There is a new Pitbull record out now (I don't think it's been officially released but it's creeping around the internet), and he has put the nail in the coffin of my affinity for traditional rap. There's really nothing in it that I would ever think to do in a recording. He basically does for the party what Slayer did for hell. What else do you want me to say? Go cop El Mariel and call me in the morning (which has now been moved to 3pm).
jmz
29.10.06
16.10.06
Regarding A Different Class
I'm not saying there aren't boundaries... This is a little gratuitous, don't you think?
9.10.06
Briefly.
i'm eavesdropping on political coffeeshop conversation.
Dudes in prada sweaters yammering about Israel and the counter-culture.
I love LA
Dudes in prada sweaters yammering about Israel and the counter-culture.
I love LA
3.10.06
A Different Class
I'm struggling a bit trying to solidify some ideas in my head. Many of them involve plans and strategies I don't want to completely reveal just yet, but if you'll bear with me i feel like airing some of my internal convolutions.
I keep having imaginary conversations in my head with people that I haven't seen in a long time that I have more or less internalized as ethical and strategic mentors. Usually any new idea that I decide to execute goes through a pretty rigorous process of 'what would so-and-so think if I were explaining this to them one afternoon?'. I've come to a point in life and in what I'm doing that I have to evaluate the proper way to proceed. This conflict arises from the fact that there is something that I learned from punk that I don't deem necessary to ever discard or give up on. This is something elusive, and sometimes seems like a personal issue, other times an ethical imperative, or even an aesthetic standard. At present I wonder what my greensboro punk connects would think of 'limited colorways' or of the 'brand aspect' that, for my understanding, rap has entailed. If you've got time, i'd like to roughly sketch what underlies this problem in some suppositions (it's been a minute, things may get a bit clunky).
Rap music, by and large, is a form that is meant to be mis-understood by a large percentage of the people who come in contact with it to some degree. There are, within every kind of rap lyric, meanings which are meant to be latent until someone who possesses the right skill or information set to decode it comes along and listens. In this respect, rap music doesn't differ from any other discourse of art or design. Crypticism, subtlety and layering have always been a part of these kinds of human articulations, especially those rooted ultimately in subversion. So far, no problem right?
But rap music is special in two ways. The first is that it is the largest and most visible strain of writing/speech that holds an internal conversation: it’s the reigning meta-discourse (outside the fold of polite academic circle,s that is). It is also music that is rooted in subversion, but focuses not so much on critique as on strategies for the acquisition of wealth and status by those who do not have it (this isn’t to say that the ‘hustler’s utopia’ picture of reality that rap music paints isn’t often a pie-in-the-sky).
Consider it self-serving or naive if you wish, but I’d be willing to hazard that the rapper-as-entrepreneur does the cottage industry that punk offered in the 1970s and 1980s one better. Where (for lack of better vocabulary) the punk business leaders and their business models of these prior decades created very successful record companies, they also did many things to intentionally get between themselves and future expansion. You could say that the result of this is the phenomenon of major-label platinum artists (who are by all accounts other than image merely radio rock bands) headlining and thriving on an endorsement-dense Warped tour, year after year. After enough time, it appears that the ‘punk’ listeners will tolerate any amount of commercial saturation. Punk writ large has basically been invaded thoroughly by money.
Alright, so you’re probably thinkng, ‘what’s the big difference?’ What music if any, is more commercial than rap music? None, probably. So-called urban is one of the biggest and most lucrative markets there is. But there are different aspirations held by the artists, the fans, and the culture around the industry is very different. Rappers are trying to invade money, nevermind money indvading them. The crucial difference is encapsulated in a comparison of this point. If your culture has a built-in plan for artist driven enterpreneurship, you will be ready to cope with the money when It comes. If they are, then artists will remain in charge of the discourse (not to mention the market) for much longer and will make decisions based on this.
Now, back to where it all began. Rap music, the thriving meta-discourse and multi-million dollar industry that it is, is now a field that is ripe to create shifts in the landscape of the American media (and the world to a waning degree). This can be done if the ones arrogating themselves to positions of influence in this arena are aware of the ramifications. To quote a notable articulation of this: “If skills sold/ truth be told/ I’d probably be/ Lyrically Talib Kweli…We as rappers must decide what’s most important… I can’t help the poor if I’m one of them/ I got rich and gave back/ to me that’s the win win.” (Jay-Z, Moment of Clarity, from The Black Album).
