patti candyslice smith

patti smith lives.

that's not really news or anything, unless one is one of her many admirers.

nevertheless, proof of her life and mozart's death, as it might or might not be called, is in this latest entry on her mailing list.

here are some of her latest words.



greetings

it's been a long time since i have written. i am in paris and it is friday january 27.

i am lucky to attend the premier of don giovanni on mozart's 250th birthday. a truly revolutionary fellow, he wrote the overture the night before it debuted. he had to drink a few flasks of wine but he did it.

a genius at making the establishment shudder as he approached deadlines, he played piano the opening night laughingly, shouting the proper notes to his fellow musicians. what a guy.

please celebrate. you must have some mozart laying around. i have the requiem. let's all play him together.

i send all good wishes. i am well and wearing fine black socks i bought in rome near the vatican.

life is good and better with mozart,

patti smith

ritual superstition

after cooking and consuming dinner, when rinsing the french press, i remembered the black-eye peas and today, january one.

the consumption of black-eye peas is required on the first of january. if not, the coming year will be sheer hell -- or something like that.

i had prepared for new year's day days ago and got a special high-quality, organic can, with the peas inside pre-soaked and everything, but forgot to prepare the peas.

i checked my watch. it was 9pm, i had three hours before midnight when everything would surely turn into a pumpkin, since i had forgotten the black-eye peas. i finished rinsing the remainder of the caffe press, rinsed out a fresh pan, opened the can of peas, emptied the can into the pan and onto the cooking pyre they went.

it is a bit surprising, black-eyed peas serve as quite a satisfying after-dinner apertife. the peas were delicious. this newly created ancient dining ritual with a twist was a triumphant relief.

now i know, as i'm being washed away by a tsunami or smashed by the city bus or whatever happens, or doesn't happen, to me this year -- i'll at least be sure it wasn't because of the misbegotten black-eye peas.