Day 33 of The Year Apart (and Sometimes Not)

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For this week's a cappella challenge, Davis sent this one:

"Today's Challenge:

Pick a stray melody from your voice memos (under 30sec) and record it in the middle of a three-frame a cappella video. Send it to me and I'll do the same. Add top and bottom harmonies. Post it."

 

Here's Davis' piece with Charles' harmonies:

 

Here's Charles' piece with Davis' harmonies:

Day 32 of The Year Apart (and Sometimes Not)

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Davis transitioned to Birmingham where he will be for the next few weeks, so the boys finally got their next challenge going.

Charles sent Davis:

"Today’s Challenge:

Just before you go to bed tonight, set out a cushion and a pen and paper. Sit in meditation for at least 5 minutes.

When it feels right, open your eyes and free write a short poem."

 

Here's Charles' piece:

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Here's Davis' piece:

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Weekend Challenge 8 of The Year Apart (and Sometimes Not)

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After a busy week with a little less productivity, the boys reached out to their brother Kent for a weekend challenge.

Kent suggested:

"Write something inspired by the lake. Essay, song, poem, whatever. But about the lake"

This is presumably in reference to the house on Smith Lake in Jasper, Alabama they grew up enjoying every summer.

 

Here's Davis' song:

 

Here's Charles' Song:

Day 30 of The Year Apart (and Sometimes Not)

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Back at it for another week! Davis kicked it off with this suggestion:

 

Today’s Challenge:

Write up a recipe of something you created and love to make and share it with me. We’ll post them on the website.

 

Here's Davis' recipe:

Simple Indian-Spiced Open-Faced Breakfast Sandwich (not vegan)

 

Ingredients:

 

2 slices of fresh bread*

2 eggs

cheese of your choosing (sliced thinly)

butter or Earth Balance

salt

pepper

paprika

garlic powder

red pepper flakes

cumin**

curry powder**

fenugreek**

coriander**

cinnamon**

avocado (optional)

sriracha (optional)

 

1.Toast slices of bread to desired crispness

2.Over a medium-high pan, melt butter or substitute. 

3.Crack two eggs into pan. Reduce heat to medium and allow eggs to cook until the edges begin to brown and are easily flippable.

4.Flip the eggs over, separating them if necessary, and reduce to low heat. Spread cheese evenly over the eggs and cover. Let sit for five minutes, or until the cheese has melted.

5.While cheese is melting, spread butter or substitute across the slices of bread. Spread optical avocado onto bread slices.

6.Remove cover, and quickly move eggs to each slice of bread. Add optional hot sauce. Season with spices to taste**. 

7.Enjoy!

 

Notes:

*Fresh bread will absolutely give you the best result. I often use baguette, sourdough, or a country white loaf from my local bakery.

** I used to make this with a since-discontinued Vindaloo Fire spice blend from Spice Mode. Get creative… whatever you have and whatever makes you happy!

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And here's Charles' recipe:

 

Eggy Potatoes (not vegan)

 

Ingredients (preferably organic/local:

 

10-12 small potatoes

eggs

Butter (or Earth Balance)

Olive oil

Salt

Pepper

Fresh Rosemary (optional)

Ketchup or BBQ sauce (optional)

Hot sauce (not optional)

Cheese (optional)

 

You’re also gonna need:

 

A mixing bowl

An oven

A stovetop

A pan for eggs

A baking pan

 

 

1. Chop potatoes into nice sized bites, no bigger than a ha’penny

2. Once the buggers are chopped up, preheat the oven to about 390-400°

3. Pour a bunch of oil on the potatoes and swish them around in the bowl until they’re all wet and oily

4. Generously salt and pepper those suckers. If you got the rosemary, say a little gratitude prayer for the leaves and then chop them up and sprinkle them in the bowl

5. Transfer potatoes to baking pan and leave it for approximately “a while.”

6. This is a great time to make coffee/tea or watch a Tiny Desk Concert.

7. Once the spuds are slightly golden on the outside, switch the thing to “broil.’ If you have the option, go “hi” not “lo.”

8. Melt the butter in the pan, crack some eggs, make ‘em how you like ‘em. I do “over-easy” where you crack it in there and wait til it’s golden brown on the outsides of the yolk and you flip it and reverse it. Don’t let it linger much longer. (Unless you’re in a hurry) 

9. This is a good time to shred some cheese on top of the eggs.

10. Once the eggs are done, the potatoes should also be done. Burning smell means they’ve been in too long. Every oven is different but if 70% make your mouth water when you open the over door, you good.

11. Put all of this on plates. Cover the eggs with hot sauce. This is not optional. Incorporating catsup or bbq or taco sauce or whatever for the ‘Tates is personal preference.

