29 Mar 2026 4 min read Journal

Weekly Journal 03.29.26

Reading

I've been a casual Joni Mitchell fan since I first listened to Blue in my teens, and probably earlier when my parents played her records on the stereo while I ran around in diapers. Separately, I really enjoyed the 2001 book Weird Like Us: My Bohemian America by the music critic Ann Powers. So Powers' latest book, Traveling: On the Path of Joni Mitchell, caught my attention on the New Paperbacks table at Powell's.

Years ago I read another book about Mitchell's music, the title of which I can't remember, but it was slight and fawning and not very satisfying. Traveling is hefty with critical analysis, the kind of book that might normally be too dense for me if it wasn't about a musician. At halfway through the book, I've encountered a few words I have never read before. Still I'm liking it a lot, and feeling a surprising affinity with Mitchell in some of the ways she is described: "Her conversational vocal style became a means for embodying rumination, that mental state in which thoughts unspool and recombine, dragging a person down until she can identify which of them might be a lifeline." I don't know about my vocal style, which is strictly applied to karaoke, but what is my own writing style if not ruminative?

A book cover showing young Joni Mitchell with a guitar

Watching

I'm upset that The Pitt has only a few episodes left. Every Thursday night, I watch it and then open Reddit to see what my fellow Pitt-heads have to say. (If the fandom has a better name than that, I don't know about it.) My fandom is less ardent than many in the online community. I scroll to escape a lot of threads that get wound too tightly around a story detail or the vices and virtues of a specific character. Life is too short. I read the boards to enjoy a bit of camaraderie and get some insights from people who picked up on things that I didn't. Then I go to bed.

Also, I just started Season 3 of The Big C. Rest in peace, Lee and your barely concealed British accent. I've decided that Paul is a goober and Andrea is the coolest character. As for Cathy, I don't understand how she's had Stage 4 cancer for two whole seasons but her only outward signs of illness are a few missing fingernails. It must be hard to make a healthy actor appear truly sick. I noticed that often while watching ER, and found it comforting in storylines about sick children. Doctors swarm and parents cry about a rosy-cheeked kid looking like they're taking a nap in the trauma room. As a parent, I prefer to maintain some disbelief in those scenes.

Cooking

Only in the past couple years did I stop being intimidated by cooking a whole bird (chicken or turkey). I think I was squicked out by the idea of messing with the gizzards, but of course I've learned that those are generally tucked away in their own little bag that can be discarded. Now I find it very simple to roast a whole chicken using Ina Garten's recipe as a foundation.

Ingredients for this week's chicken: thyme, oregano, garlic powder, unsalted butter, salt, and pepper. First I rubbed salt and pepper beneath the skin of the breast, then tucked two pats of butter inside there. I melted the rest of my butter and brushed it all over the chicken. Then I combined all the seasonings in a small bowl, crushing the dried herbs as I mixed everything with my fingers so they'd release more of their perfume, assuming they had any left after being in my cabinet for years. I rubbed that mixture over the whole outside of the chicken, then drizzled the leftover melted butter on it as well. It roasted for about one and half hours at 425 degrees. I basted it a couple times with a big spoon, and covered it with foil when it started to brown and the garlic powder smelled toasty.

It was SO juicy and delicious. The leftovers are waiting to be shredded and put into a freezer bag for future use.

A freshly roasted chicken sits on a cutting board — Not the most beautiful bird, but a tasty one

Doing

I took off the last day of Spring Break to spend a little extra time with my son. We had breakfast at Denny's and I helped him find BACON in the word search. Then I used a bit of time for myself, to have a nap and get a massage to loosen up my aching neck. In the afternoon, my son and I set up blankets on the front lawn and relaxed in the lukewarm spring air. Our cat followed us and contentedly pulled up a patch of grass nearby.

A black and white cat sits on a sun-dappled lawn, eyes half-closed — He's got a frowny face, but happy eyes

Listening

I picked Joni Mitchell's For the Roses to accompany me on a sunny walk. I haven't heard this one enough times to pick a favorite song, but here is one I particularly liked: