Dearly Beloved

I'm going to be straight with you guys: Prince is dead. And Ivy is sick, the kind of miserable, coughing sick that prevented either of us from sleeping at all last night. This combination has rendered me extremely TIREDSAD and not really caring whether anything is tasty because how can things be tasty right now, what with Prince being dead and everything.

However, I did make Fajita-Stuffed Chicken, and I cannot achieve closure with this dish until you all look at a picture of it.

Tasty: yes, there are three kinds of cheese inside that chicken.

Whatever Hyperbolic Claim Was Made About It: probably.

Child Approval Rating: high.

My general reaction to celebrity death is to say "Oh, no" out loud and then thoughtfully nod along to various tributes throughout the following days, and I can't pin down exactly why this one is different except that I feel deprived of this gloriously, deliriously inexplicable human. I feel deprived of the vague sense in the back of my mind that he is out there creating insane stories that people will later tell, not with a sense that "Whoa, Prince is weird," but with a sense that "I'm not even sure what I witnessed there, but Prince is awesome."

Like the time he changed his shoes. Or the time he let us peek into his fridge, sort of. Or the time he made Tom Petty go, "damn." Or the time he played basketball.


If you thought you were getting out of here without seeing the cast of Hamilton dance to "Let's Go Crazy," I don't know what to tell you. You must be new.