Found this poem on the blog of someone I no longer follow because, though rather younger than I, they've gone curmudgeonly old: forgetting our glorious Boomer past to carp about People These Days pulling down statues and breaking windows and telling Curmudgeon how he should think which, because he's still a Boomer, he takes exception to. Oh well. ( Read more... )

Exploring the other side of my culinary ancestry, tonight I made bubble and squeak onaccounta having made colcannon last night (which is not in my gene pool *at all* but is an easy way to get my cooked greens surrounded by starch to cushion them) as well as buying roasted broccoli and fried mushrooms for lunch yesterday. Fried all the leftovers ( Read more... )

There was a mammoth yard sale down Borden benefitting some Ugandan youth project. Passed it yesterday on my way to acupuncture, when I didn't have time to stop, so went round today after my eggs benny at Pauper's. (Their eggs benny are merely so-so, but my delicate gut today wanted eggs and only eggs, so Pauper's it was.) If I were in furnishing ( Read more... )

Last finished?

Rose Tremaine, Evangelista's Fan-- very nice collection of short stories told in a low-key style that I'm not competent to analyze but which seems different from any other mainstream writer I know. Or maybe it's just that her people are different from the regular run. There are loving husbands here, and people who actually find ( Read more... )

A day or two ago I was wondering if it was warm enough to open the windows at night. Opened them. Concluded after five minutes that it wasn't and shut them again. Have been sleeping in t-shirt and long-sleeved shirt quite happily, with socks occasionally, in my flannel sheet sandwich. Removed flannel from the side bedroom but figured it was too ( Read more... )

Spring melancholy persists. Possibly fall-out from the stubborn sinuses and spasming lower back, possibly part of the sadness that goes with cherries and lilacs and too-warm days, possibly just weltschmerz from Buttercup and the Dying Earth. (Hm. See this article for differentiation between angst, ennui, and weltscmerz. Maybe it's angst after all ( Read more... )

Had a lymph drainage massage today. Made me overwhelmingly sleepy.

In light of the recent additions to the Points series, I now find the Marlowe sections of The Armor of Light much more Astreianty than before. Not exactly a sketch for Eslingen, but a less positive version of same.

This is the crazy time of year when new babies start one per fortnight: which, yes, is better than one a week. But we're getting little babies, five or six months, and they teethe and fall sick and hate their bottles and cry piteously because the Boob has gone and everything hurts oh oh oh. Thus I spend my days patting their backs and rocking them ( Read more... )

What have you just finished reading?
The Prose Edda, selections of, because no one really wants to know about all those kennings. Prose because the introduction says it's older than the poetic edda, and I'm sure it helps to know the stories first before trying to deal with them in poetic form.

Still makes me think, as Myth and Legend in Ireland ( Read more... )

The author writes for cracked.com. That, in fact, seems to be his day job. Why am I reading this book? Besides its odd echoes of the imperfectly remembered even if twice-read Armor of Light?

I go back to White Teeth with relief. That one acquires depth and gravitas by contrast. And still reminds me of The Midnight Mayor, though god alone knows why ( Read more... )