If I Had Feathers I Would, Like, Totally Ruffle Them
July 24th, 2008by Zoe Brock
I’ve just moved.
Not just houses, but cities and entire lives. It’s exciting and new, a bit like the theme song from the Love Boat, but with no Gopher, no dancing girls and no stopover in Rio.
Bummer!
For posterity’s sake I kept a bit of a journal of my first week in San Francisco and have decided to share it as a peek into the inner sanctum of my life. I’d call you all voyeurs for reading, but in actuality I’m just a hideous narcissist who wants to show you photos of my closet.
Tuesday, July 1st- DAY ONE
Arrive from Sydney, Australia to new home found and rented on Craigslist. A home I have never actually seen yet in person, with room-mates I’ve never actually met. Feel a tad apprehensive but filled with hope.
Arrive at house with five suitcases, tired from an exhaustive flight spent trying to ignore the surreptitious hand jobs being given (and received) in the seats next to me (by two randy college-age fucktards from Arizona who obviously felt the need to join the mile-high club and were too lazy/ignorant/selfish to do so in the bathroom like normal people) only to discover that the keys left out for me do not work in the key hole provided.
Have moment of extreme near-meltdown and decide to sit in the driveway in the sun and relax until a solution presents itself. Discover the word “peace” written into the concrete of said driveway and realize everything will be fine.
Wednesday, July 2nd- DAY TWO
Work. Jet lagged. Fall over a lot. Laugh. Walk home from work jingling keys in pocket and feel really peaceful and a bit like someone has given me a Roofie.
Go pick up gift of beautiful old electric guitar. Stare at it a lot and wonder what the fuck to do with it. Shrug and smile.
Thursday, July 3rd- DAY THREE
Try to do stuff. Jet lag bites ass and bed prevails. Unpack clothes into walk-in closet(s) and feel conflicting emotions of joy and disgust at how many useless dresses I own. Love closet. Hate self for loving closet.
Friday, July 4th- DAY FOUR
Cognizant at last.
Spend the evening of July 4th rearranging my kitchen and nesting (insert chicken noise) (lay egg) (peck at floor) (eat bug) (ruffle feathers) (shit) (squawk).
Cook my favorite pasta- see recipe below- leaving enough for my lovely environmental lawyer room-mate to eat when she comes back from work (because if you’re looking after Mother Nature’s business someone else has to look after you).
Open the doors to the freezing Summer night and let the recently relocated New York City cats out onto the balcony. With wide eyes they sniff the strange fresh air. I sit with them and mutter and coo “reassuring” noises but they pay me no heed.
Put some Bob Dylan on and folk around in the kitchen cupboards for a bit.
The sound of the fireworks echoing between the hills in the deep fog sounds like the wild west. I feel like I’ve been transported back to the Civil War. I’ve never actually heard any canon fire before, but a big fucking boom is a big fucking boom, right?
Saturday, July 5th- DAY FIVE
Get kidnapped in Vanigan and transported to Point Reyes for fresh oysters on the beach. Learn three chords on an acoustic guitar and arrive home happy. Stand outside my pretty house and stare at it a bit before going inside and passing out.
Sunday, July 6th- DAY SIX
HEAT WAVE! Discover concrete slides. Yes, I said CONCRETE SLIDES. Take friend up to top of park at end of street and force her to sit on a raggedy piece of cardboard and project herself down the steep incline. She screams really loudly. Success! Pick plums from the overhang and discuss plans for potential bourgeois-neighborhood anarchy. Pick flowers from other peoples yards as a build-up to said anarchy. Lie in sun and get sunburned ass. Spend evening itching ass in front of people and enjoying their reaction.
Monday, July 7th- DAY SEVEN
Go and pick up key for share car, tune guitar and wonder exactly how many more chords there actually are. Laugh at self. Play with cats. Hang hummingbird feeder. Curse rude hummingbird that ignores feeder. Pick some plums and go to work.
Realize, on way to work, that I have never felt more at home in any city anywhere, despite the fact that I know few people at all.
