Gluten-Free Pasta, PB&J for days.

This is my first multi-sensory blog post. Meaning, My body is stuffed with a crap load of gluten-free pasta and I’m listening to Twin Shadow’s newest album ‘Confess’ (for the record, the track ‘Be Mine Tonight’ might be one of the sexiest songs ever). I’m able to stream it thanks to The Fly, so yeah, I’ve included that link in the bottom of the post.

I’ve realized finally that I have a musical taste that is distinguishable enough for me to call out- so now when people ask me what kind of music I listen to, I can very easily say ‘Yeah, I’m kinda into Indie dream pop with traces of electronic/heavy percussion… you know, m83, Twin Shadows, Neon Indian, Argon Pilgrim, Helium Kitty Cats, etc etc…’ 

You know, I’m pretty sure that if I became a Mac sensation able to reproduce electronic/heavy percussion with some thunderstorm synth chords (thunderclaps of many octaves), I’m pretty sure I’d want three things:

1) A following.
2) A really great gig at some underground warehouse in brooklyn with polished cement and glazed wood
3) An epic name that unifies the periodic table of elements with some fraction of American History or Geography: Silicon Yellowstone, Tellurium Hudson, Silver Springs.

(An honorable mention would have to go towards a really sick van I could drive to get to all of my really cool gigs in really cool warehouses- maybe the van could have giraffe prints all over it, Or a Nebula, or even silver rims.)

I really think I just like music that reminds me of spaceships and explosions integrated with sweat and sex, compulsive bounce-beating of the pelvis, and the times when it was Winter in Miami and I was speeding along Krome Avenue with all the windows down- wind beating my chest with an icy fist, the rumbling of the tires accelerating my heartrate and metaphorical hard-on that was getting off to my metaphorical lead foot.

I also have a small thing for Enya. Whenever I listen to her I kinda feel like I’m walking through an enchanted forest full of things I’d like- tacos and roller coasters and Mark Wahlbergs.

This one song in particular- ‘Be Mine Tonight’- reeks of 80s sweat before it caked into bathroom stall cocaine- or this one time I drove with my boyfriend towards Miami Beach- it was near Nine P.M. in the winter, the neon Miami Skyline was permeating through the black sky. We were eating a Starfruit I had cooled in the freezer an hour before, and there was nobody on the road to hold me back from racing my guardian angel as my Ma refers to it (him? HER?) “Never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly,” she says.

Anyways, FOOD!

Yes- food!

Well, today was kinda sloppy on my part. We kept it remarkably classy and simple. I even used the microwave once.

I hit up the afternoon on the beach- for the most part I was by myself for a good two hours- the nearest tanners being at least three hundred yards in either direction of me. I wrote a ten minute play about a mother and son on a beach. The mother’s (other) baker son died and she’s all in denial while eating his last baked cherry rhubarb, the prissy little lady. The son just wears Nantucket Red shorts. The idea’s officially copyrighted.

I came back and went insane on a PB&J, mixing in a bit of banana, maple syrup, and cinnamon (from the pantry), before lock and loading it with the other slice of bread that was lightly dabbled with some grape mush.

I went for a run that only lasted two miles because I found a huge staircase that flushed the bluffs, about forty feet. So I just did 75 takes up and down the steps and took a rinse in the outdoor shower- with hot water.

Afterwards, we hit up some Gluten Free Pasta for dinner.

I swear- I don’t know what the hell was in this. It was like chewing on rubber. No offense to Corn and Rice flour, but the Lord must’ve really been onto something when he suggested that penne alla vodka be served with, you know, regular pasta. Or whole wheat. 

So while the gluten-free pasta is cooking and looking like a bunched of highlighted noodles in a boiling cesspool of water and highlighter-colored noodles, we realized that we were going to be dealing with a very limited engagement- all there was to add to the delicacy was a can of simple tomato pasta sauce from the Stop n’ Shop. Well- we figured that maybe if we boiled it, we’d be able to saturate some sort of something, who knows.

It really didn’t.

We tried topping the pasta with pepper and we even broke the freshness seal of our unopened parmesan cheese container (containing real cow’s milk…!)- but alas- nothing could work for us.

Boy lemme tell you how heavy that pasta sank. I wish it could explain how hard it’s been tugging at my intestines but it won’t let me. I feel like it’s pulling me into myself.

Oh well. Prospects of a Sconset Cookie and Iced Coffee inspire me to go to bed and pass the next few hours in pleasant, gluten-free-filled, slumber.

This way to providence:



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