Several days ago, pressed for time before I had to leave for my Decemberists concert, and not particularly keen on making a trip to the grocery store, Robert performed what I can only refer to as “magic.” Using meatballs of ground turkey, onion, and ginger that were leftover from a previous dinner, he suggested we chop some cilantro and heat up tortillas and create a new taco. And so we did.
Robert’s Leftovers-as-Tacos
6 ground turkey-onion-ginger meatballs, chopped
2 tbsp cilantro, chopped
1 quarter of an onion, chopped
6 tortillas, either corn or flour
Salsa
Now, you all may know—or at least have guessed—that The Decemberists are one of my favorite bands. Literary almost to the point of pretension, they also have a song that includes a lyric that once upon a time summed up my life: “I am a writer, a writer of fictions. I am the heart that you call home, and I’ve written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones.” You may recognize part of this lyric from the bumper sticker that I made for my car out of Waterloo Records decals. And if you knew me in high school, you know how obsessed I was with writing in my little composition books incessantly: poetry, fanfiction, stories. Etc.
I have seen The Decemberists now four times. The first time was in Austin, in 2005. The second time was in Dallas in 2006. The third time was in Memphis in 2007. And I saw them for the fourth time this past Monday, 2011, here in Iowa City.
(dress: thrifted; belt: JCrew; tights: Sock Dreams; shoes: vintage; necklace: via Mum)
It was a good show, for the most part. I thought that Colin Meloy spent a little too much time trying to be funny. I was over the banter. I wanted to hear music. The setlist was completely different than I expected: they totally ignored The Crane Wife, arguably their most mainstream and accessible album, and played a song from Five Songs, their first EP ever, and selections from Her Majesty. I was disappointed not to hear The Engine Driver—it was my first Decemberists concert without it! Ah.
