in some solitary midnight Starbucks Golgotha
Apr. 22nd, 2025 07:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
musesfoolToday's poem:
I Have News for You
There are people who do not see a broken playground swing
as a symbol of ruined childhood
and there are people who don't interpret the behavior
of a fly in a motel room as a mocking representation of their thought process.
There are people who don't walk past an empty swimming pool
and think about past pleasures unrecoverable
and then stand there blocking the sidewalk for other pedestrians.
I have read about a town somewhere in California where human beings
do not send their sinuous feeder roots
deep into the potting soil of others' emotional lives
as if they were greedy six-year-olds
sucking the last half-inch of milkshake up through a noisy straw;
and other persons in the Midwest who can kiss without
debating the imperialist baggage of heterosexuality.
Do you see that creamy, lemon-yellow moon?
There are some people, unlike me and you,
who do not yearn after fame or love or quantities of money as
unattainable as that moon;
thus, they do not later
have to waste more time
defaming the object of their former ardor.
Or consequently run and crucify themselves
in some solitary midnight Starbucks Golgotha.
I have news for you—
there are people who get up in the morning and cross a room
and open a window to let the sweet breeze in
and let it touch them all over their faces and bodies.
--Tony Hoagland
*
I Have News for You
There are people who do not see a broken playground swing
as a symbol of ruined childhood
and there are people who don't interpret the behavior
of a fly in a motel room as a mocking representation of their thought process.
There are people who don't walk past an empty swimming pool
and think about past pleasures unrecoverable
and then stand there blocking the sidewalk for other pedestrians.
I have read about a town somewhere in California where human beings
do not send their sinuous feeder roots
deep into the potting soil of others' emotional lives
as if they were greedy six-year-olds
sucking the last half-inch of milkshake up through a noisy straw;
and other persons in the Midwest who can kiss without
debating the imperialist baggage of heterosexuality.
Do you see that creamy, lemon-yellow moon?
There are some people, unlike me and you,
who do not yearn after fame or love or quantities of money as
unattainable as that moon;
thus, they do not later
have to waste more time
defaming the object of their former ardor.
Or consequently run and crucify themselves
in some solitary midnight Starbucks Golgotha.
I have news for you—
there are people who get up in the morning and cross a room
and open a window to let the sweet breeze in
and let it touch them all over their faces and bodies.
--Tony Hoagland
*
this picnic is no picnic
Apr. 21st, 2025 06:08 pmmusesfoolMonday miscellany:
- So what are the odds we get an antipope this time in addition to a pope?
- Sepinwall gave season 2 of Andor a good review (minor spoilers, I guess) - the first 3 episodes drop tomorrow and it sounds like they are doing 3 episodes a week for 4 weeks, as each one comprises a mini-arc. Trying not to get spoiled on the internet is sure to be a nightmare.
- I haven't done the AO3 stats meme regularly since 2018 because not much changes in my top 10. In 2021, however, I made note of some up-and-comers in the 11-20 slots, and it turns out that as of 4/20/25, Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc (i.e., the one where Dick convinces Jason to stop killing through the power of hugs) has crept into the top 10 by hits - it's number 9! (It looks like Our history is just in our blood (history, like love, is never enough) (the Steve/Bucky remix AU where Steve finds Bucky working as a barista) is the one that fell out of the top 10.)
Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc also made inroads into the top 10 by kudos, landing at number 5! Additionally, 2 Star Wars stories also found their way into the top 10 by kudos: There's Still Time to Change the Road You're On (in which Anakin time travels to the post-RotJ era and meets his kids) at 6, and deep as a secret nobody knows (AU where Leia tells Vader she's Padme's daughter and it changes everything) at number 8!
The 3 Avengers stories that dropped are again, Our history is just in our blood (history, like love, is never enough), plus Even a Miracle Needs a Hand (Clint/Darcy fake Christmas boyfriend), and with the lights out, it's less dangerous (Steve/Bucky, then and now).
According to these posts, I did not previously do the full list by comments, but I will note the appearance of deep as a secret nobody knows at number 3 on the comments list, and another Vader-and-Leia AU, Just a Little Bit of History Repeating, at number 10, with the VMars/Avengers crossover we travel without seatbelts on sitting pretty at number 7.
So I guess given enough time, these things CAN change.
- Today's poem:
Nothing Will Warn You
by Stephen Dunn
Nothing will warn you,
not even the promise of severe weather
or the threats of neighbors muttered
under their breath, unheard by the sonar
in you that no longer functions.
You'll be expecting blue skies, perhaps
a picnic at which you'll be anticipating
a reward for being the best handler
of raw meat in a county known
for its per capita cases of salmonella.
You'll have no memory of those women
with old grievances nor will you guess
that small bulge in one of their purses
could be a derringer. You'll be opening
a cold one, thinking this is the life,
this is the very life I've always wanted.
Nothing will warn you,
no one will blurt out that this picnic
is no picnic, the clouds in the west
will be darkly billowing toward you,
and you will not hear your neighbors'
conspiratorial whispers. You'll be
readying yourself to tell the joke
no one has ever laughed at, the joke
someone would have told you by now
is only funny if told on yourself, but no one
has ever liked you enough to say so.
Even your wife never warned you.
***
- So what are the odds we get an antipope this time in addition to a pope?
- Sepinwall gave season 2 of Andor a good review (minor spoilers, I guess) - the first 3 episodes drop tomorrow and it sounds like they are doing 3 episodes a week for 4 weeks, as each one comprises a mini-arc. Trying not to get spoiled on the internet is sure to be a nightmare.
