Feb. 26th, 2015

bossymarmalade: girl enjoying music (wine and get on bad)
 Work is horrifying! Okay, now I've gotten that out of the way.

It seems to be impossible to find good strawberries or peaches here anymore. I keep waiting for that magical moment in the summertime (the only thing I look forward to in summer, as I despise the heat and sunshine and hide in our hobbit hole cursing at the light for those months) where strawberries are those sweet fresh little ruby darlings that you can buy in green cartons off the side of the road in Richmond where it's still farmland, or big bursting nectar peaches whose fragrance lures you in from halfway across the produce aisle. Both have been sadly missing in the last few years. All we get are the big cottony tasteless strawberries, the hard dry flavourless peaches. I am so desolate! The last time I had good strawberries it was a tiny carton that I had to elbow hipsters out of the way for at the Farmers' Market and I paid an exorbitant amount for them. 

On the pop culture front, it's interesting now that Lori and I have been living without cable for a few years and just depending on Netflix. It's a constant surprise to see what new movies/shows/products exist in the world. I am sort of enjoying it, the novelty of having things sprung on me. I mean, I know this is the exact age where I start saying "kids these days" and tut-tutting over social media, and I try to resist that urge, but there really are things I miss.

We were watching Almost Famous the other night and the part where the kid is going through his sister's record collection, touching all the covers and opening them and exploring them so reverently, and shit, I remember that. First with records, the paper pages inside that sometimes had lyrics and illustrations, the actual paper sleeve of the record, and then with our Disney records the way they had an illustration from the movie in the actual wax. And then tape cassettes, unfolding out the cardboard insert to see if the lyrics were in there, playing that damn tape until it started unspooling, getting one of those dual-cassette machines so you could cut-record-pause-record and make your mixtapes, and how you'd always have a stock of very short songs to fill up that awkward last few minutes on each side. And even CDs, the process of flipping through them at the store and then bringing them home, peeling off the cellophane, doing the same liner notes ritual as you listen to the disc for the first time all the way through. I miss that. Music for me now is so intangible, it's just something out there up there in the atmosphere. There's no process and no ritual. I'm not saying music shouldn't develop, of course, just that I miss the visceral relationship I used to have with it.

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bossymarmalade: blue eye with lashes of red flower petals (Default)
miss maggie

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