Lights Out

Last year, LCD Soundsystem's final ever gig, at Madison Square Gardens, marked the end of an era for me and TOH.  LCD's music, as I have detailed at length (and ad nauseum) on this blog, has accompanied us throughout our time in NYC.  Even after the MSG show, it continued:  the photo below was taken while we, with some of our closest friends, all extremely inebriated on Graark and Stormies and love and laughter, jumped and sang out our hearts to Home. 

But, as the year progressed, I found myself listening to LCD infrequently (down at # 11 for the past twelve months!  Unthinkable!); it seemed that the wedding and the gig had loaded the music with too much emotional meaning, as overwrought and pathetic as that sentiment appears to me when I actually write it down and re-read this.  So although I automatically purchased tickets to watch Shut up and Play the Hits, the Oscilloscope documentary about that gig, I approached the movie theatre with trepidation last night. 

I thought I would feel melancholic and unhappy that I would never see them play live again.  Instead, I sat and watched in a state of wonder, with a big fat grin on my face for 95% of the film.  I reveled in the memories of just how absolutely bloody brilliant the concert was.  In particular, the part with All My Friends was absolutely spectacular, capturing perfectly the excitement and joy and exuberance that song always brought to a concert.  I shed a tear with James Murphy when he did in the warehouse with all his gear; and I cried during Someone Great, as I often did at the gigs, and during their last ever live song as a band, New York I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down.  But instead of sadness, the film reignited and reinvigorated my love for LCD Soundsystem.  So expect my last.fm profile to reflect that in the upcoming days.*



* Provided, of course, that I can somehow stop listening to Frank Ocean's Channel Orange, which is absolutely amazing and I have been playing non-stop for the last few days.  

Savagery

I am, in case you were wondering, continuing to fight against the vicious insects that want to suck my blood dry.  I am still continuing to get bitten repeatedly.  The one difference is that I have learned to use anti-histamines in an attempt to prevent the ridiculous scratching, itching and misery that comes with the bites.

This ongoing battle is unfortunate because, thanks to the new job and my changed hours, I'm often home by around 6.30, when the little blighters are most active and out for blood.  Despite citronella candles and DEET, I'm still vulnerable; there's always some patch of flesh that the buggers find and exploit.  But it's oh so worth it to smell the lemon verbena and sniff the roses that are, despite our fears when we transplanted them, flourishing; and, above all, to see the fireflies flit around the gardens.  Fireflies don't exist at home, and they continue to be a source of wonder and delight to me, eight years after I arrived.  A true source of wonder (and a public reminder here to go and see the bioluminescence exhibition at the American Museum of Natural History. 

On Reading

I've been reading a lot more recently, thanks to my much longer commute and much shorter working hours.

Some of those books aren't about dragons.  Some.  Read about my capitulation to the rather fabulous mind of Zadie Smith here. 

Sweet Thing

My auntie Thea was a skinny thing; I have memories of straight hair and thin arms and legs, emerging often from baggy jumpers.  So it always tickled me that the thing that has always reminded me of her is chocolate.  And not just any chocolate, but Fry's Peppermint Cream. I'd never even really noticed its existence until Thea said it was one of her favourites.  I cannot remember how old I was when we discussed it, even.  But the next time I saw it in a shop, I purchased it, and delighted in it  - a thick bar equivalent of After Eights, this is a crisp, dark chocolate bar filled with stiff, minty fondant; I adore it.  Since, although I don't see it often, and certainly not in the states, when it's there I buy it. And, without fail, it makes me think of her.

She loved liquorice allsorts, too.  A real sweet tooth, Thea.

I can hear her voice so clearly.  Strong brummy accent, with laughter in it.  I'll never be able to hear Van Morrison without thinking of her. 

Last time I saw her - which was too long ago - she had dyed her normally brown hair blonde, and she joked about it being frivolous and a bit of fun; she looked great.  She would often slip out to smoke one of her ever present rollies; she danced away with us as we celebrated at my cousin's wedding.  It was my birthday, too; a rare treat to celebrate with so many members of my family.

Yesterday, flying back from her funeral, I searched WH Smith's in Heathrow terminal 3 for Fry's Peppermint Cream; they didn't have any. 

The Good Life (Sort Of)

It's Memorial Day Weekend here in the US of A, and we've spent it jollying around on a boat, eating and drinking a lot, and indulging in the sunshine that has finally emerged after a few weeks of rain.  This is after several weeks of visitors and overindulgence generally.  It's not been particularly taxing except on our bodies, which are feeling a tad flabby and underexercised, and our psyches, which are feeling tired and flabby and slow.  So, despite several events that we're already committed to in the upcoming weeks, a month of austerity - financial, physical and emotional - sounds good, if only to provide a contrast to the previous month in which I've been a little out of control.  

So my aim is, for each week:

• Exercise: two boxing classes; one yoga class; and one football match (or equivalents).
• Food & drink: No processed white carbs (i.e. bread, pasta) during the week; no beer during the week; one glass of wine per day maximum.
• Reading: each day I am to read all of one way on the subway (as opposed to procrastinating and listening to podcasts).
• Movies: one a week.

EEEEEEK.  I'm sure I can do it.  Surely.