MISERY

Misery
I know you got troubles but you don't have to spread it about
Misery
You moan and you groan but all of that I can live without
Well
Until you stop worrying about yourself
You'll never get anywhere with me
I'll still be hanging in there but you're still a misery

Until you learn to laugh you'll never come to any parties at my house
And if you go on like this the only house you'll ever visit is the nut house
You're such a misery, why don't you learn to laugh
Look in the mirror and don't take yourself so seriously

Well
Dollar bills could fall from the sky
But still you wouldn't be satisfied
But I'm not going to let you depress me
You're such a misery 

 

Kinks: Misery (Link)

Upper:  Paul Gaughin, The Painter of Sunflowers (Portrait of Vincent Van Gogh), oil on canvas, 1888, Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam

Lower:  Vincent Van Gogh, Old Man With His Head In His Hands (At Eternity’s Gate), lithograph, Teheran Museum of Contemporary Art, 1882.

Note:  What a great song; I’ve never understood why it isn’t more popular.  I identify with both characters, don't you?  I don’t think I have ever heard it played on the radio.

 

IN A SPACE

Watching Jane circle the rink for an hour, punctuating the circuits with jumps, spins and loops, it's not only her athleticism and grace that amaze me, but also the fact that she seems, rationally and intelligently, to be navigating in and through infinite space according to coordinates that she can see and I can’t.

I, on the other hand, charge into corners and walk into walls.  Returning to my room early one morning at a famous fallen, grand-shabby downtown Los Angeles hotel, a passageway door silently closed behind me and I found myself apparently trapped in a long straight corridor with no point of ingress or egress, only wide white walls and massive blocking doors.  Crying out seemed pointless and impolite.  

For several long tense minutes, before clearing the mystery, I firmly believed I was dead.

Kinks: In A Space (Link)

Kate Sanborn, Old Time Wall Papers, Greenwich, The Literary Collector Press, 1905.

RECIPES TO LIGHTEN A DARKLING AGE

BAKED TRUFFLES

CHOOSE some good white truffles; wash with care; wrap each of them in five or six pieces of paper previously soaked in water.

Cook in hot cinders, remove the sheets of paper, dry the truffles, and serve them among the folds of a well-warmed table napkin.

Familiar, and yet too little eaten.   

 

FRICASSEE OF MUSHROOMS

HAVING peeled your mushrooms, and scraped the inside of them, throw them into cold water.  If they are buttons, rub them with flannel; take them out and boil them in fresh water with salt.  When they are tender, put in a little shredded parsley, and an onion stuck with cloves, and toss them up with a good lump of butter rolled in a little flour.  You may put in three spoonfuls of thick cream, and a little nutmeg cut in pieces; but be sure to take out the nutmeg and onion before you send it to table.



NOTE:  THESE recipes, from Norman Douglas' wonderful Venus In The Kitchen, both look excellent, wintry and holiday-ish.  Still, I wonder whether I'll ever taste white truffle (or caviar) again? Perhaps I'll be invited to dine at the White House some day -- I mean, how many times can one stand having Barbra Streisand to dinner?

I've only eaten Truffes sous la cendre once before --  many, many years ago at an amazing restaurant called L'Archestrate in Paris, which I believe was the place Alain Senderens launched his brilliant career.  It was prepared, as is customary, with black truffles there.  Using white truffle in the dish must also be amazing.  Now that Jane's at last eating mushrooms (at least in the form of cream of mushroom soup and only when they're thoroughly blended), I think I'll try the fricassee out on her, possibly for Christmas Eve dinner.  I won't discuss the fact that the dish (like all the recipes in Venus In The Kitchen) is considered to be an aphrodisiac.  She's only 15 and she's my daughter, for  heaven sake. 

Pictures of Norman Douglas tend to be memorable and atmospheric, even the ordinary ones.  I love this 1935  Carl van Vechten portrait, taken against Venice's stones.  

Kinks: Low Budget (Link)