12. After a quick gratifood, kiss your wife and then hopefully you both turn into food vacuums.

Weekend Challenge 7 of The Year Apart (and Sometimes Not)

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This weekend, we decided to keep it relatively simple and cover a song we really like but haven't given ourselves the chance to learn.

Here is Charles' cover of "What You Don't Do" by Lianne La Havas:

And here is Davis' cover of "Hard Times Come Again No More" written by Stephen Foster in 1854:

Day 26 of The Year Apart (and Sometimes Not)

Today’s Challenge (from Charles):

Write a triversen poem.

Originally conceived by William Carlos Williams.

Here is how it works.

 

Here is Charles' poem:

“La Gruta”

The elastic had worn away

but the band remained dangling

loosely from her spindled wrist.

 

Dancers pouring meaning into

melodramas made for television

had given her Thursday nights purpose.

 

She ignored the on-screen advice of

doctors wearing blush and scrubs

whose words were like fried Inka corn.

 

Eyeing the cream as it swam throughout

the steaming black bean-tea like a white gown

dipped, dancing, a hot mug of Havana.

 

Her bloated frame betrayed an impassioned

drive to immobilize her body

that once floated in a heavenward glide.

 

That night, her night, in an endless rumba

in the arms of a golden-blooded panther

the only relic: a worn elastic band.

 

Here is Davis' poem:

“god”

driving home to my love,

i reflect on beer-fueled revelations

with strangers on birthdays.

 

how can it be that

no matter where i go

i can still find the depth we call god?

 

i supposed there exists

a certain inescapability

to this phenomenon of everything.

 

i’ve come to love this thing

that follows me wherever i go

and never leaves me quite alone.

 

this thing from which i hide

my darkest secrets and yet keeps me

from the scope of my shame.

 

any good friend would do that

and i guess i don’t mind a friend

who is truly always there.

Day 21 of The Year Apart (and Sometimes Not)

Today’s Challenge (from Davis):

"Write a paragraph review of a film you’ve seen recently."

Charles wrote about the documentary Jane:

Went to see the new documentary about Jane Goodall tonight. Charlotte and I joined by some of my dearest and oldest friends here in Hawai’i. Jane’s fascination with chimpanzee’s mirrors our own. We ask what we can learn from them. We pray they have the knowledge of the Universe in their conspicuous similarity to humankind. And yet we find ourselves more enamored by the story of one woman whose purpose was so clear and direct that she began living alone in the jungles of the Gombe and found everything she would need for the rest of her life. And we yearn for that sort of laid out golden path towards relevancy and legacy. And we enjoy the stunning footage they shot there decades ago. And we admire the alien African sunsets. And we find ourselves compelled by a balding “belligerent old male” named Mr. Gregor, our only clown. And the credits roll. And we laugh together because we are together.

Davis wrote about Stephen Spielberg's The Post:

I went to see The Post with understandably high expectations. I was, like many American kids growing up in the 90s, a big fan of Stephen Spielberg. I had a book of photos from behind-the-scenes action on each of his smash successes up to the point of the book’s publishing that was specifically tailored to my demographic. In other words, Stephen Spielberg was an icon of film directing for young people like me. He was the standard to which all aspirants should hold themselves. The Post is his latest and, to put it bluntly, did little more than leave me with a sense of underwhelm. The film is, by no means, poor. In all accounts, it is the tops of their relative games doing what they do best, but still, it felt all but fresh. Perhaps I had grown accustomed to being blown away by the magic Spielberg has historically captured in his films, or maybe I was stuck in a nostalgic longing for my own childlike wonder, but this film did not meet the mark for me. The highlight was, without a doubt, the incredible cast and their performances. I was genuinely excited to see Bob Odenkirk and David Cross (both halves of Mr. Show), Bradley Whitford (Get Out), Michael Stuhlbarg (Call Me By Your Name), Jesse Plemons (Friday Night Lights), Sarah Paulson (general greatness), and particularly Carrie Coon (The Leftovers) all of whom simply provided an incredible backbone to the two main stars of the film, Tom Hanks and Meryl Streep. Streep was, without a doubt, the driving force of the performance element. Her brilliance is almost never questionable and it was simply a treat to watch one of the greats continue her greatness. Hanks was wonderful, too, but not overtly. He was standard, reliable Hanks and I had no objections to it, except, perhaps, that I am more partial to his sweeter, more open-hearted roles. The score was composed by John Williams and served its purpose. Nothing iconic about it, but, then again, when you are charged to compose music for a tale of a newspaper, how much room do you have to innovate? He’s one of the greatest of all time and it was, by no means, weak, just not phenomenal. In brief conclusion, the shots were pretty, the music was nice, the sound worked, the cast was all-star, and yet it ultimately left me with less awe than I’d been geared up for. Perhaps that is on me, or the Hollywood system that perpetuates these pedestals, but next time I go see a Spielberg, my expectations will be ebbed.