Pair that with the injunction to ‘overcharge labels for what they did to the cold crush’ and this espousal of achievement on behalf of a greater good is a very powerful and motivating cultural technology. There are many examples of this strategy pervasive in Rap, and they all articulate something similar to the passages above. In short, rather than starting a punk label and winding up in a scenario where we are becoming successful despite ourselves, we are entreated to start a rap label and become successful in order to spite the established successful media engines. Need I spell out which strategy is more potentially successful? The former strikes me as about as futile as screaming at a wall, so that said… Let’s get it.
jamz
I keep having imaginary conversations in my head with people that I haven't seen in a long time that I have more or less internalized as ethical and strategic mentors. Usually any new idea that I decide to execute goes through a pretty rigorous process of 'what would so-and-so think if I were explaining this to them one afternoon?'. I've come to a point in life and in what I'm doing that I have to evaluate the proper way to proceed. This conflict arises from the fact that there is something that I learned from punk that I don't deem necessary to ever discard or give up on. This is something elusive, and sometimes seems like a personal issue, other times an ethical imperative, or even an aesthetic standard. At present I wonder what my greensboro punk connects would think of 'limited colorways' or of the 'brand aspect' that, for my understanding, rap has entailed. If you've got time, i'd like to roughly sketch what underlies this problem in some suppositions (it's been a minute, things may get a bit clunky).
Rap music, by and large, is a form that is meant to be mis-understood by a large percentage of the people who come in contact with it to some degree. There are, within every kind of rap lyric, meanings which are meant to be latent until someone who possesses the right skill or information set to decode it comes along and listens. In this respect, rap music doesn't differ from any other discourse of art or design. Crypticism, subtlety and layering have always been a part of these kinds of human articulations, especially those rooted ultimately in subversion. So far, no problem right?
But rap music is special in two ways. The first is that it is the largest and most visible strain of writing/speech that holds an internal conversation: it’s the reigning meta-discourse (outside the fold of polite academic circle,s that is). It is also music that is rooted in subversion, but focuses not so much on critique as on strategies for the acquisition of wealth and status by those who do not have it (this isn’t to say that the ‘hustler’s utopia’ picture of reality that rap music paints isn’t often a pie-in-the-sky).
Consider it self-serving or naive if you wish, but I’d be willing to hazard that the rapper-as-entrepreneur does the cottage industry that punk offered in the 1970s and 1980s one better. Where (for lack of better vocabulary) the punk business leaders and their business models of these prior decades created very successful record companies, they also did many things to intentionally get between themselves and future expansion. You could say that the result of this is the phenomenon of major-label platinum artists (who are by all accounts other than image merely radio rock bands) headlining and thriving on an endorsement-dense Warped tour, year after year. After enough time, it appears that the ‘punk’ listeners will tolerate any amount of commercial saturation. Punk writ large has basically been invaded thoroughly by money.
Alright, so you’re probably thinkng, ‘what’s the big difference?’ What music if any, is more commercial than rap music? None, probably. So-called urban is one of the biggest and most lucrative markets there is. But there are different aspirations held by the artists, the fans, and the culture around the industry is very different. Rappers are trying to invade money, nevermind money indvading them. The crucial difference is encapsulated in a comparison of this point. If your culture has a built-in plan for artist driven enterpreneurship, you will be ready to cope with the money when It comes. If they are, then artists will remain in charge of the discourse (not to mention the market) for much longer and will make decisions based on this.
Now, back to where it all began. Rap music, the thriving meta-discourse and multi-million dollar industry that it is, is now a field that is ripe to create shifts in the landscape of the American media (and the world to a waning degree). This can be done if the ones arrogating themselves to positions of influence in this arena are aware of the ramifications. To quote a notable articulation of this: “If skills sold/ truth be told/ I’d probably be/ Lyrically Talib Kweli…We as rappers must decide what’s most important… I can’t help the poor if I’m one of them/ I got rich and gave back/ to me that’s the win win.” (Jay-Z, Moment of Clarity, from The Black Album).
