I'm home in Massachusetts right now; it's perfect. On Friday night I took the train into the city and got off near Fenway Park and stopped at Nuggets, in hopes of finding some weird treasure you could only find in Boston, and guess what was right by the door? Earwig, by Blake Babies, on vinyl. It was $55.99, which made sense to me on some levels but also seemed potentially impossible, since nearly every other record around it cost about 12 bucks. So I brought Earwig up to the counter and pointed to the price tag and said to the counter guy, "It's $55.99, really?" - which I understand was an annoying question: I'm self-employed, and it's super-exasperating when someone questions the value of whatever good/service you're providing. So the counter guy was rightfully annoyed, and made an annoyed face and spoke to me in a scolding tone, saying "It's rare - and really hard to find!" If I'd been more on-the-ball I might've sassed him back and told him, "That's a redundant statement - and it makes the same point twice!" But instead I just sighed and said "Well, yeah, I know," and shrugged and smiled and put the record back. Hopefully it'll find a good home soon, with somebody who'll love it intensely forever. Everyone knows Blake Babies fans are generally a moneyed and powerful lot.
I left Nuggets without buying anything, and I walked all the way from Kenmore Square to Porter Square to meet Laura (not Laura Jane! She lives in London now!) and her brother Todd for cocktails at The Abbey. I got a drink called The Fearless King (muddled basil, whiskey, grapefruit juice) and a pint of Rapscallion Honey beer and both were lovely, and then Sarah and Rich met up with us and we went over to Redbones to eat dinner at the bar. Sarah and I split a pulled pork sandwich plus about 5,000 sides, including hushpuppies, which were extra-oily and hot and heaven and so beautifully Munchkin-like in their sphericalness. Pretty sure I hogged most of the hushpuppies, but the experience of dunking them in the little paper cup and let the vinegar soak through the crispy-crackly batter was so satisfying and addictive, I just couldn't stop.
Saturday morning I took the train home and listened to Blake Babies and The Clash, who are my #1 at the moment. I used my parents' copy of The Story of The Clash as the backdrop for a bunch of pictures for this post, mostly because I just want to look at Mick Jones all the time. I first fell in love with him in ninth grade: I remember sitting in Western Civ and staring at the back of Marissa Vanesse's hair and hearing "Rush" in my head and being hung up on the sweetness/snottiness of Mick's voice, and ever since then I've gone through a thing of being obsessed with him at least once every few years. And on Saturday night I watched Westway to the World, which is a Clash documentary you can watch in its entirety on YouTube. It rules because it's basically just The Clash talking about themselves for 80 minutes, plus lots of really great footage of them playing live. My fave moment's when they tell the story of going to an ice cream parlor and taking their cones outside and writing "I'M SO BORED WITH THE U.S.A." on the windows with their ice cream. I also loved when Paul Simonon did his impression of Mick Jones's hair: