Recently I have found the concept of the “Wario” extremely helpful. Wario is the villainous counterpart to the protagonist of the game series “Super Mario.” Despite his villain status, he never does anything actually bad, except in comparison to Mario’s impeccable goodness. Wario’s voice actor described Wario and Luigi’s Wario, Waluigi, as “two nice, evil guys who found each other.” Wario’s only crime is competing against Mario.*
I define a Wario as a thing made evil by competing against your thing. A Wario is a foil, a tragically-not-so-dark other side. He is what Jung called the shadow and Freud the Id. The car of the same model, make, and color as mine that often parks directly in front of my house is my car’s Wario. This car is a rival because I would like it to be my car to be parked directly in front of my house, and yet it is completely blameless in the eyes of the DC Department of Public Works Parking Enforcement Management Administration and my entire community. Qdoba is the Wario of Chipotle. We would not know Qdoba was evil lest we had Chipotle to show us the good. Ina Garten is the Wario of Martha Stewart, or maybe the other way around. Anyone who is playing the same game as you, but differently, is your Wario.
The lesson we can learn from Mario and Wario is this: just because your rival is not doing anything wrong does not mean you should not fight him. “Iron sharpeneth iron; So a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.” You should strive after excellence for yourself even at the cost of your rivals. You should compete. Look at this picture I saw on the internet:
As an Ohioan, I mostly believe the opposite of this (never been to Kroger), but this cartoon represents the correct view for a Michigander to take. After all, who can know for sure there is not darkness in the heart of your rival just by virtue of his opposition to you?
*I have never played a Super Mario except for a few rounds of Smash Brothers in middle school, so I do not know if anything I wrote is true.
Listening: On Wednesday my friends and I went to see Sierra Ferrell at the 9:30 Club. I had never listened to her music before the concert. After a seventeen year old’s solo opening act that was like if Colter Wall had Noah Kahan’s outlook on life and really tapped into the growling thing, Sierra took the stage with four men wearing matching outfits featuring western bow ties and cowboy hats. She was wearing a frilly gingham sundress covered in peach appliqués and bows that was reminiscent of Georgia. She played a white acoustic guitar painted southwestern flowers and snakes. Her hair was in two pigtails with giant bows and waist-length extensions, like an anime girl’s. The microphone stand was wrapped in purple faux flowers, like a TikTok girl’s bedroom. She has a lot of psychedelic and astrological tattoos. I spent the entire concert trying to parse this.
Sierra has a low, thick, sweet voice, never pitchy and extremely powerful. She is unassuming and completely comfortable while she sings. When she spoke, she a few abrupt sentences about the power of intentions, the way that the word “spell” applies to writing letters but also casting spells over our lives, or how society has made us so, so broken, but we need to find the divine in ourselves to overcome and spread light.
A great strength of the performance was Sierra’s band. They were SO TALENTED! All four of them sang. They played upright bass, harmonica, violin, and electric guitar, drums, and electric guitar. The music was rhythmically complex and fast and varied. I was amazed. During Sierra’s outfit change, the four of them played a song that had me enraptured. They were peacocking and they deserved to do so.
When my friends proposed this concert back in November, they described Sierra’s music as “country.” Once at the concert, I was hearing the phrase “y’allternative” from my sources, and I noticed that as many people as were wearing cowboy boots and gingham were wearing some sort of flowing, tie-dye adjacent sundress. The vibes were southern from Georgia to New Mexico to normal Mexico. I imagined I was seeing the influence of the van life movement, the remnants of the hippies, the grand and overdone “aesthetic maximalism” popularized on TikTok, and the New Age movement.
I do not have a lot to say about the songs. I enjoyed most of them, but I do not remember any of them well. Almost all were about heartbreak. I probably will not listen to Sierra Ferrell again, but it was worthwhile to hear good musicians and watch good performers.
Cooking: I made a really good sandwich recently, maybe too good. They are calling it the “double pesto sandwich.” Here is the recipe:
Mark Bittman’s no knead bread, preferrably shaped into portion-sized squares and baked in a 9x13 pan.
Basil pesto (I used the fresh pesto from Trader Joe’s)
Baby mozzarella
Italian meats, like prosciutto and salami
Arugula
Red pepper pesto: jarred roasted red pepper, a lemon, salt, black pepper, red pepper flakes
Finely chop some red pepper. Dress it with salt, pepper, red pepper flakes, lemon zest, and lemon juice. Slice your sandwich bread or roll and add the baby mozzarella, tearing it up with your hands. Spread the red pepper spread on one side of the bread the basil pesto on the other. Add arugula and meat. I think if I had more time, red onions could have been a welcome addition as well. Enjoy!
—s