My daughter has reached an important milestone in life. At five and a half she has realized that her dad wearing his slippers to drop her off at school, where I then walk the almost three year old to her class, is not particularly cool. And so will create distance between me and her very quickly when able. She has yet to realize that I am both a contrarian AND a proto-hipster… who will one day (when he’s big), spawn his own movement. And not a just a bowel movement. Although those are also good.
This morning though another dad pulled up behind me in a classic Land Rover Defender. A three door with the spare-tire attached to the bonnet… which on a collision will (likely and somewhat unfortunately) detach and then decapitate you… well… assuming you can get that relic up to a speed that could breach the dotted line of lethality. Maybe on a downhill, with a canvas sail and a tail wind. In any event, old school cool, and he was wearing slippers!
I felt vindicated. I eke out tiny victories in my little insular world.
To be fair its not like I’ve just rolled out of bed. I’ve been for my morning five kay constitutional, showered, brushed my teeth and double-espresso’d myself to a point of reasonable functionality… its just that I don’t want to wear proper shoes… that once I get home I will just kick off anyway. It feels redundant to have to lace up for propriety. Also it seems unlikely that I will have to hike across country, belay off a bridge, and/or fight off multiple combatants where slippers might prejudice my survival. (wait, did I just describe a normal day in my old-life in Johannesburg)
I did however stand for a moment before climbing back into my own vehicle admiring this ugly, boxy, diesel-guzzling jalopy. If you’re going to go for a ‘classic’ car, this might be right near the top of acceptable choices I think. That, or a Volkswagen camper I muse.
To be honest I’ve gotten soft. These days I rate air-conditioning and power-steering quite highly on my short list of essentials and I don’t think I’d appreciate a suspension that ripples and vibrates me on a cellular level quite like I might have when I was still sprightly. Still, the cool-factor is tsunami-esque in its appeal.
I am home now and barefoot… and having built myself another collagen/mct + stovetop espresso I am ready to begin my day. I’ve gotten weirdly used to it. The collagen I mean. (less so the fact that I actually have to start my day) I mean, chances are probably better than average that it does absolutely fuck-all for you on a physiological level… although their is a segment of diet peeps that swear by its woo-factor. Anecdotally I do feel less… creaky these days. But I’m also eating ‘better’. So really how much that has to do with the magical properties of collagen or my insanely low daily allotment of carbohydrates. I am almost Rogan-esque in my fringe health these days. I snort derisively… mostly because I very rarely listen to Joe (and only once ever to completion). In fact, in our household, its more likely that my wife is listening to a podcast than me.
I have however gotten back into my ‘Documentaries’, after being on a television-hiatus for what feels like forever. I recently binged Mariana van Zeller’s Trafficked. White knuckle stuff, is this what functional insanity looks like I wonder to myself… because she is definitely missing some part of her Amygdala survival instinct. Friday night me and the missus Date-nighted with Roadrunner, the Anthony Bourdain… eh… documentary is a bit of misnomer. In any event, whatever it is.
I must be honest I felt quite hollowed out by the time the credits rolled. Despite knowing how it ends. I love Anthony Bourdain… I think pretty much everyone loved him right? I mean how could you not? Still, I think he felt massively disconnected from the world… that…. and well there was that evil harlot Asia Argento. Whom I always suspected was the villain in all of this! Well… maybe. But now I’m sure she was. Never combine a femme-fatale with an underlying mental condition. That should be right near the top of little fold out piece of paper you get with your life. That and nobody gets out alive. Might as well eat good food and travel before you go.
He was the living embodiment of Mark Twains:
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.”
Throw me into a wood chipper, spray me into Harrods in the middle of the rush hour. That would be pretty epic. I wouldn’t mind being remembered in that way,”
-Anthony Bourdain on what to do with his body.
Hmm. Maybe I should update my will to reflect a similar notion. Harrods… the embodiment of… yeah… if you’ve ever been into that establishment you likely know of what I speak.. unless of course you really like Harrods in which case you and me probably won’t be the best of friends. I mean, I might still save you from drowning…
“…. blood sausage, fried onions, and mashed potatoes with applesauce, which if you don’t like, by the way, pretty much removes you from my ‘Will Save From Drowning’ list.”
-Anthony Bourdain in Cologne
I love blood sausage btw. I love it on toast. I must say that is one of the things I miss about living in a big city, A solid, dependable German Butcher who knows their stuff. On the upside the whole South Atlantic and Indian Ocean larder is now MUCH more accessible to me, Snoek on a woodfire with an Apricot jam glaze and sprinkled with chili peppers. Plus an ice-cold Cider = Heaven.
In any event, I’m trying to make Friday night our stay at home movie night. What a middle aged and married thing to do. I have Montage of Heck and Free Solo lined up for the next two weekends.
I am weirdly excited.