- I haven't done the AO3 stats meme regularly since 2018 because not much changes in my top 10. In 2021, however, I made note of some up-and-comers in the 11-20 slots, and it turns out that as of 4/20/25, Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc (i.e., the one where Dick convinces Jason to stop killing through the power of hugs) has crept into the top 10 by hits - it's number 9! (It looks like Our history is just in our blood (history, like love, is never enough) (the Steve/Bucky remix AU where Steve finds Bucky working as a barista) is the one that fell out of the top 10.)
Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc also made inroads into the top 10 by kudos, landing at number 5! Additionally, 2 Star Wars stories also found their way into the top 10 by kudos: There's Still Time to Change the Road You're On (in which Anakin time travels to the post-RotJ era and meets his kids) at 6, and deep as a secret nobody knows (AU where Leia tells Vader she's Padme's daughter and it changes everything) at number 8!
The 3 Avengers stories that dropped are again, Our history is just in our blood (history, like love, is never enough), plus Even a Miracle Needs a Hand (Clint/Darcy fake Christmas boyfriend), and with the lights out, it's less dangerous (Steve/Bucky, then and now).
According to these posts, I did not previously do the full list by comments, but I will note the appearance of deep as a secret nobody knows at number 3 on the comments list, and another Vader-and-Leia AU, Just a Little Bit of History Repeating, at number 10, with the VMars/Avengers crossover we travel without seatbelts on sitting pretty at number 7.
So I guess given enough time, these things CAN change.
- Today's poem:
Nothing Will Warn You
by Stephen Dunn
Nothing will warn you,
not even the promise of severe weather
or the threats of neighbors muttered
under their breath, unheard by the sonar
in you that no longer functions.
You'll be expecting blue skies, perhaps
a picnic at which you'll be anticipating
a reward for being the best handler
of raw meat in a county known
for its per capita cases of salmonella.
You'll have no memory of those women
with old grievances nor will you guess
that small bulge in one of their purses
could be a derringer. You'll be opening
a cold one, thinking this is the life,
this is the very life I've always wanted.
Nothing will warn you,
no one will blurt out that this picnic
is no picnic, the clouds in the west
will be darkly billowing toward you,
and you will not hear your neighbors'
conspiratorial whispers. You'll be
readying yourself to tell the joke
no one has ever laughed at, the joke
someone would have told you by now
is only funny if told on yourself, but no one
has ever liked you enough to say so.
Even your wife never warned you.
***
Poetry month: For the New House by Ursula K. Le Guin
Apr. 21st, 2025 02:38 pmresonantFor the New House by Ursula K. Le Guin
May this house be full of kitchen smells
and shadows and toys and nests of mice
and roars of rage and waterfalls of tears
and deep sexual silences and sounds
of mysterious origin never explained
and troves and keepsakes and a lot of junk
and a flowing like a warm wind only slower
blowing the leaves of trees and books and the fish-years
of a child’s life silvery flickering
quick, quick, in the slow incessant gust
that billows out the curtains for a moment
all those years from now, ago.
May the sills and doorframes
be in blessing blest at every passing.
May the roof but not the rooms know rain.
May the windows know clearly
the branch and flower of the apple tree.
And may you be in this house
as the music is in the instrument.
May this house be full of kitchen smells
and shadows and toys and nests of mice
and roars of rage and waterfalls of tears
and deep sexual silences and sounds
of mysterious origin never explained
and troves and keepsakes and a lot of junk
and a flowing like a warm wind only slower
blowing the leaves of trees and books and the fish-years
of a child’s life silvery flickering
quick, quick, in the slow incessant gust
that billows out the curtains for a moment
all those years from now, ago.
May the sills and doorframes
be in blessing blest at every passing.
May the roof but not the rooms know rain.
May the windows know clearly
the branch and flower of the apple tree.
And may you be in this house
as the music is in the instrument.
Movie rec
Apr. 19th, 2025 09:30 pmgwynHey, if you are going to theatres to see movies these days, I can highly recommend Sinners, with Michael B. Jordan, Wunmi Mosaku, and Hailee Steinfeld. It's about twin brothers (played by Jordan) who return to their town in Mississippi in 1932 to open a juke joint, and run up against vampires. I'm not much of a vampire person at all, but I think this would probably satisfy both the vampire loving crowd as well as the crowd like me, because the whole first hour is mostly a slow build of who the twins are and who the people in their lives are, and what's happened to them to make them what they are (not the least of which is of course generational trauma from racism), and also background for the character who becomes central to both their story and to the vampires' story.
The music is fucking off the charts amazing (Ludwig Göransson does the soundtrack and a lot of the music stuff) and worth it alone. There are two music sequences that left me kind of gobsmacked. I've never seen anything like it.
There's definitely gore and jump scares, but overall I didn't find it too horror-y, more like a modern monster movie in terms of the violence and such. It was definitely R-rated, with some very sexual scenes. Anyways, if you were considering it, I loved it. (It was directed by Ryan Coogler of Black Panther fame.)
The music is fucking off the charts amazing (Ludwig Göransson does the soundtrack and a lot of the music stuff) and worth it alone. There are two music sequences that left me kind of gobsmacked. I've never seen anything like it.
There's definitely gore and jump scares, but overall I didn't find it too horror-y, more like a modern monster movie in terms of the violence and such. It was definitely R-rated, with some very sexual scenes. Anyways, if you were considering it, I loved it. (It was directed by Ryan Coogler of Black Panther fame.)
the indivisible wave of your body
Apr. 19th, 2025 05:40 pmmusesfoolI made these confetti cookies from Smitten Kitchen this afternoon (pic), but unfortunately, they are way too sweet for me. They are really easy to put together though, especially with the food processor, since you don't need to soften the butter and cream cheese before you get started, and there's no need to chill them before baking.
