#canadian hash

[thesalishtrails]

Unwind and destress with the tranquil effects of hash.

#canada #canadian #hash

[ogcorpse]

left the nest 🤨😳 rat went to canada..... got some bouquét infusé along the way >:)

#lexkys.txt #mine #first foreign smoke?!!! #i mean i did lots of other things too lol #it's no Ricky Hash but she was 5*s #next time I'll find him and do the ultimate canadian blunt rotation lmao

[kodiackwrites]

B&B, Bulking boys

Konig, Soap & Ghost- Fluffy? Non canon, pretend Konigs in 141, Proof read!! Part 2 soon

You owned a large b&b that military men have found themselves in every time they return home from a mission together, their own little tradition of spending time together.

You knew they’d smoke and drink despite your clear rules, But they were mature men and always made sure to take care of the space so you didn’t give it much mind.

You’d never learnt their real names, But they’d refer to each other as Ghost, Konig & Soap.

You’d always supply the men with breakfast each morning, 7:20 sharp. Before they’d leave for the gym, but today was different.

The usual tray of 4 bacon strips, one sunny side up egg, scrambled for Soap, and a quarter cup of hash browns was left outside each bedroom door on the upstairs of the building, and twenty minutes later the men would come down and leave for the gym.

But they didn’t leave this morning, all three of them made themselves comfortable in the common living room. “Don’t you three have somewhere to be?” You asked kindly, looking up from your book. it took a moment for the man sat in the lazy boy to speak up, “It’s bulking season las, we’ve got nowhere to be other than the kitchen.” He spoke, the Scottish one, Soap. “Ah.” You responded.

You of course took this into account the next morning, and placed three new dishes out side of the men’s rooms for breakfast, 2 pieces of Peameal(Canadian) bacon, 2 eggs on toast, and some shredded chicken on a wrap with lettuce.

Of course making all this food took longer then the usual, so it was 7:26 when you placed the last tray, seeing the tallest man open his door to retrieve his food, Konig.

He looked down at the tray, and over to you, “Trying something new?” He asked, you hesitantly nodded. “It won’t affect your price sir, I just figured you boys would need a bit more food to start your mornings.” You said with a smile, He grinned.

(This wasn’t supposed to be this long but maybe part 2? My phones gonna die so sorry for the cut off I just wanna get this out,anywho, PLEASE MORE BULKING MEN PLEWSE IM BEGGIJG ON MY HANDS AND KNEEs)

#cod x you #cod könig #cod modern warfare #cod mw x reader #konig mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #konig x reader #john soap mactavish #soap cod #cod men #bulking #bulking men make me feral #let me eat them #num num into the arm

[amesliu]

If I have a layover in a canadian airport in January….which candy should I look for? 👀

Oh hell yes okay

Livewires. If they have the cups with assorted colours get those ones. They’re skinnier and taste better.

Smarties, they’re like M&Ms with better chocolate to candy ratio (imo, some disagree)

Aero. Original is best imo.

Ketchup chips. Technically not candy but a Canadian delicacy for all.

Those are the main ones that I missed a lot when I was out of Canada

Go to a Tim’s if they have one. Get an ice Capp if u want a cold drink or French vanilla if you want a warm one. Their hash browns are good and so is their sausage farmers wrap but everything else is garbage.

#not art #asked and answered

[moorishflower]

Hello, I create food from fiction and fanfiction, and love your work! Although I follow many stories you write, I was leaving some to read later because I can't hold too many WIPs in my head and you are such a prolific writer! So imagine my delight when I decided to start your Little Histories because the premise was too interesting to not read right now, and there was an entire chapter titled food?!!! Aaa!! So this is me just saying that I plan on making some foods from this story and will tag you and your story too! I hope that's fine.

And my question was: what is a full English breakfast? Based on your story and Google, it seems to include at least sausages, baked beans, fried mushrooms, runny eggs (sunny side up?), and also bacon, toast, fried bread (?), toasted bread, grilled tomatoes (?), black pudding (is this mandatory?). What should I absolutely include for the sake of the story?