Pair that with the injunction to ‘overcharge labels for what they did to the cold crush’ and this espousal of achievement on behalf of a greater good is a very powerful and motivating cultural technology. There are many examples of this strategy pervasive in Rap, and they all articulate something similar to the passages above. In short, rather than starting a punk label and winding up in a scenario where we are becoming successful despite ourselves, we are entreated to start a rap label and become successful in order to spite the established successful media engines. Need I spell out which strategy is more potentially successful? The former strikes me as about as futile as screaming at a wall, so that said… Let’s get it.
jamz
2.10.06
Married to the Game
Today it was cloudy and raining in Salt Lake City. Meghan and I enjoyed a partially diffused sunset over downtown. We ate tea with our soups and salads, and later there was sushi followed by fresh figs. We went shopping and I now own a shirt with (faux) french cuffs. We talked alot about important things like how bad the drivers are in Utah, and I was further introduced to the world of rock climbing. Later, we walked her dog in the cold air in jackets and shoes that were put on in a hurry without socks. She told me some of her more creative ideas to make money and they all sound plausible to me. Returning home, we wordlessly watched television, safe from the wind outside. I drank a glass of water and the dog sighed. Truth be told, I have spent the last few days walking in some pretty bourgeois shoes. It feels like playing a role, though It's one I could get accustomed to, It still feels way too far off to anticipate. It's really nice when things are quiet though.
Keep it Quotidian,
Jamz
Keep it Quotidian,
Jamz
8.9.06
makavellis on the maybach (kicks retro)
Last night. Fast Forward, No Age, and David Stone at the Smell. It was hot, packed, and you couldn't hear any of the vocals. It was living, breathing proof that music is and has never stopped moving ahead.
Walking down that alley is always a bit like crossing over into a sovereign zone. The corridor was peopled with unfamiliar young faces, with luminous new skin, and the kind of raw sensibilities that seem to predict (and create) danger. Entering I saw a few familiar faces (indexed here) that I can't ever really get enough of, and we all jammed into the front room of the club to watch David Stone's cacophonic arrangement of distorted drum machine loops and keys that were (to my surprise) well complimented by amplified and patched copper wires.
I hadn't seen No Age play yet, and I was made aware more than once that I was missing something that i'd regret not seeing soon. Brother Reade had done some shows with Wives a year or so back and I'd meant to stay up on what these guys were doing but it had somehow been escaping me. Tonight I was strapped in just beside their setup on the floor in front of the stage, directly flanking Randy's order of pedals and digital recorders. Their set commenced with blaring guitar and drums and words that were buried by the power of their instruments, but the sweat and veins in their faces communicated exactly just enough to garnish the compositions. I'm not positive, but I think that what these two are doing is quite necessary and maybe one of the best things you can see right now in LA. The energy of Wives (and punk writ large) is intact in No Age. The songwriting is developed and fermented, and the impurities of further living strengthen the message. The use of sequencers and playback is a total enhancement and never exceeds its purpose. I can only guess that a no age recording wouldn't disappoint. After the show, a large and majestic man named Bryan Ray bought me a bandana and Randy and I helped someone who'd drunk a bit too much find themselves a seat.
There is nothing I can say about fast forward that will make you understand what it means to see them. The audience was given red hoods with small eyeholes in them to wear. They were dressed in tall black pointed uniforms. They flooded the space with light. There were seven of them, one was screaming something he was reading from a sheet of paper. The others were waiting with arms folded, until he was done reading and then they all jumped off of the stage onto (not into) the crowd, and ran out the front door of the venue while the rest of us were left to listen to the end of their song, which was playing on a digital 8-track. The whole thing took four and a half minutes, and I couldn't tell you what they look or sound like. I imagine that teenage teardrops may provide photos in the next few days if you're at all curious. It was a serendipitous September 11th to say the least.
Walking down that alley is always a bit like crossing over into a sovereign zone. The corridor was peopled with unfamiliar young faces, with luminous new skin, and the kind of raw sensibilities that seem to predict (and create) danger. Entering I saw a few familiar faces (indexed here) that I can't ever really get enough of, and we all jammed into the front room of the club to watch David Stone's cacophonic arrangement of distorted drum machine loops and keys that were (to my surprise) well complimented by amplified and patched copper wires.
I hadn't seen No Age play yet, and I was made aware more than once that I was missing something that i'd regret not seeing soon. Brother Reade had done some shows with Wives a year or so back and I'd meant to stay up on what these guys were doing but it had somehow been escaping me. Tonight I was strapped in just beside their setup on the floor in front of the stage, directly flanking Randy's order of pedals and digital recorders. Their set commenced with blaring guitar and drums and words that were buried by the power of their instruments, but the sweat and veins in their faces communicated exactly just enough to garnish the compositions. I'm not positive, but I think that what these two are doing is quite necessary and maybe one of the best things you can see right now in LA. The energy of Wives (and punk writ large) is intact in No Age. The songwriting is developed and fermented, and the impurities of further living strengthen the message. The use of sequencers and playback is a total enhancement and never exceeds its purpose. I can only guess that a no age recording wouldn't disappoint. After the show, a large and majestic man named Bryan Ray bought me a bandana and Randy and I helped someone who'd drunk a bit too much find themselves a seat.
