there is language in the lick of a lighter
Things. And also, stuff.
a. still failing at answering comments or email in any kind of timely (or tardy) fashion. Mea maxima culpa!
2. headed up to the Bronx today for work, and this is kind of what I was talking about yesterday, about being a tourist in your own city? I can probably count on two hands the times I've been to (not just driven through) the Bronx, and most of them were for Yankees games. Otoh, East Tremont really reminded me of City Line, so once my anxiety about getting there on time was assuaged (I did in fact get there by 9 am. No one else involved in the meeting did; apparently, I take 9 am too seriously. This is a failing I'm going to have to correct.), it was all good. I still don't think I needed to be there, but they were happy I was, and I got a free lunch (chicken and [a huge helping of] rice [and beans] from a place in the neighborhood - it was good and really cheap), and to come home early when we were done, so I'm not complaining. Of course, I didn't do anything useful with my extra time at home. I took an awesome nap.
iii. Things I have learned about making orange (or lemon) bars: line the pan with foil and use spray, not butter. Use a 9x13" pan, or leave out some of the crumb crust. Cut the sugar drastically.
All that being said, my orange bars are very tasty. The center did set after time in the fridge, so I probably won't increase the cooking time, and though the edges stuck to the bottom, when I cut a center piece, it lifted out fairly easily. So you know, live and learn. Thanks to the folks who commented with advice.
D. I haven't written in what feels like weeks. I miss it, but can't seem to miss it enough to make room for it - work is crazy, and when I get home, I just want to veg, or watch tv, or bake. Or play bubble shooter. It makes me feel sad and a little guilty, and I miss being really on fire to write about something. Maybe Iron Man 2 will finally get me to write some Tony/Pepper. I miss writing rom com. I'm not even really reading much. Very little of what's posted in SPN is of interest to me these days, so I keep rereading old favorites. I have some tabs open, but I think they're all, like, White Collar and Trek Reboot, so I'm in no real rush to read. Maybe a Middleman rewatch is in order, so I can write that MM/WW aliens made them do it story for
angelgazing.
Five. With the temperature dropping the past few days, they've finally turned the heat back on in my building and now I am DYING (of course, the temperature is supposed to go up tomorrow and stay up for, hopefully, the next few months), so I have a window open and the fan on and am all hot and cranky.
VI. via fox1013: the Muppets recorded a commentary on their "Bohemian Rhapsody" vid, and lo, it is awesome in the usual Muppety way.
7. A meme:
What kind of topics/entries would you like to see me posting about? Any particular questions you've always wanted to ask me but have resisted because the answer would be a huge essay? Ever want to wind me up and watch me go on a particular topic? Anything you've heard me say, "I should write that entry about XYZ I've been meaning to write" and have been patiently waiting for?
Nobody usually asks me anything on these things, probably because I have no problem spewing my opinions at will, but if there's something, let me know.
h. And lastly, today's poem:
Firesetter
Pyro plain and simple: I build fires. Behind the Safeway
a man touched me in a way I will not speak of. I burned him
alive with lighter fluid and a match I struck across my shoe.
It is a curse and a gift, handed down, bequeathed, inherited,
like clairvoyance, alcoholism, the impulse to violence. A medium
between the elements. I once met a man who felt water
through a stick, wanted to feel me too. I set him ablaze
with a bottle of rum and the cigarette that smoked in his mouth.
Watch as the spider curls like paper, the snake shrivels
through the alphabet. There is language in the lick of a lighter,
epiphany in a blister of skin. I was not always like this
you must remember: dangerous, kindled, combustible. It was
the man in the cloakroom, the oil in the ocean, the magnifying
glass and bone-dry grasses, electricity, paint thinner, bottled
oxygen. Life is a kind of burning, a moving toward ashes,
so life your hands and be gone. Behind the school the oak trees
eat themselves from root to leaf until they vanish like ghosts
in the heat and thickening smoke. Do not overestimate
my control: fire is a fist in my throat I cannot swallow or spit
out. It has a mind of its own and every breath I take is fuel
to help it grow, rampage, consume, consume, explode.