Ok thank you and I can't wait for more updates to this sweet story!

Hello my dear! Thank you for the ask and the message, and can I just say that people who recreate food from books and fic are WIZARDS like you have a power that fascinates and compels me and I cannot wait to see what you come up with when you do!!! <3

So a traditional Full English breakfast is a massive undertaking and there's a reason why it's called a FULL English lol. The absolute musts are:

Sausage (If you're making this at home, it's kind of whatever sausage you like to use best. Breakfast sausage is popular.)

Back bacon (Specifically back bacon, what we'd call Canadian bacon in the US -- I think streaky bacon i.e. iconic American bacon is used sometimes, but much more rarely and it's definitely not traditional)

Sunny-side up eggs

Fried bread (You'll see this sort of interchangeably referred to as "toast" when looking at recipes and I do the same in my fic, but it is specifically bread fried in butter or oil, though I prefer butter)

Tomatoes (Cut in half, seasoned with salt and pepper, and then seared flesh-side down until they get some color. They don't have to be cooked through, though it depends on your preference)

Beans (Beans are a MUST according to anyone from the UK. You need British style beans, which are different from American-style baked beans. I've been informed that Heinz makes a British style canned beans, but I will be really honest -- the few times I've made a Full English I did not add beans because I'm a filthy Yank loool)

Optional Ingredients:

Mushrooms (Some people will say that these are required, but if you don't like mushrooms, you don't need them. These get browned and caramelized in a bit of oil or butter, with s&p for seasoning if you want!)

Black pudding (Also called blood sausage. If you like it, you love it. If you don't like it, nothing on earth will make you eat it. Black pudding gets sliced and cooked the same way as sausage. It's much harder to get in America (though I've heard if you have a local butcher you can sometimes get it), so I've never actually had it.)

Potatoes (There are some people who will stab you for mentioning hash browns in the same breath as a Full English and there are some people, like me, who are filthy Yanks and prefer potatoes over beans. For those of us who are heathen barbarians, the frozen triangular hash browns are fine, lol.)

There are regional variants that I'm not getting into because they aren't mentioned in the fic (Scotland, Wales, and Ireland all have specific additions), but these are the core things that make up a Full English! Thank you so much for reading, I'm so so glad you're enjoying so far and I hope you're having fun and continue to have fun!!! <3

#ask response

[ladyfurbton]

Furbtober

Day 30: Fire

Jacques uses a camp fire to roast a marshmellow.

Image Descriptions:

1: Jacques is a 1998 furby with grey fur. His ears are grey with neutral coloured insides. He has a bone white coloured face plate and eyelids with a yellow coloured beak. He has a grey mane going down his back. His eyes are a light blue colour and his feet are yellow with three toes each. He is wearing a grey woolley hat with a pompom on top of it on his head. He is wearing a flannel shirt that is red and black with white buttons on thr front of it. There are two pins on his shirt. One silver tee pee pin and another Canadian flag pin. Jacques is using a camp fire to roast a white marshmellow on a stick that he has in his beak. There is a white caravan behind him. Beside Jacques is a blue backpack the backpack has pictures of koalas on it and red maps of Australia.

2: This is prompts for Furbtober. At the top is "Furbtober" written in white pixelated text. The background is black with a blue border. There are prompts for each day written below in white text. The prompts are as followed: 1. Moth 2. Poison 3. Clown 4. Zodiac/stars 5. Magic 6. Hot chocolate 7. Shrek 8. Retro 9. Oddbody 10. Autumn flowers 11. Horns 12. Witchy 13. Sewing/stitches 14. Long furby 15. Crow 16. Pizza 17. Moon 18. Vintage 19. Angel 20. Demon 21. Candy 22. Ghost 23. Cat 24.monster 25. Feather 26. Scarecrow 27. Goth 28. Vampire 29. Corn 30. Fire 31. Jack O Lantern. At the bottom the hash tags are written in blue text they say "Furbtober" and "Furbtober2023". There are two user names mentioned in pink below the hash tags they say "a_silly_of_furbys" and "cozyfurbcafe" There are three furbys pictured on the bottom. The first furby is a buddy who is in a polaroid photo. "Kevin" is written in pink text on the bottom of the photo. Kevin is a light grey furby buddy with a light pink belly. On his grey fur are black dots. He has light orange feet and a tail and tuff of hair which which is light pink. The inside of his ears are pink. He has blue eyes. Next to the photo of Kevin is s drawing of a black 1998 furby wearing a blue hat that is shaped like a witches hat. The hat has a pink band and pink crystals on it. There is another furby next to the hat wearing furby. The furby  is a l grey furby buddy with a white belly. They have a white mane. The inside of their ears are pink. They have brown eyes. The furby has white dolls arms and legs. End Descriptions.