There is nothing I can say about fast forward that will make you understand what it means to see them. The audience was given red hoods with small eyeholes in them to wear. They were dressed in tall black pointed uniforms. They flooded the space with light. There were seven of them, one was screaming something he was reading from a sheet of paper. The others were waiting with arms folded, until he was done reading and then they all jumped off of the stage onto (not into) the crowd, and ran out the front door of the venue while the rest of us were left to listen to the end of their song, which was playing on a digital 8-track. The whole thing took four and a half minutes, and I couldn't tell you what they look or sound like. I imagine that teenage teardrops may provide photos in the next few days if you're at all curious. It was a serendipitous September 11th to say the least.
30.8.06
27.8.06
potluck epidemic and the whole world eats.
We are back from the planet. Bobby and me have been on 24 hour party patrol for over seven days. fuck yeah fest, Wu-Tang, guns of winston, GSO family reunion, tattoos, friends, many 4 and 5 am walks, wading in a strangely warm pacific ocean at six am this morning. All around, I feel at home everywhere i've been. My friends and the people I love (t) are an inescapable geography. Stray has lagged because i've bottomed out a bit and had a hard time seeing anything but blue, but now things are all on the climb. Thanks y'all for your faces.
Bobby Evans is playing the Dracular instrumental by Bob Marley on the PA which is still set up at the Dillon Street Girls' house and they, Manuel, and Eagles are all on the back porch smoking and talking shit. I am reeling and stoked. Tonight I have to work until 7am. IM me if you're bored. (I'll put my name in my blogger profile temporarily).
I actually had the pleasure this past week of interviewing my mother about raising a family and how she felt about my brother reade. It's interesting that we never take the time to ask searching and direct questions to the people that are the closest to us about things that we'd really love to know. I am half-vowing to interview most everyone I know at least once in the near future. For the price of coffee you could have a different take on a friend. People do different things when they're on the spot. My Errol Morris phase begins today.
more later, there will be a detailed update on the BR news section of the site, peep that and the new photos if you get a minute. That's it for now. I'm going to go listen to TI over a very high profile crystal waters sample.
xo
jamz
Bobby Evans is playing the Dracular instrumental by Bob Marley on the PA which is still set up at the Dillon Street Girls' house and they, Manuel, and Eagles are all on the back porch smoking and talking shit. I am reeling and stoked. Tonight I have to work until 7am. IM me if you're bored. (I'll put my name in my blogger profile temporarily).
I actually had the pleasure this past week of interviewing my mother about raising a family and how she felt about my brother reade. It's interesting that we never take the time to ask searching and direct questions to the people that are the closest to us about things that we'd really love to know. I am half-vowing to interview most everyone I know at least once in the near future. For the price of coffee you could have a different take on a friend. People do different things when they're on the spot. My Errol Morris phase begins today.
more later, there will be a detailed update on the BR news section of the site, peep that and the new photos if you get a minute. That's it for now. I'm going to go listen to TI over a very high profile crystal waters sample.
xo
jamz
30.7.06
paying for liquor with change.
I dreamt last night of climbing fences in the dark and being chased by mastiffs. There were dozens of them. My housemates and Bobby, Eagles and I were all running from them. Jen's friend fell and the dogs had her in their mouths and I had to pry her from them. They weren't touching me or trying to hurt me. She had fallen asleep and didn't understand. Eventually, she chastized me but i took her with us anyway.
Some things you might need to know:
D. Boon, J. Belushi, J. Dean. Maybe dying early? Dig my matrix and stop swagger jacking. I want a dog and a front porch, and may be getting evicted. Holler if you have a house.
jamz
Some things you might need to know:
D. Boon, J. Belushi, J. Dean. Maybe dying early? Dig my matrix and stop swagger jacking. I want a dog and a front porch, and may be getting evicted. Holler if you have a house.
jamz
29.7.06
how to stunt.