In other news, I watched the 3 available episodes of season 3 of Leverage: Redemption and enjoyed them, though there was some cognitive dissonance in seeing Noah Wyle as Harry Wilson after 15 intense episodes of The Pitt. Aldis Hodge gets more handsome every time I see him, and the gloves have come off in terms of the writing - they are not even playing anymore about how stuff that is legal still isn't right. Plus, there have been some fun guest stars: ( casting spoilers ) I look forward to the rest of the season!
***
I haven't posted any Neruda in a while, so here's today's poem:
Sonnet XLVI
Of all the stars I admired, drenched
in various rivers and mists,
I chose only the one I love.
Since then I sleep with the night.
Of all the waves, one wave and another wave,
green sea, green chill, branchings of green,
I chose only the one wave,
the indivisible wave of your body.
All the waterdrops, all the roots,
all the threads of light gathered to me here;
they came to me sooner or later.
I wanted your hair, all for myself.
From all the graces my homeland offered
I chose only your savage heart.
-Pablo Neruda
(Trans. ???)
***
In other news, I watched the 3 available episodes of season 3 of Leverage: Redemption and enjoyed them, though there was some cognitive dissonance in seeing Noah Wyle as Harry Wilson after 15 intense episodes of The Pitt. Aldis Hodge gets more handsome every time I see him, and the gloves have come off in terms of the writing - they are not even playing anymore about how stuff that is legal still isn't right. Plus, there have been some fun guest stars: ( casting spoilers ) I look forward to the rest of the season!
***
I haven't posted any Neruda in a while, so here's today's poem:
Sonnet XLVI
Of all the stars I admired, drenched
in various rivers and mists,
I chose only the one I love.
Since then I sleep with the night.
Of all the waves, one wave and another wave,
green sea, green chill, branchings of green,
I chose only the one wave,
the indivisible wave of your body.
All the waterdrops, all the roots,
all the threads of light gathered to me here;
they came to me sooner or later.
I wanted your hair, all for myself.
From all the graces my homeland offered
I chose only your savage heart.
-Pablo Neruda
(Trans. ???)
***
Farmer's Market -- 19 April 2025 (Grafting Knife Day, 30th of Germination, Year 233)
Apr. 19th, 2025 11:30 amneotomaQuail eggs, cracked-pepper goat cheese, ramps, porterhouse steak, morels, royal oyster mushrooms, asparagus, 2 tomato plants (Patio & Mr. Stripey), a dianthus, a petunia, 3 six-packs of brocade marigolds, and brown sugar kettle corn.
I'm going to try making compound butter with some of the ramps.
I'm going to try making compound butter with some of the ramps.
the shape of wind against a sheet
Apr. 18th, 2025 09:10 pmmusesfoolI decided to make the King Arthur pretzel rolls again today (well, half the recipe to make 4 hero-shaped buns) - they only require a first rise of 1 hour and a second of 15 minutes so I could start them at 3 pm and be eating by 5:30. I proofed the dough in this nice bowl I have that has its own lid, and I did it in the unheated oven with the oven light on (I've never done it like that before but I've seen it recommended a few places), and about 50 minutes in, there was a loud popping sound, and it turned out that the carbon dioxide produced by the rising dough popped the lid right off! That had never happened to me before! I figured if that was happening, the dough was proved and it was. They turned out delicious. Definitely recommended.
Here's today's poem:
Singe
I read the tops of the poems, ten or twenty lines down.
In the beginning of the book, a man is leaving his wife
for a lover. By the end, the lover is tired of the man, who wonders
if he made a mistake. The book has the quality of a diary,
the beginnings of poems imply the ends of other poems, other days,
this is a man to know in the morning.
It's raining here, where the book lives for now, and the mood
of fog fits the sadness of the book, I hold it out the window,
bring it back and dry it off with my shirt.
I know a woman who knows the poet. I call her and ask
which tops of poems are true. She wants to know why I don't
finish the poems. I tell her I dreamed last night
I work inside a steam shovel, that the tops of the poems
are my sky, my white clouds. It's impossible to talk
to just one poet, and I'll feel the ears
of people I don't know floating behind me for a week.
There are two children in the book. They must be in college by now,
married or incapable of marriage. I believe the poet was honest
about their names, I consider finding and e-mailing them,
asking if they felt betrayed or like rock stars, some other kind
of celebrity, I suddenly want to know if they play tennis
or like Pop Tarts, if either drove up to see their father
and threw the book at his head, the stab marks on the cover
making him break down and apologize for the hurt, not the poems.
Calvino had an idea for a book that appeared to have been pulled
from a fire. What wasn't there would be as much of the story
as the little bells, the indentations of eye teeth in a pencil,
the shape of wind against a sheet. The bottom of this book
is on fire, is where the lies have fallen, where someone
tells someone they were never loved, where a body is rhapsodized
as the font of renewal, and eight pages later, deplored as snare.
I devise solace for the book: we should count birds, I tell it,
should ride a horse, you and I. Some other time I'll read
the bottom only, read this life and turn each page
with both hands, carry the words in the basket of my flesh,
carry them over, carry them safe, some other time, nor was it ever
too late.
—Bob Hicok
***
Here's today's poem:
Singe
I read the tops of the poems, ten or twenty lines down.
In the beginning of the book, a man is leaving his wife
for a lover. By the end, the lover is tired of the man, who wonders
if he made a mistake. The book has the quality of a diary,
the beginnings of poems imply the ends of other poems, other days,
this is a man to know in the morning.
It's raining here, where the book lives for now, and the mood
of fog fits the sadness of the book, I hold it out the window,
bring it back and dry it off with my shirt.
I know a woman who knows the poet. I call her and ask
which tops of poems are true. She wants to know why I don't
finish the poems. I tell her I dreamed last night
I work inside a steam shovel, that the tops of the poems
are my sky, my white clouds. It's impossible to talk
to just one poet, and I'll feel the ears
of people I don't know floating behind me for a week.