#furby #allfurby #furby fandom #safe furby #safefurby #furblr #furby 1998 #furby community #food mention #food #furbtober2023 #furbtober

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Red Team Blues Chapter One, part two

My next novel, Red Team Blues, comes out on April 25. It’s an “anti-finance finance thriller,” a read-it-in-one-sitting thriller about a 67-year-old forensic accountant who gets embroiled in a deadly and violent cryptocurrency heist:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/18/cursed-are-the-sausagemakers/#henched

To whet your appetite for it, I’m serializing chapter one, where we meet Marty Hench, and get introduced to the one last job that he needs to do to finish his 40 year career as Silicon Valley’s best high-tech forensic accountant.

Today, I’m publishing part two. Here’s the previous installment:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/17/have-you-tried-not-spying/#unsalted-hash

Here’s where US readers can pre-order the book:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

Here’s pre-orders for Canadians:

https://services.raincoast.com/scripts/b2b.wsc/featured?hh_isbn=9781250865847&ht_orig_from=raincoast

And for readers in the UK and the rest of the Commonwealth:

https://uk.bookshop.org/p/books/red-team-blues-cory-doctorow/7225998?ean=9781804547755

And now, here’s today’s serial installment:

The Camino Real had excellent security, as well as all the amenities: a pool, a gym, and a set of spring-­loaded seismic dampers set deep into the bedrock that turned the whole place into a bouncy castle whenever the San Andreas Fault got a touch of indigestion.

It was steps to California Avenue and five Michelin-star restaurants — ­one with three stars, two with two — ­and it cost him eight million, plus furnishings, which Sethu oversaw, going all in on Danish woods for a midcentury modern feel that went great with the rooftop garden that came with the penthouse unit. Sethu got him interested in trying all that Michelin star food, a far cry from ramen and slightly irregular breakfast cereals, and from there, it was the chefs’ tables, and then the private cooking classes, and then a major reno to the penthouse to fit it out with a kitchen that would have made Heston Blumenthal gasp and twirl.

They spent the month that the renos took in an exclusive lodge near a slightly active Costa Rican volcano, checking out the bromeliads and howler monkeys. He came back bronzed and fit from all that volcano hiking and became one of the great chefs of the new aristocracy, even pulling out the old alt.gourmand posts from the prehistory of Usenet. I don’t know when they became a couple, but I imagine it was a natural thing. Danny had a big heart, and he’d loved Galit with all of it, and with Galit gone and Danny still around, his heart wasn’t going to sit idly. Sethu is beautiful and brilliant and good at what she does, and those were all the traits that attracted Danny to Galit in the first place. The Camino Real’s security gave me the twice-­over and then emitted me. The elevator doors gave a sophisticated sigh and welcomed me in, and the buttonless panel lit up PH, and my blood pooled a little in my feet as I attained liftoff.

Danny looked at least ten years younger than the last time I’d seen him, craggy but handsome, and the pounds he’d put on had only filled him out so he wasn’t such an ectomorphic scarecrow. He’d definitely been hitting the kettlebells, too, and his tight Japanese tee clung just enough that I could see he’d gotten some definition in his pecs and biceps. That’s hard muscle to acquire once you hit your fifties. Someone had been making Danny put in his reps.

