well, shit (plus science!)
so my sister has covid. :| officially. (so does my cousin but we knew that.) she says she feels like a train hit her in the face. my at home tests keep showing negative but i'm going to get a pcr tomorrow to be sure. i'm a little nervous because what if they're all false negatives? y'know? how the hell do you quarantine with a roommate? sometimes i really miss my old apartment. i wouldn't have to wear a mask while i'm sitting on the couch, for one thing.
anyway. in other news, today was the retirement party gathering for the admin who's retiring next week. a lot of people came altho i think she's been there like thirty years, so a lot of people know her and have worked with her. there was a MASSIVE chocolate cake that i can't eat, so i brought a piece home and stuck it in the freezer. :D after passover i think i'm going to have it for breakfast.
solar eclipse on mars. MARS. the martian moon doing the eclipsing is smaller than the sun and not round, which i think makes the eclipse kind of creepy looking, but still, it's ON MARS. this will never get old.
researchers built an oreometer to figure out how to split the creme evenly when you twist an oreo apart. it didn't work but they have no idea why. (question for another study. :D ) i love that this was a legitimate study that produced a legitimate article that was published in a legitimate journal that tried to answer a real question - can you get the creme to distribute itself evenly on both halves of an oreo?
they said
forget your grandma
these american letters
don’t need no more
grandma poems
but i said
the grandmas are
our first poetic forms
the first haiku
was a grandma
& so too
the first sonnet
the first blues
the first praise song
therefore
every poem
is a grandmother
a womb that has ended
& is still expanding
a daughter that is
rhetorically aging
& retroactively living
every poem
is your grandma
& you miss her
wouldn’t mind
seeing her again
even just
for a moment
in the realm of spirit
in the realm
of possibilities
where poems
share blood
& spit & exist
on chromosomal
planes of particularity
where poems
are strangers
turned sistren
not easily shook
or forgotten
--"no more grandma poems", Yolanda Wisher
anyway. in other news, today was the retirement party gathering for the admin who's retiring next week. a lot of people came altho i think she's been there like thirty years, so a lot of people know her and have worked with her. there was a MASSIVE chocolate cake that i can't eat, so i brought a piece home and stuck it in the freezer. :D after passover i think i'm going to have it for breakfast.
solar eclipse on mars. MARS. the martian moon doing the eclipsing is smaller than the sun and not round, which i think makes the eclipse kind of creepy looking, but still, it's ON MARS. this will never get old.
researchers built an oreometer to figure out how to split the creme evenly when you twist an oreo apart. it didn't work but they have no idea why. (question for another study. :D ) i love that this was a legitimate study that produced a legitimate article that was published in a legitimate journal that tried to answer a real question - can you get the creme to distribute itself evenly on both halves of an oreo?
they said
forget your grandma
these american letters
don’t need no more
grandma poems
but i said
the grandmas are
our first poetic forms
the first haiku
was a grandma
& so too
the first sonnet
the first blues
the first praise song
therefore
every poem
is a grandmother
a womb that has ended
& is still expanding
a daughter that is
rhetorically aging
& retroactively living
every poem
is your grandma
& you miss her
wouldn’t mind
seeing her again
even just
for a moment
in the realm of spirit
in the realm
of possibilities
where poems
share blood
& spit & exist
on chromosomal
planes of particularity
where poems
are strangers
turned sistren
not easily shook
or forgotten
--"no more grandma poems", Yolanda Wisher