There are two children in the book. They must be in college by now,
married or incapable of marriage. I believe the poet was honest
about their names, I consider finding and e-mailing them,
asking if they felt betrayed or like rock stars, some other kind
of celebrity, I suddenly want to know if they play tennis
or like Pop Tarts, if either drove up to see their father
and threw the book at his head, the stab marks on the cover
making him break down and apologize for the hurt, not the poems.
Calvino had an idea for a book that appeared to have been pulled
from a fire. What wasn't there would be as much of the story
as the little bells, the indentations of eye teeth in a pencil,
the shape of wind against a sheet. The bottom of this book
is on fire, is where the lies have fallen, where someone
tells someone they were never loved, where a body is rhapsodized
as the font of renewal, and eight pages later, deplored as snare.
I devise solace for the book: we should count birds, I tell it,
should ride a horse, you and I. Some other time I'll read
the bottom only, read this life and turn each page
with both hands, carry the words in the basket of my flesh,
carry them over, carry them safe, some other time, nor was it ever
too late.
—Bob Hicok
***
Meme: 20 questions for fic writers
Apr. 18th, 2025 02:42 pmlannamichaelsVia
sophia_sol most recently! And this reminded me that I haven't done the April hits meme yet, oops.1. How many works do you have on ao3?
1,158
2. What's your total ao3 word count?
3,109,186. Caveat that this includes a lot of co-written fics, including a very long one where I didn't write much on it overall. Knocking out the stuff I didn't write myself probably removes about a million words.
3. What are your top five fics by kudos?
1. Scenes From An Inconvenient Espionage Love Story. - Les Mis/James Bond - 2,581 kudos as of this writing
2. Earthlings Gonna Earth. -- The Martian -- 2,450 kudos
3. Things To Do In New York City When You're No Longer Brainwashed. - Avengers - 1,478 kudos
4. The Family Dursley. - Harry Potter - 1,310 kudos
5. Interstitial. - The Martian - 1,104
4. What fandoms do you write for?
Complicated question, but my actively working on WIPs are Vorkosigan fandom and Harry Potter at present. Other fandoms on WIPs started in the last 3 years's folders in scrivener (2023-2025): Discworld, Westing Game, The Parent Trap, Pride & Prejudice, Hero Elementary (a spitefic sequel to the spitefic Hero Elementary fic I've already posted), and Glass Onion.
5. Do you respond to comments? why or why not?
Sometimes. I used to try to reply to all comments and I do not do that anymore.
6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
I've done some stuff to characters but possibly the one that qualifies most here is not actually angst but one that someone asked me about the ending specifically for reccing for a specific person reason and I had to say "do not rec this to that person dealing with this stuff": Not Like I Faint Every Time We Touch. (Star Wars), which is Jyn Erso having a crush on Leia Organa, who is straight.
So it is not angsty! But also I tagged it "The Most Accurate Thing I Have Ever Written" and I am not one to overuse freeform tagging in that manner.
7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
So this is cheating but the Petyaverse has the happiest best ending in the world because it all built up to that (with diversions) and once I got to the end, it was all definitely over, so that was nice. Happiest for me, happiest for the characters, happiest for the ability to do a character and story arc!
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Yep.
9. Do you write smut?
Yep.
10. Do you write crossovers?
Yep.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Yep! There was, apparently, a college newsletter in Alberta (?) -- somewhere in Canada, I think it was Alberta -- that had a segment called Tim (as opposed to Time) and they ripped off one of my LOTR fics. Just reproduced it entirely without attribution (but with the same title). To this day I have no idea why. Like, certainly it was to mock fanfiction, that goes without saying, but it also didn't seem to have any mocking? Did someone just submit it as a gag? As an original story?
Someone in fandom gave me some lawyerly things to say to them and I sent it to them and they took it down.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Yep!
13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?
Yep!
14. What's your all time favourite ship?
I mean. I haven't read it in at least a decade, but Aragorn/Boromir really was something, wasn't it. Many fond memories.
15. What's the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
Teenage Single Dad Gregor Vorbarra, earliest notes date in the file is December 2016.
16. What are your writing strengths?
Dialogue.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Action and description.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?
I used to do this and then it was like, why. Why do this. When I could just write "X said in Y language" right after it. Also then you have to deal with translations. Plus getting someone to give you the phrase in the other language in the first place, or rely on Babelfish (but I date myself). Not worth it!
When I read a fic, by the way, I am never looking into the end notes for translations, and since I read a lot on my phone, I also can't hover for them. Either I can work it out by context or it's not actually important to the story or it's so incessant that I give up and close the fic. Those are the options. Me keeping the end notes open in another tab and going back and forth is not happening.
How does this mesh in with the glossaries I usually remember to add to fics in Yinglish? Absolutely it doesn’t but also Yinglish is English, right? Right? :P
(Also those fics are short and the Yinglish is the point, the glossary is just there to be helpful, but it's not like oh hey, this character is French, let's have a discussion in French.)
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Star Wars.
20. Favourite fic you've ever written?
IDK. There's fics I like and fics I'm meh on and fics I dislike, but I can't really come up with an all-time favorite.
I keep wanting to turn this into "what's the most experimental" or "what was the hardest" but anyway, actually, here are the most personal ones -- because that's quantifiable and easy enough to answer: And Enoch Still Walks With God. (Highlander) (if I were posting that today I'd be brave enough to use Chanoch not Enoch but anyway), the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse (Vorkoisgan), and Waiting For Methuselah. (Highlander).
the patience that has lived so long in this body
Apr. 17th, 2025 06:28 pmmusesfoolToday's poem:
The Game
by Lorna Crozier
So many conversations between
the tall grass and the wind.
