A few neighbors decided to initiate this year’s Prometheus Sacrifice Ceremony in L’s yard.
Friday night, L and I went to HL’s yard to pull the grill and coals. The grill was a high-end gift from a friend when I moved to SongZhuang 2 years ago, it can grill steaks, has a smoker and two wheels, and is very heavy. But my house is so small that the grill has been kept at a neighbor’s house.
L is pulling the grill. The bag on the grill is charcoal, copied from HL’s house.
Halfway to Maple Leaf (craft beer) the light was on in front of the door and we went in for a couple of freshly brewed American craft beers. The stove was sitting on the doorstep, and an old lady with a walking stick knocked on it a couple times as she passed, so I guess she wanted to see if it was good material to pick up and take home.
996 is cruel to middle-aged people, depriving people of their lives. Half a glass of beer down, L and I gossip. We agreed that there is no difference between the 996 of today and the 996 popularized by the previous generation, which means eliminating family life. When we were young, the unit practiced a six-day work week, and our parents worked six days a week, leaving one day to do the laundry and clean up the house. Today it goes back again. Middle-aged people raising children are contributing to the company’s labor force, and families need to be supported by both their own parents and their wife’s parents. But such a life is not sustainable. This is because children’s education, especially the younger ones, requires family companionship. From an educational point of view, this may not be a good deal. What we went through as children, the next generation will have to go through again. I think this has a lot to do with the system, while L traces back to the May Fourth Movement and the struggle between Legalism and Confucianism.
The Maple Leaf owner is also interesting, having run around Africa for a few years in his youth. I’ll write a story about him one day. Last summer, a couple of middle-aged guys liked to run to Maple Leaf for craft beer and mourning after the kids went to bed. Well, I really like the light, with feeling.
Back home, L posted a photo of pulling a grill on the street to his friends, saying that he was winding down from selling barbecue at a stall, and someone actually did believe it.
The next afternoon, I went to Changying to buy the main offerings for the big festival, 4 pounds of lamb kebabs and a bag of cumin. By the time I got home, a few neighbors with their babies were already there. A short while later S arrived with a bag of bones and meat, saying that he hadn’t eaten all morning and was waiting for this meal. But the bastard came and didn’t work.
Three mothers with several children were playing hide-and-seek and having a concert in the main hall. The only boy, Turan, was a little lonely; he was a few years older than the other children and couldn’t play together. He soon discovered the hand-cranked blower and the water faucet in the yard. Other than dropping the handle of the blower into the chili powder (I hope Lord Prometheus wasn’t offended), he didn’t cause any major accidents.
This time I kept an eye on him. The last time he painted in front of my house, he dumped chunks of acrylic paint all over the wall and it broke my heart. Luckily he had a painter dad who could outline a green dragon in those chaotic lumps of paint.
By late afternoon, the old Z’s, who were yelling the loudest, hadn’t arrived yet. My wife messaged me to say that there were bunnies at the coffee market, so three moms and I took a few kids out to see the bunnies. I acted as the locomotive, and one by one, the children behind me tugged on my clothes for more than 100 meters. Of course, I didn’t include the “mature” Duran. A few of the children quickly realized that they all wanted to be the locomotive, which brought the game to an end.
On the way, we met Old Z, the owner of CORNER Bar, who said it was open in the evening and that Meng Zhi, the singer from last time, would be there. The last time I heard Meng Zhi play keyboards, I thought it was still a very emotional experience, with the feeling of a sparrow smoking marijuana. I didn’t expect this encounter to be the surprise of the night.
It should be nice to go listen to marijuana music after jerking off to Prometheus.
The week before, I listened to Meng Zhi play the keyboard.
Out of the bazaar in a small hutong, has a little miniature Panjiayuan meaning, from Russian beer, Japanese toys to ancient coins, children’s books, everything. Duran clutched 10 dollars in his hand and the boss to discuss to buy ancient coins, and then take the ancient coins to buy jade, people did not do.
A couple of the little ones stayed with the bunny. One mom repeatedly said look only, no touching.
I looked and was slightly disappointed that the steampunk stand I had seen the last time I visited the fair was not there this time.
This one was also taken at the last fair.
On the way back we passed an old craft thrift store. The store wasn’t open and had a sign saying the owner was out of town. But outside the store were two gods, a robot welded with mechanical parts and a boar (Little Eleven’s mom thought it was a middle-aged, hairless porcupine). When Little Eleven posted up, he was hit on the head by the robot god and wailed. Turan was kicking the robot next to her to avenge her, and was stopped by me in a heartbeat.
When I got back to L’s house, old Z was there. He is playing electric bass and color monkey hand drums. This guy is determined not to do any work, but to be the BGM of the festival, and the most annoying thing is that when I accuse him, he makes fun of me for not knowing what BGM is.
Well, the stunt here is that I asked him in the weibo group to bring some vegetables, cucumber and eggplant or something. But the hostess LX said she’d go prepare these dishes, so Old Z said in the group that he’d just do the BGM in peace. I looked up the meaning of BGM and sent it to the group, only to be betrayed by my wife who said I looked it up now and had no idea before.