Danny’s an intense guy who believed so fiercely in the significance and beauty and urgency of cryptography that he could easily captivate a roomful of people with an impromptu lecture on the subject, and he would not relinquish that hold until they all had to leave. He wasn’t a bore, but he wasn’t exactly normal, and yet as far as I knew, everyone who’d ever become personally acquainted with him liked him. A lot.

“Well, you don’t look like a man who got through a prix fixe at the Palmier. Even with the flights, you shouldn’t be that bilious, Mart. What’d you do, stop for Oreos on the way back to your double-­wide?”

I let this pour over me as he showed me into the foyer and I shucked my scuffed old loafers, the ones I saved for personal days when I didn’t have to impress a client. “First of all, Lazer, the Unsalted Hash is a forty-­foot, state-­of-­the-­art touring bus with seven feet of internal clearance, an induction range, a deep freeze, and a sound system that can set off car alarms for a block. It is not a double-­wide.

“Secondly, the Palmier was great, and I didn’t get the prix fixe — ­I got a taster at the chef’s table with a friend, and we stayed up later than we should have, and I still managed to drag myself here for a business conference at this unholy hour. I’m running on three hours’ sleep and digesting a good three-­ thousand-­calorie dinner, is all.

“Finally, I don’t stop for Oreos, ever. I have a supply of 1995-­vintage Hydroxes in one of the deep freezes. The original recipe contains all those great trans fats that make for excellent long-­term frozen flavor and texture retention. I would offer you a package, but I won’t, because they are mine, and I treasure them beyond all reason and plan to make my stash last until I can no longer consume solid food, whereupon I plan to consume the balance in smoothie form.”

He took my shoes and tossed them into a closet and slammed the door, making a face, then burst out laughing and grabbed me in a bear hug that reminded me of those new biceps of his. “Man, it’s good to see you, Marty. Come in, come in. We’ll go out onto the roof.”

I got a quick tour of a lot of teak and curves and angles, like a set dresser had been given an unlimited budget to decorate the boss’s office on a midcentury period drama. Then he opened a sliding door out onto the roof-­deck, which had some very nice landscaping and potted shrubs, a meandering stream patrolled by fat koi and fed by a two-­foot waterfall, some comfortable-­ looking and elegant teak loungers, and Sethu.

She had an easel set up and was painting in oils, an impressionistic landscape of Palo Alto’s nimbified one-­family houses and dinky main street. It was a couple of billion dollars’ worth of real estate dressed up as middle-­class houses from the same midcentury dreamland as the furnishings in the living room. She turned and saw us and narrowed her eyes, just a tiny amount, before cleaning her brushes and hanging up her smock on the easel’s corner.

“Hi, hon,” she said. “This must be your friend Mr. Hench.” Danny beamed at her, an expression I remembered from his most successful demos, that prideful look he got when his code performed some miracle. “Marty, I don’t know if you ever met Sethu, back in the old days.”

“I don’t know that we were ever introduced properly,” I said. She’d let me in, once or twice, when I’d come by to see if I could pull Danny out of his tailspin. But she’d been his PA then.

“Well, in that case, Sethuramani Lazer, meet Martin Hench. Marty, meet Sethu.”

I’m pretty sure my facial expression didn’t change when he dropped that last name on me. I’d already noticed the rock on her finger, of course — ­a bachelor of my age and experience takes note of these things automatically, without conscious intervention. I’m pretty sure what Danny said next was that same pride speaking, not a failure of my poker face.

“Married her last year. Or rather, she married me, despite being significantly out of my league.”

“Lucky fella,” I said. “Congrats to both of you.”

He got us settled into loungers, and Sethu mentioned that she was going in for lemonade and offered us some. She brought it out in sweating tall glasses with silicone straws and then went back to her easel, far enough away that it wouldn’t seem odd not to include her in our conversation.