A child hides in that sound,
hunched small
as a rabbit, knees tucked
to her chest, head on her knees,
yet she's not asleep.
She is waiting with a patience
I had long forgotten,
hair wild with grass seeds,
skin silvery with dust.
It was my brother's game.
He was the one who counted,
and I, seven years younger,
the one who hid.
When I ran from the yard,
he found his gang of friends
and played kick-the-can
or caught soft spotted frogs
at the creek so summer-slow.
As darkness fell,
from the kitchen door
someone always called my name.
He was there before me
at the supper table;
milk in his glass
and along his upper lip
glowing like moonlight.
You're so good at that, he'd say,
I couldn't find you.
Now I wade through
hip-high bearded grass
to where she sits so still,
lay my larger hand
upon her shoulder.
Above the wind I say,
You're it,
then kneel beside her
and with the patience
that has lived so long in this body,
clean the dirt from her nose and mouth,
separate the golden speargrass from her hair.
*
The Game
by Lorna Crozier
So many conversations between
the tall grass and the wind.
A child hides in that sound,
hunched small
as a rabbit, knees tucked
to her chest, head on her knees,
yet she's not asleep.
She is waiting with a patience
I had long forgotten,
hair wild with grass seeds,
skin silvery with dust.
It was my brother's game.
He was the one who counted,
and I, seven years younger,
the one who hid.
When I ran from the yard,
he found his gang of friends
and played kick-the-can
or caught soft spotted frogs
at the creek so summer-slow.
As darkness fell,
from the kitchen door
someone always called my name.
He was there before me
at the supper table;
milk in his glass
and along his upper lip
glowing like moonlight.
You're so good at that, he'd say,
I couldn't find you.
Now I wade through
hip-high bearded grass
to where she sits so still,
lay my larger hand
upon her shoulder.
Above the wind I say,
You're it,
then kneel beside her
and with the patience
that has lived so long in this body,
clean the dirt from her nose and mouth,
separate the golden speargrass from her hair.
*
After this love there will be more love
Apr. 16th, 2025 05:30 pmmusesfoolI was doing so good with reading books again but alas, I have had the 2nd Finlay Donovan book open in the same spot for a week and instead have been reading fic or watching tv. So have some quick thoughts on TV I have watched:
Silo: I enjoyed this - the first season is better, but the second season has its moments! Unfortunately, Steve Zahn is like a BEC for me, so that put a damper on parts of season 2. Like, he's a decent actor or whatever but he makes me want to turn off my TV every time I hear his voice.
The Residence: I enjoyed this a lot and I hope they make as many seasons of it as Uzo Aduba wants, perhaps in really fancy buildings every time, though I hope they are slightly tighter in terms of story telling - 8 episodes was slightly too much imo.
Abbott Elementary: this season has been a lot of fun and I will be watching the finale tonight!
Elsbeth: still enjoying this also, though I've been doling out the episodes more slowly now that I'm like only 1 behind the current episode.
Severance: I have avoided saying much about this show since for me it's a very mixed bag (great acting, beautiful cinematography, wonky pacing, questionable writing) and I know a lot of people love it, but I hope Tramell Tillman has a long, highly decorated career as a leading man in action movies, musicals, rom-coms, and whatever else his heart desires. I am also always happy to see Dichen Lachman on screen!
Wheel of Time: I have been enjoying this as well, though 8 episodes feels too short given everything that they are covering (note: I haven't read the books and currently don't plan to). ( spoilers ) Let them all sing more! The singing has been GREAT.
And lastly, here's today's poem:
Object Permanence
by Hala Alya
This neighborhood was mine first. I walked each block twice:
drunk, then sober. I lived every day with legs and headphones.
It had snowed the night I ran down Lorimer and swore I'd stop
at nothing. My love, he had died. What was I supposed to do?
I regret nothing. Sometimes I feel washed up as paper. You're
three years away. But then I dance down Graham and
the trees are the color of champagne and I remember -
There are things I like about heartbreak, too, how it needs
a good soundtrack. The way I catch a man's gaze on the L
and don't look away first. Losing something is just revising it.
After this love there will be more love. My body rising from a nest
of sheets to pick up a stranger's MetroCard. I regret nothing.
Not the bar across the street from my apartment; I was still late.
Not the shared bathroom in Barcelona, not the red-eyes, not
the songs about black coats and Omaha. I lie about everything
but not this. You were every streetlamp that winter. You held
the crown of my head and for once I won't show you what
I've made. I regret nothing. Your mother and your Maine.
Your wet hair in my lap after that first shower. The clinic
and how I cried for a week afterwards. How we never chose
the language we spoke. You wrote me a single poem and in it
you were the dog and I the fire. Remember the courthouse?
The anniversary song. Those goddamn Kmart towels. I loved them,
when did we throw them away? Tomorrow I'll write down
everything we've done to each other and fill the bathtub
with water. I'll burn each piece of paper down to silt.
And if it doesn't work, I'll do it again. And again and again and -
***
Silo: I enjoyed this - the first season is better, but the second season has its moments! Unfortunately, Steve Zahn is like a BEC for me, so that put a damper on parts of season 2. Like, he's a decent actor or whatever but he makes me want to turn off my TV every time I hear his voice.
The Residence: I enjoyed this a lot and I hope they make as many seasons of it as Uzo Aduba wants, perhaps in really fancy buildings every time, though I hope they are slightly tighter in terms of story telling - 8 episodes was slightly too much imo.
Abbott Elementary: this season has been a lot of fun and I will be watching the finale tonight!
Elsbeth: still enjoying this also, though I've been doling out the episodes more slowly now that I'm like only 1 behind the current episode.