Alas, in fact, the old Z fellow was very skillful at roasting, ah, no, sacrificing. Then he finally got impatient and went to work fanning the fire. But he didn’t fan it for more than a few moments before he lulled Turan into working as a child laborer.
Duran you don’t make it hard, you have to fan a little bit, alas, yes, from this angle, sideways.
Y came the latest, so it seems right not to expect him to prepare the meat. The few bottles of beer he brought were not bad though. He said it was the best Chinese beer and was immediately disliked, so he had to rephrase it to say it was the best industrial beer in China.
I didn’t expect L’s wings to bake very well, not dry or burnt, and cooked through on the inside. Of course, my stove had a fair share of the credit.
The fish tofu was gone the fastest. There were a few pieces of salmon left over that might have been welcome if it had been grilled with a sprinkling of butter, black pepper and salt.
By the time LX started grilling the portobello mushrooms, eggplant, and breast fans, I was full. The juices from the portobello mushrooms were so flavorful that a couple of Old Z’s picked them up, toasted each other, downed the juices and then put the mushrooms back on the grill to wait for the next round. I was torn until the plate with the breast fan reached my mouth and couldn’t resist taking a small piece. The piece was still uncrispy from the grill, a little sticky to the teeth, with a little fermented wine flavor. Lactose-intolerant S also tore a small piece and wished him a good appetite.
After eating, the bass and tambourine start, ah, Prometheus in the spring, thank you for giving us the seeds of fire. I loaded up the black pipes and blew a few lines and was disliked by old Z. Why are you so full of jasmine in your head. Well, he was right. Who let me play military music when I was a kid, only familiar with Dolemite Sora.
Fortunately, my wife saved me. Of all the people, she was the only one who offered to go to the show again. A few other moms who didn’t go went over with us with their babies.
The Corner Bar is right next door, about 100 meters walk. When I went in, there was no show, just the owner and the singer playing keyboards and electric guitars.
The owner took an electric guitar and casually strummed a couple of
The way you play feels a bit like our other neighbor, Old C. British, next time I’ll ask him to come over. I said.
Then I called old Z and finally convinced him to come over with a bass. As I watched him fiddle with the bass, I thought I’d give it a shot and went back to pick up the black pipe as well, and asked for another glass of whiskey filled with ice.
It’s not hard to find the feeling. Meng Zhi said.
I said, good.
Don’t drag the beat, says old Z.
I said, good.
You’ve found your senses, said Menzies.
A few minutes later 。。。。。。
Let’s take a break. The two of them are talking together.
I resolved to put my job search on hold for a while and get back to studying for open classes at Yale and listening to music.
The owner is a very soft spoken man. Theoretically, his bar has been open for 1 year, but last year I often saw the place closed when I passed by. On the day the bar opened, I was able to catch a performance by Hang Tian, who has been playing jazz since the 90s, and his friends. It was the first time in my life that I’ve heard live jazz by Chinese people.
One time a bunch of my buddies came to Songzhuang to play with me, in time for the opening of his place. A few of the guys played a live concert. My daughter’s first improv performance was also here.
Yes, that’s what makes SongZhuang completely different from bars in town. In town it’s about consumption, here it’s about community and friends hanging out together.
The boss picked up the guitar and played with it a few times before putting it down to help Old Z tune the bass and play loud for the keyboards and mics. A couple of waifs crowded into the spotlight seats, squeezing in and out, up and down, knocking the BEATBOX on the floor askew.
Well, finally to the colorful part of the day. Old Z and Meng Zhi’s keyboards pair up to improvise, and the boss picks up an electric guitar and Old Z to talk black, 1265 or something.
I listened, felt something, copied the tambourine on the floor and played eighth notes to the rhythm.
Duration 00:15
How can I put it? When we were wrapping up, Old Z couldn’t help but say that it was quite a feeling. I said, “It’s too cozy.
Yes, can’t say anything else, just feel comfortable. The owner’s electric guitar improvised melodies give comfort. It’s hard to describe the experience, it’s not nice, it’s comforting, like a pituitary gland in a hot tub, healing.
It’s a feeling you don’t get when you listen to old C play British rock.
No I can’t just learn to listen to music, I have to study jazz.
Walking out of the bar, the old S was again talking about buying a guitar and I urged him to buy a harmonica, a blues harmonica. There’s a story here, of course. There was an older brother who played it before. But he went to Canada.
I didn’t realize Sr. moved so fast, his harmonica and Yamaha guitar arrived on the third day. Unfortunately he was disliked by Old Z. Old Z said the harmonica has no presence. I throw.
Old Z gave me homework too, well, but I didn’t read it, and of course I didn’t tell him. Ahahahaha.
By the way, I forgot to mention that Dodo took advantage of our impromptu break to play the keyboard for a while. This girl is really great, she composed the piece herself to give me the Oscars soundtrack, like Al Pacino walking by the river in late fall with a scarf on, slightly melancholic and thick. Then Arnold became her fanboy and went home to quietly practice the keyboard.
Also: after writing it, I was criticized for being too masculine. I think the criticism is right. But it is better to post it this way, it is a real record, expose yourself to the problem, personal perspective.
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