Rice Milk

So, yeah, I made some horchata. Ingredients-wise, the stuff is pretty simple, except that the raw vanilla beans were expensive as fuck, like $5.99 for two at Whole Foods. Yes, I know. I know that I got hosed. But I put all the shit in to a blender and pureed it for a while, and then I emptied everything into the tea sock that I'd bought. And I thought it would just, you know, work from that point on, but the consistency of the mixture was such that it was holding in the water and not letting it seep through the sock. (Maybe I should've done it a cup or so at a time?) I ended up having to "milk" the bulging tea sock for about half an hour, squeezing the tip with my fingers as the rice water trickled out over my fingers and into a bowl. Ultimately, I ended up getting several cups out of it, and it was fucking delicious -- the best horchata I think I've ever had! It was rich and sort of spicy and not too sweet at all. But I don't know if I'll make it again any time soon.

Next up: Figuring out what to do with the nopales paddles and baggie of carne enchilada I bought at C-Town.

Eve and Nina and I have been going to this new bar called Quarter over on 20th St. and 5th Ave. The place is usually pretty empty, but it's very pretty inside, there's a good selection of booze, and the bartender's a real nice guy who never even complains when you order your fifth mashed basil drink that takes ten minutes to make. The three of us were there on Friday night, and, as y'do, I headed to the bathroom to take a piss. I finish my business and go to flush, but I guess someone had just been in there, 'cuz the toilet was still, you know, filling itself, because when I turn the handle, it doesn't do anything. So I thought maybe it was just one of those toilets where you have to turn the handle, you know, a little bit more. Some toilets are like that, man. So I gave it a bit of an extra turn, and the thing just snaps off in my hand.

On Saturday I went with Eve and Nina and Ted and some other people to see Arcade Fire out on Randall's Island. I'd never been there before, having skipped out on joining the track team in high school -- truth be told, I wasn't even 100% sure where it was. (It's in the East River, way up north 'round Harlem.) We took the D train all the way up, taking advantage of the super-express service after 59th St. in Manhattan. Unfortunately, on account of the enormous cup of coffee I drank that morning, or on account of I-don't-know-what, my stomach started having a major freak-out about half way up there, complete with the sweats and heart palpitations like you wouldn't believe. I really thought I was going to faint or have to puke. In classic Julian style, I just sort of sat there and fingered my vagus nerve until it was time to stagger up the stairs at 125th St. We're walking across town to the place where the special express bus was supposed to pick us up, past all the people hawking incense and black people genre fiction, and I'm feeling sick as a dog -- and I remember that I've left my ticket at home. Voyage of the fucking Pequod. So I call Ted and by the grace of God it turns out he hasn't managed to get rid of his extra ticket yet.

We get to the bus stop and it's a zoo. There's tons of hipsters and just not enough buses. There are, however, a bunch of erstwhile livery cab drivers looking to make a killing. One of them offers us a flat rate of $40 a head to get across the bridge, which I think is too much, but to which the other members of our party agree. I sweat my way through the ride, and then we get to the entrance, with a two-tier security check-in. Nina and Eve go in without me in order to retrieve the ticket from Ted, and I pace around, sweating and belching and feeling awful. But everything ends up sorted out, and I get a $7 beer in me and start feeling a whole hell of a lot better, and Nina and I get to plotz out in the middle of the field while she bravely homphs a tzatziki sauce-drenched burrito she's bought at one of the vendors lining either side of the main grassy bit. Randall's Island is very pretty and much greener than I thought it would be. And even though there were tons of people there and the stage was super far away, they've got a great PA system and these two huge projection screens set up on either side of the stage that display helpful (if needlessly arty) close-ups of the action.

By the time Nina and I met up with the rest of the group, LCD Soundsystem were going on. I'm not their hugest fan, but they played all different kinds of songs, some of them quite good, and their lead singer had plenty of energy.

Arcade Fire, though -- those guys are amazing. Their visual aesthetic alone is worth the price of admission: It's this Amish goth thing, kind of like they're the Addams Family's cousins from rural Canada. Win and Régine always both have the same distracted, fearful look on their faces, even when Régine's stomping around the stage like a hot little chimp. The sound was great, and the set list was pretty much the same as when I saw them at Radio City -- focusing heavily on the excellent Neon Bible. Their songs are catchy as hell, but the tone, melodically and lyrically, is so grim and spooky that there's this hard-to-shake... dread feeling that comes over me when I listen. Is that just me? The band doesn't seem to be affected -- they were cavorting all over the stage as usual, laying waste to various components of the drum kit in the process. At one particularly exciting point towards the end, Will Butler grabbed one of the floor toms (I think) and started climbing up the stage scaffolding while playing it. He got about a story and a half up when the stick flew out of his hand into the crowd below. He made a wild grab for it and looked for a second like he might lose his grip. But he didn't.

Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da... Black mirror!

There was a guy standing in front of us through most of it who looked like a cross between Tom O'Donnell and Zach Galifianakis. And he was a total dipshit, kind of smirking and muttering to his friends about how lame it was that everyone was singing and dancing around. Guy, don't go to a rock concert if you're not into that. "Liiiees, liiiees," right into Ted's ear.

After the thing was over we opted to take the foot path back up to the Triborough and walked to Queens. We debated getting a drink, but everyone was exhausted. And apparently we left a tad too early.