musica

I'm down with all sorts of music.

Well, let me rephrase that.

Some rap, sure. Ludacris cracks me up. Country? Not so much. Perhaps I've been a little too restrictive when it came to musical inclinations. There has always been something about the twang that did not do justice to my sensible classically trained ears. Jazz jubilee? I suppose I was more into the Blues.

Roll forward to the past several months and I've taken a new step towards the unknown.



These past several months have found me in the company and audience of bands I would have never ever chose to attend by my own choice. First, Split Lip Rayfield. I don't know much about judging the technical skills of musicians that play stringed instruments but wow, the bassist and mandolin player were amazing.



I've heard of The Reverend Horton Heat but had no idea what sort of category they fell into. I loved it! Songs made you want to dance and wish for peephole heels and a skirt to do so in. Definitely an entertaining performance and the lead singer and bassist have a great stage presence. Psychobilly Freakout sample.



Jimbo Wallace

I am slowly opening up my ears to welcome different sorts of music.

The best part? Having someone well versed in the music who is more than happy to take my hand and lead me into the audible fray.

**sugar

I have this strange affinity for sugar.

However, no much of a sweet tooth. I will rarely go out of my way to purchase a slice of cake (unless I am in near proximity to Cafe Ettore......I adore the white chocolate strawberry mousse cake) or the baked goods at Old Soul. The banana and Nutella crepe at Ti Couz? I will run barefoot in the rain for that confection and a glass of Riesling. Most of these purchases are because I've either passed by and was immediately seduced by the smells and sights of warm, soft, baked goods.

Fruit? There is nothing as sweet as a fresh banana that has slowly begin to show spots surfacing. The flesh is insanely sweet and the softness? A sin that cloaks my palate. After consuming one, my senses have been deceived and I can taste nothing but the fruit. I can smell nothing but the fruit, having been consumed by it.

I'm typing this while I sit at the counter facing the windows, sipping my iced caramel latte, with a scone made of cream cheese and chocolate chips, crumbling slowly under my fingertips.

Another day found me in the exquisite company of a creamy creme brulee. I sat, across my then date, slowly tapping away at the smooth golden surface, until the silver spoon cracked through. The minute crunches mixed in with the custard was a heavenly mix of textures. My date found the entire process amusing. Apparently, my joy was evident during the process.

Cost Co cakes? I've been known to wait around for the corner pieces at many a birthday party in the office. The more the rosettes, the better. I take delight in the crunchy icing found on many mass produced sheets of cake. My friends took extra rosettes off surrounding slices and slid them onto my plate. Blues. Reds. Pinks. Green. Small bites here and there, letting the icing crunch between my teeth.

Sugar has a strange hold over me.

It is not bearing, yet I feel it calling me. Sometimes, in the middle of unforeseen moments of time.

At an Absinthe anniversary, I left the signature liquor and took the time in taking the sugar cube between my two fingers and slowly letting it dissolve in my mouth.

So sweet. So different.

I revel in that.

vindictive

*sigh*

It takes a lot to upset me. Tears. Fears. The whole shebang.

On another hand, it takes very little to make me angry.

Today was such a day and I can't recall how many mini texts and messages were sent to me by several good friends of mine, attempting to reel in my burgeoning anger.

One thing I have learned, by the close of today, is that my usual staunch supporters are not usually my family, but that of my friends. I've never faced so much criticism or judgment than today and honestly, I was moved to a degree of anger I've never felt before.

It left me helpless. At a loss for words. A rage.

It was managed later when a friend drove 20 minutes from another part of town to keep me company at a local coffee shop. After two caramel lattes, attendance by my favorite barista, and the best environment that anyplace could offer, I was at peace once again.

I appreciated the support.

You know who you are.