Tonight is Jeremy's birthday. He's thirty-two now and is aging like Sean fucking Connery. We are celebrating and listening to some ol ninety eight jams. The clouds are gathering, and the heat is breaking. The second wind of summer is about to crack open, and the horoscopes say that this whole mercury in transition thing is about to be over for now. But forget a mercury, you can't stunt in those. You can stunt on a puch 10 speed though. My rims is seven-hundred cm. Rust colored. The competition getting dust-covered. Off-whites and V-necks are the uniform. Vans are the kicks until the wallys come back (or until the bread does). Sweat is in. So is two-wheel transport. For the fall? Remixes. Remixes. Remixes. Please prepare.
Jams.
Jams.
28.7.06
the other oceanfront won't wait long
A friend told me that you don't have to come to a conclusion every time that you sit down to write. I replied that, unfortunately, conclusions are awfully abundant.
I need an open space to have a good idea in, everything lately feels like slick talk to charm a comely cousin. Not my scene. In less than a month i'll be back where the air conditioning (and mosquitoes) will be ubiquitous and free. June will fry trout. I will make sides (and most likely post the recipes). I'll probably have to drink all the Bourbon by myself, depending on Mr. Garcia's mood. Lord willing and the creek don't rise, there'll be just enough ice to put me to bed. It'll be good to see Tina and Lucy, and I'm also all thanks since Miss Kay has a clean bill of health. If you're bored saturday, you can find me in the club. If you're bored sunday, go fishing.
as a mug...
james.
I need an open space to have a good idea in, everything lately feels like slick talk to charm a comely cousin. Not my scene. In less than a month i'll be back where the air conditioning (and mosquitoes) will be ubiquitous and free. June will fry trout. I will make sides (and most likely post the recipes). I'll probably have to drink all the Bourbon by myself, depending on Mr. Garcia's mood. Lord willing and the creek don't rise, there'll be just enough ice to put me to bed. It'll be good to see Tina and Lucy, and I'm also all thanks since Miss Kay has a clean bill of health. If you're bored saturday, you can find me in the club. If you're bored sunday, go fishing.
as a mug...
james.
25.7.06
heat wave
"Dear lord, please save us from the third world war/ I want to do a world tour/ before world war four."
Something about the weather and the power outage make it even harder for me to comprehend the missles in Beirut. I can't wait until my friend makes it to Europe so that I can stop worrying. I am on cloud "stoked" otherwise. Me and Bobby Evans are playing with the Circle Jerks and the Wu-Tang Clan in the same weekend, and I am doing a chorus on a jam with Sadat X. I am pretending to take all this in stride, but fanning the fuck out on the inside. Big ups to Despot and Get the Fuck Up.
Something about the weather and the power outage make it even harder for me to comprehend the missles in Beirut. I can't wait until my friend makes it to Europe so that I can stop worrying. I am on cloud "stoked" otherwise. Me and Bobby Evans are playing with the Circle Jerks and the Wu-Tang Clan in the same weekend, and I am doing a chorus on a jam with Sadat X. I am pretending to take all this in stride, but fanning the fuck out on the inside. Big ups to Despot and Get the Fuck Up.
23.7.06
an old prayer
"Music, rescue us from our youth. It is big enough to destroy us all." us ca. 1999.
My friends and I have saved the world at least seven consecutive summers (some of us more), and I am only now beginning to feel the dull and fading effects of time. RJ is putting together a book of the last few years at the house, and I was thinking about how difficult it is to transmit nostalgia to someone who wasn't there. When you see young skin in old photographs of people you know it gives you an awareness of the only fact: decay is constant. We scream from pictures: "I am a glass of water. I used to sparkle."
The insight seems to come a bit early. I've never imagined living all that long, but I think that assumption was linked to my idealization of brighter stars with shorter half-lives. Time is, after all, very good to some people. Maybe I can have a dry-docked sailboat I work on for nine months out of the year, and sons who bang it up against everything in the sound for three. Then repeat until they feel their own peaks passing. For now, i feel as far from this as I am from the birth canal, and I have no plans of purchasing any sefaring equipment that doesn't say sperry on it for years. I have been a little ocean obsessed lately, maybe some salt air and wind can cure it. Anyone for a trip down south?
all aboard...
james.
My friends and I have saved the world at least seven consecutive summers (some of us more), and I am only now beginning to feel the dull and fading effects of time. RJ is putting together a book of the last few years at the house, and I was thinking about how difficult it is to transmit nostalgia to someone who wasn't there. When you see young skin in old photographs of people you know it gives you an awareness of the only fact: decay is constant. We scream from pictures: "I am a glass of water. I used to sparkle."
