no taco, but much gratitude
I don't have a taco rec for you today.
I almost ordered an emergency taco kit from Guerilla Tacos, mostly just so I could write to you about it, but ten pounds of meat sounds like a lot. Also, the kit now only comes with one roll of tp. At the beginning, it was four! Which, genius.
The tp situation is pretty dire in our neck of the woods. (Yours too I imagine, judging from the memes?) I came up empty on my first run two weeks ago. Last week R drove around for an hour and returned with a 9-pack of Quilted Northern. Not my preferred, one-ply Scott, which lasts forever and leaves zero lint in its wake. But. I'm grateful to have toilet paper, period. Grateful that's all I have to complain about.
I'm sitting on the porch as I draft this, bundled up, I've got on a light puffer plus a sweatshirt. Socks. It'll be t-shirt weather in a few hours though, when the sun moves across my chair.
The birds are chirping. The birds seem thrilled. The air is noticeably cleaner in Los Angeles, though I can still hear the light hum of traffic, cars zipping on and off the 2. I've started listening for that hum. Appreciating it, even. It has become an indicator of civilization. I can freak myself out a little, thinking, what if I got up and the hum was gone? What would that mean?
I just finished Station Eleven, an engrossing if slightly too-intricately-plotted-for-my-taste novel about, basically, the collapse of civilization after a global pandemic. I ordered it from NOT AMAZON* when the lockdown started. I figured why not wade right in? I've always been drawn to post-apocalyptic as a genre. Never felt so close to living it.
Overly-plotted or no, the book made an impact. It has made me appreciate things like: Internet. Electricity. Hot water. I read much of it in the bathtub, feeling enormously grateful for hot water.
Anyhoo.
We're doing fine. Eating well. The farmer's markets are still open and I'm grateful to see my favorite vendors once a week. To have fresh eggs and produce and gluten-free bread.**
R has work he can do from home, for now. I probably won't be on set any time soon, on my own projects or anyone else's. But I've penciled in some deadlines for myself. I'm getting a little writing and/or thinking done every day. Just a little. Getting out for walks. Trying to stay off my phone. For now that's enough.
xoxo,
Laramie
*Trying trying trying not to order non-essentials from Amazon. Trying to keep indie booksellers in business.
**My gf Angelenos, I cannot recommend Breadblok highly enough. Pricy but worth it if you can swing it. The focaccia! ($12) The sourdough! ($18) All of their loaves are gluten-free, and many are also vegan. They do several farmer's markets including Sundays in Atwater, and their Santa Monica storefront is open every day.
I almost ordered an emergency taco kit from Guerilla Tacos, mostly just so I could write to you about it, but ten pounds of meat sounds like a lot. Also, the kit now only comes with one roll of tp. At the beginning, it was four! Which, genius.
The tp situation is pretty dire in our neck of the woods. (Yours too I imagine, judging from the memes?) I came up empty on my first run two weeks ago. Last week R drove around for an hour and returned with a 9-pack of Quilted Northern. Not my preferred, one-ply Scott, which lasts forever and leaves zero lint in its wake. But. I'm grateful to have toilet paper, period. Grateful that's all I have to complain about.
I'm sitting on the porch as I draft this, bundled up, I've got on a light puffer plus a sweatshirt. Socks. It'll be t-shirt weather in a few hours though, when the sun moves across my chair.
The birds are chirping. The birds seem thrilled. The air is noticeably cleaner in Los Angeles, though I can still hear the light hum of traffic, cars zipping on and off the 2. I've started listening for that hum. Appreciating it, even. It has become an indicator of civilization. I can freak myself out a little, thinking, what if I got up and the hum was gone? What would that mean?
I just finished Station Eleven, an engrossing if slightly too-intricately-plotted-for-my-taste novel about, basically, the collapse of civilization after a global pandemic. I ordered it from NOT AMAZON* when the lockdown started. I figured why not wade right in? I've always been drawn to post-apocalyptic as a genre. Never felt so close to living it.
Overly-plotted or no, the book made an impact. It has made me appreciate things like: Internet. Electricity. Hot water. I read much of it in the bathtub, feeling enormously grateful for hot water.
Anyhoo.
We're doing fine. Eating well. The farmer's markets are still open and I'm grateful to see my favorite vendors once a week. To have fresh eggs and produce and gluten-free bread.**
R has work he can do from home, for now. I probably won't be on set any time soon, on my own projects or anyone else's. But I've penciled in some deadlines for myself. I'm getting a little writing and/or thinking done every day. Just a little. Getting out for walks. Trying to stay off my phone. For now that's enough.
xoxo,
Laramie
*Trying trying trying not to order non-essentials from Amazon. Trying to keep indie booksellers in business.
**My gf Angelenos, I cannot recommend Breadblok highly enough. Pricy but worth it if you can swing it. The focaccia! ($12) The sourdough! ($18) All of their loaves are gluten-free, and many are also vegan. They do several farmer's markets including Sundays in Atwater, and their Santa Monica storefront is open every day.
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