I sipped as Danny scrolled his phone for a moment, double-­checked his notes, and took Sethu in. She was beautiful, of course, but I’d known that since I’d first met her at the door of that teardown that Danny had settled into as his final resting place. Now, though, she had the kind of haircut that some very bright topiarist had charged her at least a thousand bucks for, and with it, the kind of poise I associate with very beautiful, very accomplished women who are also very, very rich. Something in the posture, a kind of deep relaxation that you rarely see. Having a very deep cash buffer can give a woman the same tranquility as any middling specimen of manhood gets for free, the liberation from casual predation that men don’t even notice.

Danny put his phone down at last. “So I hear you did some work recently? Bonwick. Rearden Factoring?”

I nodded. “Yeah, Brian and I did some business, but it’s not the kind of thing I can discuss. You know that. He lost something, I found it, and I made him whole.” He snorted. “Marty, you don’t make people whole. Your commission still twenty-­five percent?”

“It is,” I said. “And I still don’t charge anything to take a job, not even expenses or a retainer. I take the risk, I get the reward. That’s a proposition I think you probably relate to.”

“I’m familiar with the general idea.” He looked around at his penthouse garden, his beautiful young wife, his view of the strivers of Palo Alto and their Leave It to Beaver houses, all a testament to his willingness to take all the risk and his unwillingness to share his rewards. “You ever take payment in crypto?”

“I prefer fiat” — ­this being the cutesy word that crypto weirdos use for real money — ­“I have smart accountants who keep my tax bite down to a manageable slice, and I’ve got no other reason to accept distributed sudoku puzzles in lieu of greenbacks.”

“Very funny,” he said. Cryptocurrency hustlers hate it when you point out that the whole blockchain emits billions of tons of CO2 to help repeatedly compute pointless mathematical puzzles. “You’re familiar with how crypto works, though, right?”

“Danny, I love you like a brother, but I hope I’m not about to get a sales pitch for Trustlesscoin.” The only sour note in the previous night’s dinner had been a couple of bros at the chef’s table who spent the first hour talking about smart contracts. It was a hazard of any public space in SV, and I accepted it with good grace, but I wouldn’t tolerate it in private places. Life is too short.

“No pitch, but I just want to make sure you’re up to speed for what I’m going to tell you next. Forensic accounting is one thing, but when you throw in crypto, it’s a whole different world.”

Later this week (Apr 20/21), I’m speaking in Chicago at the Stigler Center’s Antitrust and Competition Conference.

This weekend (Apr 22/23), I’m at the LA Times Festival of Books.

[Image ID: A squared-off version of Will Staehle's cover for the Macmillan edition of 'Red Team Blues.']

#pluralistic #fiction #crypto #crypto means cryptography #red team blues #cryptocurrency #books #technothrillers #serials #martin hench

[thesalishtrails]

Embrace the positive energy that hash brings to your day.

#canada #canadian #hash

[buffalojournal]

Two Poems by Jessie Lynn McMains

Secret

is I stabbed summer      watched it twitch and spurt, dark, arterial        crunched the husks of late cicadas esoteric as the leaves                 we use to cross our sacred wounds            mystic is her lemonlips         the fuzz soft above        them charcoal smudge of shadow                   over her clavicle I wanna wake up in       November with a sprig       of verbena planted        in the pocket of my leather jacket       her fingers fuzzing on the stubble of my                  brooding clouds crisp wind rustle in        the oaktrees how sweet how soft she                 sing to me

At the Denny’s in Michigan City, Indiana, at 2 a.m. in Mid-October

everyone’s loonier than a junebug in a Canadian goose- feathered bed. One middle-aged fella in a Van Halen t-shirt with the sleeves torn off stuffs his mouth fulla straws and whistles “Dusty Crabapple Pie.” The old-timers in the back booth play poker for packets of non-dairy creamer and Sweet n’ Low, sling stories of glory days hunting Mud Mermaids and Wild Men. There’s a drunk lady who’s 30 or 45 or maybe 67, she doesn’t need anybody but she wants somebody to love. She stumbles from table to table, asks every man and half the women if they want to go neck in the bathroom. Her hair is the color of motor oil puddled on the floor of Moore’s Auto Repair, and if she’s especially fond of ya she’ll pull her shorts down and give you a flash of her star-freckled ass— but she’ll smack ya if you try to trace the constellations.

