new project

more writing! all about music! enjoy.

evolution of taste

i've never been a picky eater. i consistently cleaned my plate, and could eat my body's weight in broccoli as a child (still can). my parents were diligent in making me try every bizarre foodstuff they'd order in restaurants. "try it once," they'd impore me. "if you don't like it, you never have to eat it again." that got me ordering (of my own volition) escargots and vindaloos by the time i was 8.
i never, however, liked oysters. or egg yolk. or eggplant. i'd turn up my nose and politely demure. 
my first experiences in the world of drinking were of the sickeningly sweet variety. nothing screams "underage" than a midori sour or a white russian, folks (that is, unless you order a caucasian at a bowling alley and curse profusely). anything without some serious flavor was passed on. especially beer. i considered it to be cheap swill unworthy of my palate. and martinis? ew. only if there's a "sour apple" in there SOMEWHERE. bloody marys? you have GOT to be kidding me.
my, how things have changed...
i'll slurp down a dozen oysters in 2.38 minutes flat. i take my martinis extra dirty, with extra olives, and look forward to extra spicy sunday marys.
i worked in a beer and wine bar where i could outdrink men twice my size when it came to belgian beers (particularly la chouffe and the delectable westmalle triple).
and egg yolk? don't get me started. during my 3 months of freelancing (and mornings spent at home), i made sunny side up eggs with whole wheat toast, sprinkled with white truffle oil and sea salt every day. and basically licked the plate clean every time.
as i grow older, my palate has evolved to be less frivolous, which leads me to hope that my goals, which seem as insubstantial as my previous, lamentable love for all tastes adolescent, may eventually catch up.

downward facing

preface: i have a personal vendetta against patchouli wearers. i roll my eyes at the mere mention of "energy." my first impulse after doing something extremely physical is to pat myself on the back with a stiff drink. i still crave  bloody hamburgers and can't get down with bob marley (try as i might).

that said- i'm turning into one of the people i used to make fun of. i am, in fact, turning into a yoga person.

my first experience with yoga was a few years ago. i took a few classes at the gym i belonged to, but hated how the teacher had everyone sit in a circle at the end of class to massage each other for 5 minutes. ew. i always wound up with a hairy dude in front of me and calloused hands gripping my shoulders as i twitched nervously and tried to come up with an excuse for why i leaned into the center of the circle precariously. it's hard to cite an inner ear infection after you've just spent 10 minutes with your legs over your shoulders and all the blood rushing to your head.

i started doing videos at home, but gave up. i have the bad habit of getting wrapped up in something, anything physical- then getting bored as hell.

i'd been feeling sluggish lately, and wanted a discernible split between my work life & my home life. so i went to yoga about 4 weeks ago.

and- truth be told- it felt fucking amazing. so fucking amazing, in fact, that i kindasorta get why ex drug addicts become obsessed with it.

it's something i look forward to almost every day, which is bloody rare (as rare as my burgers, in fact).

but if anyone ever hears/ reads me talk about my chakras or sees me wearing an ankle bracelet (or toe ring or ANYTHING with a batik print), please stage an intervention. stat.