Severance: I have avoided saying much about this show since for me it's a very mixed bag (great acting, beautiful cinematography, wonky pacing, questionable writing) and I know a lot of people love it, but I hope Tramell Tillman has a long, highly decorated career as a leading man in action movies, musicals, rom-coms, and whatever else his heart desires. I am also always happy to see Dichen Lachman on screen!
Wheel of Time: I have been enjoying this as well, though 8 episodes feels too short given everything that they are covering (note: I haven't read the books and currently don't plan to). ( spoilers ) Let them all sing more! The singing has been GREAT.
And lastly, here's today's poem:
Object Permanence
by Hala Alya
This neighborhood was mine first. I walked each block twice:
drunk, then sober. I lived every day with legs and headphones.
It had snowed the night I ran down Lorimer and swore I'd stop
at nothing. My love, he had died. What was I supposed to do?
I regret nothing. Sometimes I feel washed up as paper. You're
three years away. But then I dance down Graham and
the trees are the color of champagne and I remember -
There are things I like about heartbreak, too, how it needs
a good soundtrack. The way I catch a man's gaze on the L
and don't look away first. Losing something is just revising it.
After this love there will be more love. My body rising from a nest
of sheets to pick up a stranger's MetroCard. I regret nothing.
Not the bar across the street from my apartment; I was still late.
Not the shared bathroom in Barcelona, not the red-eyes, not
the songs about black coats and Omaha. I lie about everything
but not this. You were every streetlamp that winter. You held
the crown of my head and for once I won't show you what
I've made. I regret nothing. Your mother and your Maine.
Your wet hair in my lap after that first shower. The clinic
and how I cried for a week afterwards. How we never chose
the language we spoke. You wrote me a single poem and in it
you were the dog and I the fire. Remember the courthouse?
The anniversary song. Those goddamn Kmart towels. I loved them,
when did we throw them away? Tomorrow I'll write down
everything we've done to each other and fill the bathtub
with water. I'll burn each piece of paper down to silt.
And if it doesn't work, I'll do it again. And again and again and -
***
their flux and gush, their roar
Apr. 15th, 2025 08:30 pmmusesfoolI'm pretty sure I'm going to stay home for Easter this year, so now I need to decide what I'm going to cook. I thought about making the fancy French chicken, or maybe a traditional ham, or I could make crepes for breakfast and then manicotti for dinner (though that seems like a lot of work). I also want to bake something but what? A strawberry galette? Some other strawberry tart type thing (using frozen strawberries)? Strawberry sticky buns? Clearly my brain has focused in on something strawberry but it doesn't have to be! Small batch cheesecake? Confetti cookies? or maybe I will bake some more bread? I'm off both Friday and Monday, so there's time to do several different things, but I just need to decide what and then tailor my shopping list accordingly.
Work continues to be super busy thanks to the search committee stuff on top of all our other work, but aside from some scheduling that is going to be a nightmare, we should have a couple of weeks off from dealing with meetings with them.
Here's today's poem:
Water on Mars
by Clare McDonnell
for Susan
Mars has the memory of water
carved into her parched rock.
Does she remember rivers;
their silkiness, their languid drawl,
their flux and gush, their roar,
clots of frogspawn, green weeds waving?
Did she understand the pebble talk of water,
delight in the twinkle of sun and shade
and the sudden shimmer of fish?
Was there once someone there
who saw a lake as flat as a polished table,
the surface so tense that insects hardly
dented it, darting between lily pads?
Did he notice how wrinkles halo out when
a swallow dips for flies, or how the breeze
strews handfuls of sparkle over the water?
Was there an enormous ocean there
whose curled tongue was shredded on rocks?
Did it suck the sand from beneath a poet's feet
leaving him in unsteady wonder?
Did his child cup handfuls of spilled sun
from its surface, let it seep through her fingers
to become water again, licking her ankles?
In winter, did rain slap him with glass hands?
In summer, did it finger his face softly,
bring back aromas to dryness,
plump up the wall's cushion of moss?
And when it stopped, did each lupin leaf
hold a diamond between its fingers,
was the fissure a stream, did the red rock steam?
***
Work continues to be super busy thanks to the search committee stuff on top of all our other work, but aside from some scheduling that is going to be a nightmare, we should have a couple of weeks off from dealing with meetings with them.
Here's today's poem:
Water on Mars
by Clare McDonnell
for Susan
Mars has the memory of water
carved into her parched rock.
Does she remember rivers;
their silkiness, their languid drawl,
their flux and gush, their roar,
clots of frogspawn, green weeds waving?
Did she understand the pebble talk of water,
delight in the twinkle of sun and shade
and the sudden shimmer of fish?
Was there once someone there
who saw a lake as flat as a polished table,
the surface so tense that insects hardly
dented it, darting between lily pads?
Did he notice how wrinkles halo out when
a swallow dips for flies, or how the breeze
strews handfuls of sparkle over the water?
Was there an enormous ocean there
whose curled tongue was shredded on rocks?
Did it suck the sand from beneath a poet's feet
leaving him in unsteady wonder?
Did his child cup handfuls of spilled sun
from its surface, let it seep through her fingers
to become water again, licking her ankles?
In winter, did rain slap him with glass hands?
In summer, did it finger his face softly,
bring back aromas to dryness,
plump up the wall's cushion of moss?
And when it stopped, did each lupin leaf
hold a diamond between its fingers,
was the fissure a stream, did the red rock steam?
***
archery!
Apr. 15th, 2025 06:18 pmthe_shoshannaGeoff found a local archery club that offers adult beginner lessons, and we are taking six weeks of basic archery!
He did it briefly as a teen, I think; I had a toy bow as a child, but that's it. Lessons are held once a week in the basement of a church(!) about a half-hour walk from us, and as it gets warm I hope it will be an absolute pleasure to walk there and back in the evenings.