At the Denny’s in Michigan City, Indiana, at 2 a.m. in mid-October they have a secret menu. Sure, you can get the Grand Slam Slugger or the Moons Over My Hammy, but you should ask about the house specialities. Like Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammo, where they cut the flapjacks into crosses and arrange the bacon in the shape of a gun, and the eggs are boiled hard as bullets. Or Uncle Sam’s Thanksgiving—a deep-fried turkey leg stuck through with lit sparklers. Sometimes, if the fishing was good that day, they have fillet of Mud Mermaid. Once in a blue moon you can get The Elvis Platter.

At the Denny’s in Michigan City, Indiana, at 2 a.m. in mid-October they only play one song, which is a mashup of songs by the most famous Hoosier musicians. It’s called “Hurts So Good Runnin’ With the Devil Billie Jean in Paradise City.” It would be obnoxious if you could hear it over the din of spoons and trash talk, if you weren’t so tired you’d pass out facedown in your flapjacks if you didn’t have to get back on the road to Michigan.

At the Denny’s in Michigan City, Indiana, at 2 a.m. in mid-October the night manager—who’s also the host—is the spitting ghost- twin of latter-day Elvis. Fat and bedazzled with a queasy quaalude smile. When you arrive, he greets you with a ‘hunka-hunka-burnin’ love,’ and when you leave he says: “It’s so good to see ya, darlin’. I haven’t seen ya ‘round here in years.” When you tell him you’ve never been to that Denny’s, or to Michigan City, before in your life, he says: “Of course ya have. I knew ya when you were knee-high to a soybean. We’d go down to the Town of Pines and boogie with the Wild Men. We’d go up to the state park and have hotdog-eating contests on the sand dunes. Don’t ya remember?”

At the Denny’s in Michigan City, Indiana, at 2 a.m. in mid-October you say no, you don’t remember, that wasn’t you, he must have mistaken you for someone else. “Not possible,” Elvis says. “Not possible.” And at the Denny’s in Michigan City, Indiana, at 2 a.m. in mid-October when you’re goose-tired and fulla greased hash and headed for Kalamazoo you never know. Darlin’, you just never know.

🦬 Jessie Lynn McMains

[dirtyvulture]

😎 I love how I forgot to my little anon sign on the last post but you knew IMMEDIATELY it was me ( making me feel seen and loved 🥰) .

Anywhoooooo I came on to wish everybody a happy ST Patrick’s Day !!!!!!! My family ( on both sides) are Irish and grew up celebrating the holiday. Sadly I have to work tonight but we are having the traditional corn beef and hash dinner. So now I have a couple of thoughts in both the SB and DK universe.

R is Canadian that isn’t up for debate, I don’t know if she has any other ethnicities in her blood. But I think that she had a couple of servants what were from Ireland that she was close to growing up . Mary Morris ( Kit’s mother and the closest thing R had to a loving , nurturing and caring motherly figure R EVER had . R had called her Ma , much like Kit did . People from back in the day and from Ireland typically called their mother Ma , and their father Da ) was from Ireland before she came to the USA ( to what would eventually become Texas) . So R grew up with St Patrick’s day and even celebrities it to this day. Esther Hudson was also Irish so R celebrates it for both her and the Hudson line . In years past she would just dress up in green , go to the bars ( have meaningless hookups) and eat Cornbeff Hash . Now she doesn’t have to be alone as she grabs Kit and they start singing all the Irish songs that Mary ( and R’s Irish servants ) , and later on Esther had taught them and R . They both dress up in green and both going to bars and finally having that traditional dinner.

In the SB universe, I don’t know if SB and their sister Sara would be Irish but they would certainly have fun celebrating it growing up . I can imagine our sweetest golden retriever enjoying celebrating it now as an adult. I can definitely see SB all decked out in green and other ridiculous bits and bobs of the holiday as they go out drinking. Nat definitely rolls her eyes at them but has fun with them , Sara , Yelena and Kate.