Grin.
x
Recipe for Zoe’s favorite summer pasta- (for her mom who needs to learn how to make it again)
About 8-10 Green olives, marinated in plain oil NOT vinegar. diced
1 tblsp Capers, in salt not vinegar either. Yuk. squished
1 clove garlic. finely chopped
2 fresh chili’s. finely chopped
juice of 2 lemons
3 zucchinis sliced very thin lengthwise. potato peeler works well.
a couple of big handfuls of arugula
1 large tuna steak, sliced thinly OR 1 can of ITALIAN or AUSTRALIAN* tuna in olive oil, drained.
*This is important. American tuna is revolting. Italian will cost you, but it’s worth it, it tastes like fresh tuna steak not cat-food.
sea salt and cracked pepper to taste
a dollop of butter
a splash of olive oil
1 chunk of imported parmigiana reggiana- grated
1 packet thin spaghetti
lots of red wine to drink while you’re cooking.
Lightly saute the strips of zucchini in a small bit of olive oil and remove from pan.
Throw the olives, capers, chili and garlic in a small frying pan, on low heat, in enough olive oil to have them simmer but not swim. You’ll figure it out. I believe in you.
While they are slooooooowly infusing the oil with their tasty goodness put a large pot of water on to boil. Throw salt in to pot. Do not waste your olive oil in the water (common misconception). When it boils put in pasta.
Add the tuna and lemon juice. Let it sizzle for a few minutes.
Add butter, zucchini and arugula. stir long enough for the arugula to wilt a little. Salt and pepper the fucker.
When pasta al dente remove from stove, drain and throw over the fishy stuff. Stir it all together. The pasta should be coated in oil lightly, not drenched in it. Add extra lemon juice, salt and pepper to taste. Serve with parmigiana all over it.
Eat.
Later on you will poop it out, but don’t let this occurrence freak you out, it’s perfectly natural.
Tags: house proud, nesting, pasta, zoe brock
Now who wouldn’t love this sort of narcissism?
Best Zoe pics ever, love the corners.
That’s a really conservative mustard sweater there in your closet.
Mustard???
Peace and slides… sounds like a solid homecoming
it IS conservative until you realize it barely covers my boobs. then it’s just an ugly colored bit of wool that has a very privileged job.
I wonder what day 157 will be like.
DAY 157- woke up feeling peaceful. felt good. went down to basement to check on my prisoners. “Hello roomies!” I said “Have you rubbed the lotion on your skin?”
hahah.
they are totally going to read this and lock me up first now….
Sounds good, oysters good, good is good.
Still interested in meeting my SF friend?
she is good.
thankyaluvyabubbbyeeeee!!
Ooh, San Francisco. Love it there. Enjoy it before all the cool places close. And I don’t just mean the bookstores.
Great recipe - thanks for posting it!
You sound acclimated. Do you ever miss your old home?
I love New York, but sometimes I’d kill for a Southern rain storm, or sweet tea, or the smell of Tampa Bay.
Fuck you.
I am hungry now.
FUCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK
San Francisco is one of the best places on earth. Or at least it seems that way from my limited perspective. Don’t abuse it too bad.
I was there for 30 hours not a week ago. Wish I could spend more time.
Hi Zoe. Not knowing where else to find you I thought I’d thank you here for your comment on my last piece. A comment in thanks. Or something.
Do you always make a blowjob mouth when you’re cooking?
LOL, I just read your response to day 157. That’s what makes you and your posts so fun. It’s your brazen attitude. It’s like you know you’re burning a path, torching your way through life… I mean, you gotta get through the jungle somehow… we all do. Your roommates love you for it I’m sure. I hope. Gulp.
Yay! You know three guitar chords, Zoe! Right on. Now you can write a punk rock song (three chords and the truth, baby- that’s all you need). Has someone shown you the barre chord? (One hand position, moved up and down the entire neck/every fret of the git. So easy.) I was on a stage and playing in a band within three months of first touching a guitar because of that handy little trick. It’s not the “proper” way to learn, sniffed the guitar snobs, but if you find yourself getting frustrated and wanting to put the instrument down, it’s a nice bit of instant gratification to have in your back pocket to stay interested.
Mmmm… plums are my favorite fruit. And your recipe sounds dreamy. American tuna makes me retch, so I’d be thrilled to try the Australian version. I’m glad you are loving your new digs and feeling happy. You deserve the happy.