The insight seems to come a bit early. I've never imagined living all that long, but I think that assumption was linked to my idealization of brighter stars with shorter half-lives. Time is, after all, very good to some people. Maybe I can have a dry-docked sailboat I work on for nine months out of the year, and sons who bang it up against everything in the sound for three. Then repeat until they feel their own peaks passing. For now, i feel as far from this as I am from the birth canal, and I have no plans of purchasing any sefaring equipment that doesn't say sperry on it for years. I have been a little ocean obsessed lately, maybe some salt air and wind can cure it. Anyone for a trip down south?
all aboard...
james.
20.7.06
plum hateful
Ambivalence is a hell of an MO. It appears that there is a rebuilding season ahead, and on top of that, my comments are getting spammed. I could be bummed about it, and spin my wheels and bicker, and maybe i'd even bring you into my lil sphere of grumpiness, but instead, i'm going to go get excited about how radical Aaron Farley's photo blog is, and I am going to urge you to leave here now and do the same. It never hurts to watch a lot of happy people have a good time.
I'm going to go 'shake it off' (emancipation of jimmy?), and try and come up with something worth writing about.
till then,
elephant prince.
I'm going to go 'shake it off' (emancipation of jimmy?), and try and come up with something worth writing about.
till then,
elephant prince.
19.7.06
chill retardo
"Fame is a form of incomprehension, perhaps the worst." J. Borges.
Massive rap day number two in a row. I just watched Ghostface and Rick Ross play to thirty people at the Malibu Inn, and I was videotaped for BET in a segment that disses the dipset. It's a long story, and I am remaining neutral in any and all beefs, in keeping with my usual policy. I kept imagining what it must be like to play for thirty people as a seminal and platinum selling artist who actually still makes good and relevant records over ten years after debuting. I don't have to imagine what it's like to play for thirty people when you're not. Then there was a famous person at the Cha Cha when we headed there after for drinks, but Toddrick, whose birthday it is had already gone home. Sour luck, but all in all, a very good night.
Life is good, and the price is right.
j
Massive rap day number two in a row. I just watched Ghostface and Rick Ross play to thirty people at the Malibu Inn, and I was videotaped for BET in a segment that disses the dipset. It's a long story, and I am remaining neutral in any and all beefs, in keeping with my usual policy. I kept imagining what it must be like to play for thirty people as a seminal and platinum selling artist who actually still makes good and relevant records over ten years after debuting. I don't have to imagine what it's like to play for thirty people when you're not. Then there was a famous person at the Cha Cha when we headed there after for drinks, but Toddrick, whose birthday it is had already gone home. Sour luck, but all in all, a very good night.
Life is good, and the price is right.
j
17.7.06
fish story
wasabi seared tuna:
soy sauce
sesame oil
fresh jalapeno
a bit of sugar
a modest amount of cilantro
sashimi grade tuna steaks
In a small bowl, pour enough soy sauce to provide a base for a glaze or marinade. This should vary according to the amount of steaks you plan to prepare. Slowly add sesame oil and, using a fork, emulsify as rigorously as possible. If you've never emulsified anything before, simply disrupt (not stir) the mixture as the oil is being added in a very rapid motion of the wrist. You want to break the oil up into as many small droplets as possible. Finely chop fresh jalapeno to taste (err on the side of too spicy: the cooking process and the other flavors in the mixture will compete heavily with the pepper's influence). FInely chop and add cilantro. Stir in sugar. Emulsify again. The sugar is not for taste, it is for consistency and to create the stickiness that a glaze needs. You should neither leave it out nor use enough that you can detect its flavor.
Cover tuna steaks in glaze. Heat a thick-bottomed pan with a small amount of oil in it to medium high. You need a pan that will cook at high heat but will not cook the fish through too fast. If you don't know how to buy fresh fish, look up the fish markets in your area and inquire there about the best days to purchase which types. Normally, people who work at fish markets are more than willing to answer questions.