Of course I knew it was you :)

This is a late answer, but happy St. Patrick's Day!

Am I the only person who prefers corn beef has over the old-fashioned style? Lol, I am glad to see that R is just like me then I guess 😂

I agree, Sergeant Beef is very big on holidays and enjoys celebrating no matter the occasion. Nat would be less enthusiastic about the celebrations, but she would of course tag along anyway.

#😎 anon #vulture answers #darkest knight au #sergeant beef au

[trophyhound]

ive had to pee for like thirty minutes but im really into this video of a canadian guy making hash

[dustedmagazine]

Kris Davis — Diatom Ribbons Live At The Village Vanguard (Pyroclastic)

Photo by Peter Gannushkin

The bio on Kris Davis’ website borrows a line from the New York Times which described the Canadian pianist as the beacon that told listeners where in New York City one should go on any given night. Diatom Ribbons Live At The Village Vanguard proposes a more expansive understanding of her relationship to jazz, because the ensemble’s music is a zone where Davis’s notions about was worth hearing in the 20th century gets processed and beamed out into the 21st.

The first project’s first, self-titled iteration wasn’t really the work of a band as much as it was the manifestation of a concept. The musicians at its core were Davis on piano, Trevor Dunn on electric bass, Terri Lynne Carrington on drums and Val Jeanty wielding turntables as a source of sampled speech, natural sounds and scratches. They were supplemented by six other musicians playing electric guitar, saxophones, vibes and voice, who enabled Davis to incorporate blues, rock, hip-hop and classical elements into her already-inclusive vision of the jazz continuum. The two-disc Diatom Ribbons was ambitious, but also a bit exhausting to negotiate.

This similarly dimensioned successor comes from a weekend engagement at the Village Vanguard. The latest material, which hinges around a three-part “Bird Suite,” and the ensemble’s lack of augmentation — besides the core group, there are no horns and just one guitarist, Julian Lage — results in a more cohesive statement of Davis’s thesis, which echoes a point that Charles Mingus already made a long, long time ago; you do Charlie Parker no honor by trying to play like him. He is the namesake of the three-part “Bird Suite,” which is the album’s center of gravity. Buttressed by Jeanty’s snatches of speeches by Sun Ra, Stockhausen, and other visionaries, as well as liberally reinterpreted tunes by Wayne Shorter, Ronald Shannon Jackson, and Geri Allen, the music seems to be arguing that today’s jazz musician, like Bird, need to deal with everything that’s happened, and then come up with something personal.

To that end, Davis makes a hash of old, dualistic notions like inside/outside, improvised/composed or jazz + (one other genre) hybrids. Properly prepared, hash is pretty tasty, and that’s the case with this overflowing platter of pristine lyricism, bebop-to-free structural abstractions, shifting rhythmic matrices and multi-signal broadcasts of sound and voice. This is the good stuff, Davis seems to be saying, and a music maker following a jazz trajectory needs to deal with it all. But, while the music of the Diatom Ribbons ensemble is way more creatively inclusive than all those bebop copycats Mingus used to rail against, it’s a highly personal reordering of what is known, not a total paradigm shift into the new. Come to think of it, however, Mingus’ own undeniably magnificent accomplishments were more on the order of what Davis is doing here than Charlie Parker’s transformation of the music of his time.  

Bill Meyer

#kris davis #diatom ribbons live at the village vanguard #pyroclastic #bill meyer #albumreview #dusted magazine #jazz #Bandcamp

[bunnysandtiaras]

Tagged by @xlittlebirdx :3

Relationship status: Single

Favorite color: Pink!

