I remember now

that well-made, homemade pizza is a glorious thing:

(Once again, Marisa reminds me that it’s time for me to get on the no-knead bandwagon. Will you take a look at the amazing crumb structure in this guy? I’m going to start making Lahey’s bread tonight.)

And that I really do still love going to shows:

I thought I was sick of concerts, too old to stand and wait for so long in crowds just to get stuck behind the tallest guy in the venue (what are they feeding kids these days?), too cynical to handle the faux-earnest posturing of so many indie rock bands, and just too bored to sit through another one. But Jens Lekman, you proved me wrong. You may have some silly-ass lyrics, but you bring totally infectious, unadulterated joy to the stage. You love us, you love playing for us, and it shows. I haven’t had a shit-eating grin plastered across my face like that for god knows how long.


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