We've had one lesson so far. There were about a dozen students and two teachers: we were probably the oldest people there, and it went down to a couple university students. Seems like a nice group; there wasn't a lot of chatting, since we were there to listen and learn and do, but everyone was fun and friendly -- and the teachers were fun and friendly and also absolutely no-nonsense, as is appropriate. They showed us how to tell which eye is dominant, distributed bows and armguards, and told us that there are twelve steps to shooting, and each week we'll learn two more; week 1, unsurprisingly, concentrated on correct posture and on the rules of the range, i.e. not shooting anybody. We got to shoot at targets from a ten-yard line, and I was pretty good! Some people were all over the map, even missing the target entirely: I ended up with one in the bullseye and a couple in the first ring around it, as well as several further out. But, as I said when someone complimented me, in week four they'll teach us to aim, and then I'll lose it completely :)
By the end of the lesson, Geoff was already asking about buying bows of our own. (The club has loaner bows for lessons, but if you want to join the club itself, shoot on their outdoor range, etc., you need your own equipment.) I doubt I'll want to get that into it; we didn't do as much hiking and kayaking last summer as we wanted to, and do we really want to buy pricy equipment to split our outdoorsy-sport-time even more? But it could happen! Anyway the club offers adult intermediate lessons as well, so we can keep going after this without having to pony up if we don't want to.
This is such a fun city sometimes!
He did it briefly as a teen, I think; I had a toy bow as a child, but that's it. Lessons are held once a week in the basement of a church(!) about a half-hour walk from us, and as it gets warm I hope it will be an absolute pleasure to walk there and back in the evenings.
We've had one lesson so far. There were about a dozen students and two teachers: we were probably the oldest people there, and it went down to a couple university students. Seems like a nice group; there wasn't a lot of chatting, since we were there to listen and learn and do, but everyone was fun and friendly -- and the teachers were fun and friendly and also absolutely no-nonsense, as is appropriate. They showed us how to tell which eye is dominant, distributed bows and armguards, and told us that there are twelve steps to shooting, and each week we'll learn two more; week 1, unsurprisingly, concentrated on correct posture and on the rules of the range, i.e. not shooting anybody. We got to shoot at targets from a ten-yard line, and I was pretty good! Some people were all over the map, even missing the target entirely: I ended up with one in the bullseye and a couple in the first ring around it, as well as several further out. But, as I said when someone complimented me, in week four they'll teach us to aim, and then I'll lose it completely :)
By the end of the lesson, Geoff was already asking about buying bows of our own. (The club has loaner bows for lessons, but if you want to join the club itself, shoot on their outdoor range, etc., you need your own equipment.) I doubt I'll want to get that into it; we didn't do as much hiking and kayaking last summer as we wanted to, and do we really want to buy pricy equipment to split our outdoorsy-sport-time even more? But it could happen! Anyway the club offers adult intermediate lessons as well, so we can keep going after this without having to pony up if we don't want to.
This is such a fun city sometimes!
"The Dendarii Vorbarras." (Vorkosigan Saga) G
Apr. 15th, 2025 02:25 pmlannamichaelsTitle: The Dendarii Vorbarras.
Author:
lannamichaelsFandom: Vorkosigan Saga
Rating: G
Archives: Archive Of Our Own, SquidgeWorld
Summary: The first thing Serg's boy says to me is, "hello, Grandmother".
( Still trying to give Gregor a support system )
Today's medical tip
Apr. 15th, 2025 12:17 pmresonantIf you sometimes have blood in your urine, even just a bit, even just now and then, and you test negative for a urinary tract infection, ask your doctor if you need to see a urologist. If it happens twice (especially if you smoke), TELL your doctor you need to see a urologist.
I've just had my follow-up appointment from having a small cancerous growth removed from my bladder. I'm fine! I feel fine! My prognosis is fine! But I'm glad we caught it early and wish I had gone to a specialist even earlier.
The doctor compared this procedure to removing a malignant mole from your arm or a polyp they find during a colonoscopy, so as procedures go this was a pretty simple one.
I now have to have a cytoscopy to watch for regrowth, and after four years the frequency will go down but I'll have to have them annually for the rest of my life, just another annual thing like a Pap or a mammogram.
I would have pursued more healthcare if I hadn't been scared. So if you're scared the way I was, I'll put some details below the cut; if you're squeamish, maybe don't click that arrow.
( cut for gross stuff )
I've just had my follow-up appointment from having a small cancerous growth removed from my bladder. I'm fine! I feel fine! My prognosis is fine! But I'm glad we caught it early and wish I had gone to a specialist even earlier.
The doctor compared this procedure to removing a malignant mole from your arm or a polyp they find during a colonoscopy, so as procedures go this was a pretty simple one.
I now have to have a cytoscopy to watch for regrowth, and after four years the frequency will go down but I'll have to have them annually for the rest of my life, just another annual thing like a Pap or a mammogram.
I would have pursued more healthcare if I hadn't been scared. So if you're scared the way I was, I'll put some details below the cut; if you're squeamish, maybe don't click that arrow.
( cut for gross stuff )
in the suitcase were bandages for the eyes and bottles of sleep
Apr. 14th, 2025 08:02 pmmusesfoolToday's poem:
The Five Stages of Grief
by Linda Pastan
The night I lost you
someone pointed me towards
the Five Stages of Grief.
Go that way, they said,
it's easy, like learning to climb
stairs after the amputation.
And so I climbed.
Denial was first.
I sat down at breakfast
carefully setting the table
for two. I passed you the toast—
you sat there. I passed
you the paper—you hid
behind it.
Anger seemed more familiar.
I burned the toast, snatched
the paper and read the headlines myself.
But they mentioned your departure,
and so I moved on to
Bargaining. What could I exchange
for you? The silence
after storms? My typing fingers?