Song stuck in my head:

Last song I listened to:

3 favorite foods: Brownies, Hummus Filled Falafel & Hash Browns

Last thing I googled: Cranberry Juice health star rating

Dream trip: Greece

One thing I'm craving right now: A Canadian Club 🥃🤤

Your turn: @sevenangelicsins @moonbeam-manic @bebebeebandb @faeriedreams @brattyylexx @smoldaintyteacups @x-ticklish-lil-bunny-x @crybabiesclub @mareethequeen @willingprincess

#Spotify #bunnysandtiaras #tagged

[drugbinges]

The Canadian Experience is when your backup backup weed is hash 

[vaspider]

You get a lot of super heavy asks sometimes. I hope it's ok to ask some lighter questions for fun. I don't know why they're all food based. I think I'm just hungry haha.

Do you prefer jelly, jams, preserves, or marmalades? What's your favorite flavor of them?

I tried boysenberry jam the other day and it was...uh...a flavor for sure.

Do you like chunky or creamy peanut butter (if you eat peanut butter)? If you had to choose between a peanut butter and banana sandwich or a fluffernutter (marshmallow fluff and peanut butter for anyone wondering), which would you pick? PB/banana/honey/chia seeds is a personal favorite. I feel very bougie when I eat that lol.

What's your favorite pizza topping? Do you like NY style, thin crust, sicilian, deep dish, or pan pizza? Have you ever tried cauliflower crust pizza? I feel like we should just leave cauliflower alone before it gets a superiority complex. Also, why cauliflower crust? What about broccoli crust? Carrot crust? Parsnip? Potato? (Ooo not gonna lie, a hashbrown crust breakfast pizza could be delicious. Hashbrown crust, sun dried tomato sauce, sunny side up eggs, arugula, maybe some Canadian bacon, some cheddar cheese...I might be on to something here...).

Do you have a good challah bread recipe? Have you ever used challah to make French toast?

Eggs over easy, scrambled, sunny side up, poached, fried, soft boiled, or hard boiled? If scrambled, do you add milk? (I learned recently IHOP adds, of all things, pancake batter to their eggs to make them light and fluffy).

Favorite type of cheese?

Lastly, iced tea, lemonade, or fruit punch?

It depends on the fruit. Lemon curd is incredible, and a good Concord grape jelly (like real jelly not artificial flavor jelly) is really good. I used to always take the orange marmalade jar from the jams and jellies assortment that one of the car companies sent freelancers on the holidays, too. My favorite, though, is my mom's strawberry jam. I haven't had any in like 4 years, bc we don't live close enough to get any, and that makes me sad.

Again, it depends on the usage. For peanut butter cookies, chunky peanut butter. For sandwiches, creamy by preference, but chunky isn't the end of the world. Peanut butter/banana is pretty good but if I want salty/sweet with bananas, I'd prefer to split a banana in half lengthwise and put garlic hummus on it, then pile clover sprouts on that. It's crunchy/sweet/salty/green. Very nice flavor/texture contrast.

I like white pizza with grilled artichoke hearts and baby bella mushrooms. I used to really love ham and pineapple but for obvious reasons I don't eat that anymore. (I love flavor contrasts.)

I used to love thin crust, and it's my mom's favorite, but that doesn't work as well gluten-free. My favorite pizza type is the type I can eat. Except for Chicago deep dish, it's just not my thing.

Cauliflower crust is just fine. The reason for using cauliflower is that it has a very neutral taste and is low-carb and gluten free, which none of the other choices really are, not all 3. Hash browns actually make a really good pie crust for a gluten-free quiche; I make that every so often for dinner.

I have a couple of very average gluten-free challah recipes, and we usually buy ours from New Cascadia, a local bakery. Emet makes challah French toast out of the leftovers every week.

Over easy, soft or hard boiled, scrambled, sunny side up, poached... I just really like eggs. Buttermilk in scrambled eggs is really good, it gives the flavor a certain something. A little sharpness kind of like cheddar cheese does.

Favorite kind of cheese: the kind in my hand and about to be put in my mouth.

Lemonade. Iced tea just tastes like chewing a teabag after all the good tea has been brewed out of it, and the taste of fruit punch is heavily associated with being given fruit punch with aspartame in it as a child, getting migraines and throwing up, and then being told I'm "Being Dramatic" by adults. It tastes of gaslight, nausea and powerlessness. No thanks.