~Matt Rader
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/162550.html.
people have commented there.
a. still failing at answering comments or email in any kind of timely (or tardy) fashion. Mea maxima culpa!
2. headed up to the Bronx today for work, and this is kind of what I was talking about yesterday, about being a tourist in your own city? I can probably count on two hands the times I've been to (not just driven through) the Bronx, and most of them were for Yankees games. Otoh, East Tremont really reminded me of City Line, so once my anxiety about getting there on time was assuaged (I did in fact get there by 9 am. No one else involved in the meeting did; apparently, I take 9 am too seriously. This is a failing I'm going to have to correct.), it was all good. I still don't think I needed to be there, but they were happy I was, and I got a free lunch (chicken and [a huge helping of] rice [and beans] from a place in the neighborhood - it was good and really cheap), and to come home early when we were done, so I'm not complaining. Of course, I didn't do anything useful with my extra time at home. I took an awesome nap.
iii. Things I have learned about making orange (or lemon) bars: line the pan with foil and use spray, not butter. Use a 9x13" pan, or leave out some of the crumb crust. Cut the sugar drastically.
All that being said, my orange bars are very tasty. The center did set after time in the fridge, so I probably won't increase the cooking time, and though the edges stuck to the bottom, when I cut a center piece, it lifted out fairly easily. So you know, live and learn. Thanks to the folks who commented with advice.
D. I haven't written in what feels like weeks. I miss it, but can't seem to miss it enough to make room for it - work is crazy, and when I get home, I just want to veg, or watch tv, or bake. Or play bubble shooter. It makes me feel sad and a little guilty, and I miss being really on fire to write about something. Maybe Iron Man 2 will finally get me to write some Tony/Pepper. I miss writing rom com. I'm not even really reading much. Very little of what's posted in SPN is of interest to me these days, so I keep rereading old favorites. I have some tabs open, but I think they're all, like, White Collar and Trek Reboot, so I'm in no real rush to read. Maybe a Middleman rewatch is in order, so I can write that MM/WW aliens made them do it story for
angelgazing.
Five. With the temperature dropping the past few days, they've finally turned the heat back on in my building and now I am DYING (of course, the temperature is supposed to go up tomorrow and stay up for, hopefully, the next few months), so I have a window open and the fan on and am all hot and cranky.
VI. via fox1013: the Muppets recorded a commentary on their "Bohemian Rhapsody" vid, and lo, it is awesome in the usual Muppety way.
7. A meme:
What kind of topics/entries would you like to see me posting about? Any particular questions you've always wanted to ask me but have resisted because the answer would be a huge essay? Ever want to wind me up and watch me go on a particular topic? Anything you've heard me say, "I should write that entry about XYZ I've been meaning to write" and have been patiently waiting for?
Nobody usually asks me anything on these things, probably because I have no problem spewing my opinions at will, but if there's something, let me know.
h. And lastly, today's poem:
Firesetter
Pyro plain and simple: I build fires. Behind the Safeway
a man touched me in a way I will not speak of. I burned him
alive with lighter fluid and a match I struck across my shoe.
It is a curse and a gift, handed down, bequeathed, inherited,
like clairvoyance, alcoholism, the impulse to violence. A medium
between the elements. I once met a man who felt water
through a stick, wanted to feel me too. I set him ablaze
with a bottle of rum and the cigarette that smoked in his mouth.
Watch as the spider curls like paper, the snake shrivels
through the alphabet. There is language in the lick of a lighter,
epiphany in a blister of skin. I was not always like this
you must remember: dangerous, kindled, combustible. It was
the man in the cloakroom, the oil in the ocean, the magnifying
glass and bone-dry grasses, electricity, paint thinner, bottled
oxygen. Life is a kind of burning, a moving toward ashes,
so life your hands and be gone. Behind the school the oak trees
eat themselves from root to leaf until they vanish like ghosts
in the heat and thickening smoke. Do not overestimate
my control: fire is a fist in my throat I cannot swallow or spit
out. It has a mind of its own and every breath I take is fuel
to help it grow, rampage, consume, consume, explode.
~Matt Rader
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/162550.html.
people have commented there.