Place the glazed tuna steaks in the pan, allowing the outsides only to become white and then light brown. This takes only a matter of minutes, and stalling here can make you lose the whole point of the recipe. Remove from heat once the tuna is seared and cut into julienne pieces. Serve atop sushi rice with a shoestring cut cucumber-sesame salad and sparkling water with lime. Enjoy.
jj
soy sauce
sesame oil
fresh jalapeno
a bit of sugar
a modest amount of cilantro
sashimi grade tuna steaks
In a small bowl, pour enough soy sauce to provide a base for a glaze or marinade. This should vary according to the amount of steaks you plan to prepare. Slowly add sesame oil and, using a fork, emulsify as rigorously as possible. If you've never emulsified anything before, simply disrupt (not stir) the mixture as the oil is being added in a very rapid motion of the wrist. You want to break the oil up into as many small droplets as possible. Finely chop fresh jalapeno to taste (err on the side of too spicy: the cooking process and the other flavors in the mixture will compete heavily with the pepper's influence). FInely chop and add cilantro. Stir in sugar. Emulsify again. The sugar is not for taste, it is for consistency and to create the stickiness that a glaze needs. You should neither leave it out nor use enough that you can detect its flavor.
Cover tuna steaks in glaze. Heat a thick-bottomed pan with a small amount of oil in it to medium high. You need a pan that will cook at high heat but will not cook the fish through too fast. If you don't know how to buy fresh fish, look up the fish markets in your area and inquire there about the best days to purchase which types. Normally, people who work at fish markets are more than willing to answer questions.
Place the glazed tuna steaks in the pan, allowing the outsides only to become white and then light brown. This takes only a matter of minutes, and stalling here can make you lose the whole point of the recipe. Remove from heat once the tuna is seared and cut into julienne pieces. Serve atop sushi rice with a shoestring cut cucumber-sesame salad and sparkling water with lime. Enjoy.
jj
14.7.06
pilgrims speak!
"I don't believe in hell, so fuck it. I don't believe in heaven either. I do believe in whiskey, though."
Sometimes when I hear things, that, even though I don't agree with them, i feel like I've chosen the right friends. I have a grumpy pal who doesn't like when I put her name on the internet, but she does like when I borrow or lend her books that I think that she should read. She's going to go to a place where there are wars on two fronts, and I'll be counting on unseen forces she doesn't regard as real to bring her back home.
I was reading a Dr. Bronner's bottle and I was amazed again at how much ridiculous shit there is out there, and just how alluring ridiculous shit is to believe in and to follow. Simple language of principles and 'oneness' are probably going to appeal to people for the rest of time, and if you want to win a lot of friends quickly, learn some short cuts to profundity and employ the cliches as swiftly and broadly as possible. Please, don't concern yourself with depth of knowledge or reflection. Also, accuracy is for the faint of heart.
Now we are looking through old scrapbooks and marvelling at weight fluctuation and dyed hair. Tonight I was given a plant named cassiopoeia. What's in? Eating organs and uplifting jams. Out? Bad vibes.
go with god.
james.
Sometimes when I hear things, that, even though I don't agree with them, i feel like I've chosen the right friends. I have a grumpy pal who doesn't like when I put her name on the internet, but she does like when I borrow or lend her books that I think that she should read. She's going to go to a place where there are wars on two fronts, and I'll be counting on unseen forces she doesn't regard as real to bring her back home.
I was reading a Dr. Bronner's bottle and I was amazed again at how much ridiculous shit there is out there, and just how alluring ridiculous shit is to believe in and to follow. Simple language of principles and 'oneness' are probably going to appeal to people for the rest of time, and if you want to win a lot of friends quickly, learn some short cuts to profundity and employ the cliches as swiftly and broadly as possible. Please, don't concern yourself with depth of knowledge or reflection. Also, accuracy is for the faint of heart.
Now we are looking through old scrapbooks and marvelling at weight fluctuation and dyed hair. Tonight I was given a plant named cassiopoeia. What's in? Eating organs and uplifting jams. Out? Bad vibes.
go with god.
james.
13.7.06
suffixes are a part of life
I began my first effort using a new way of writing and recording yesterday. No hands. It worked as an excercise and as a new way to create songs. Craig called and he is now a master of psychology. It has been that long since we spoke. I also had drinks with Katie Perry and Lynn and Helen at the nexus of Silverlake beverage consumption on Glendale blvd. Katie is going into the writing program in Iowa, Lynn is converting to Judaism, and Helen is nurturing a possum until it is old enough to be rescued. I have been wearing shoes without socks, and growing a beard despite the extremely hot weather. There are no new letters by my name however, all of my credentials are leaps of faith.
j
j
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