saturday I felt like a blunt blade. Watched time out (overrated) and puttered. Sunday we had our samosa / mimosa party, which went well. Samosas take a long time to make!
fig c: az. doing woman's work
fig d: VOILA!