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Thereapos;s something bizarrely satisfying about having lots of small glass jars of exciting teas and spices. I think that if/when I have my own living space, for real (not just for a year at a time), Iapos;ll have that. Laura and I went to the Albert Cuyp market yesterday, and I bought some spicy curry powder and some mango-flavored black tea from the amazing spice shop, and theyapos;re sitting happily in their little glass jars in the kitchen. I think this weird enjoyment of a spice collection satisfies the part of me that wants to live in the rambling little house across the street from Terhune Orchards and wear skirts and scarves and bake my own bread, the part of me that hopes that my hair will only get bigger and crazier as I get older and grayer. Itapos;s having the visual excitement of apothacaryness and witchery, but domesticated. Domesticated sorcery. You can take a long autumn walk among the falling leaves and trees, listen to the birds and the dry crunching of your boot-steps, feel the wind getting itself ready for some truly wintry howling, and come home and rummage through your shelves of teas and spices until you find just the right ones to warm your hands around.

A strange and selective life-revelation, to be sure. But hey.

Back to reality - Laura and her friend Landis and I went to the Cave last night. Unexpextedly, Diegoapos;s roommateapos;s band Seita was playing, and they were actually really awesome. I felt moderately cool. It was a good night, but it got a bit odd towards the end. I like that place.

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