Before I could decide, Depression
came puffing up, a poor relation
its suitcase tied together
with string. In the suitcase
were bandages for the eyes
and bottles of sleep. I slid
all the way down the stairs
feeling nothing.
And all the time Hope
flashed on and off
in defective neon.
Hope was my uncle's middle name,
he died of it. After a year I am still climbing,
though my feet slip
on your stone face.
The treeline
has long since disappeared;
green in a color
I have forgotten.
But now I see what I am climbing
towards: Acceptance,
written in capital letters,
a special headline:
Acceptance,
its name in lights.
I struggle on,
waving and shouting.
Below, my whole life spreads its surf,
all the landscapes I've ever known
or dreamed of. Below
a fish jumps: the pulse
in your neck.
Acceptance. I finally
reach it.
But something is wrong.
Grief is a circular staircase.
I have lost you.
***
The Five Stages of Grief
by Linda Pastan
The night I lost you
someone pointed me towards
the Five Stages of Grief.
Go that way, they said,
it's easy, like learning to climb
stairs after the amputation.
And so I climbed.
Denial was first.
I sat down at breakfast
carefully setting the table
for two. I passed you the toast—
you sat there. I passed
you the paper—you hid
behind it.
Anger seemed more familiar.
I burned the toast, snatched
the paper and read the headlines myself.
But they mentioned your departure,
and so I moved on to
Bargaining. What could I exchange
for you? The silence
after storms? My typing fingers?
Before I could decide, Depression
came puffing up, a poor relation
its suitcase tied together
with string. In the suitcase
were bandages for the eyes
and bottles of sleep. I slid
all the way down the stairs
feeling nothing.
And all the time Hope
flashed on and off
in defective neon.
Hope was my uncle's middle name,
he died of it. After a year I am still climbing,
though my feet slip
on your stone face.
The treeline
has long since disappeared;
green in a color
I have forgotten.
But now I see what I am climbing
towards: Acceptance,
written in capital letters,
a special headline:
Acceptance,
its name in lights.
I struggle on,
waving and shouting.
Below, my whole life spreads its surf,
all the landscapes I've ever known
or dreamed of. Below
a fish jumps: the pulse
in your neck.
Acceptance. I finally
reach it.
But something is wrong.
Grief is a circular staircase.
I have lost you.
***
and sometimes we drove just to drive
Apr. 13th, 2025 04:35 pmmusesfoolI have not yet been able to gather my thoughts about The Pitt's season finale, but serrico has some great thoughts here and siria has some here.
I also have a bunch of links (spoilers everywhere!):
+ The Pitt’s Noah Wyle & Co. Talk Taking Robby to the Very Edge in Finale and ‘Getting Mentally Healthy’ in Season 2
+ The Pitt’s Shawn Hatosy Loved Abbot at First Sight
+ ‘She Just Needs Therapy and a Hug.’ The Pitt’s Isa Briones doesn’t need you to like Dr. Santos but hopes you can empathize with her.
+ The Pitt Season 2 Premise [spoiler] and Premiere Month Confirmed
+ ‘We Try to Keep the Sensationalism to a Dull Roar’ As The Pitt shuts down season one, the next shift is taking shape for creator R. Scott Gemmill.
+ The Pitt’s Next Shift
I really need to get some icons for this show.
***
And today's poem:
Letter to My Great, Great Grandchild
after Matthew Olzmann
Oh button, don't go thinking we loved pianos
more than elephants, air conditioning more than air.
We loved honey, just loved it, and went into stores
to smell the sweet perfume of unworn leather shoes.
Did you know, on the coast of Africa, the Sea Rose
and Carpenter Bee used to depend on each other?
The petals only opened for the Middle C their wings
beat, so in the end, we protested with tuning forks.
You must think we hated the stars, the empty ladles,
because they conjured thirst. We didn't. We thanked
them and called them lucky, we even bought the rights
to name them for our sweethearts. Believe it or not,
most people kept plants like pets and hired kids
like you to water them, whenever they went away.
And ice! Can you imagine? We put it in our coffee
and dumped it out at traffic lights, when it plugged up
our drinking straws. I had a dog once, a real dog,
who ate venison and golden yams from a plastic dish.
He was stubborn, but I taught him to dance and play
dead with a bucket full of chicken livers. And we danced
too, you know, at weddings and wakes, in basements
and churches, even when the war was on. Our cars
we mostly named for animals, and sometimes we drove
just to drive, to clear our heads of everything but wind.
--JP Grasser
***
serrico has some great thoughts here and siria has some here.I also have a bunch of links (spoilers everywhere!):
+ The Pitt’s Noah Wyle & Co. Talk Taking Robby to the Very Edge in Finale and ‘Getting Mentally Healthy’ in Season 2
+ The Pitt’s Shawn Hatosy Loved Abbot at First Sight
+ ‘She Just Needs Therapy and a Hug.’ The Pitt’s Isa Briones doesn’t need you to like Dr. Santos but hopes you can empathize with her.
+ The Pitt Season 2 Premise [spoiler] and Premiere Month Confirmed
+ ‘We Try to Keep the Sensationalism to a Dull Roar’ As The Pitt shuts down season one, the next shift is taking shape for creator R. Scott Gemmill.
+ The Pitt’s Next Shift
I really need to get some icons for this show.
***
And today's poem:
Letter to My Great, Great Grandchild
after Matthew Olzmann
Oh button, don't go thinking we loved pianos
more than elephants, air conditioning more than air.
We loved honey, just loved it, and went into stores
to smell the sweet perfume of unworn leather shoes.
Did you know, on the coast of Africa, the Sea Rose
and Carpenter Bee used to depend on each other?
The petals only opened for the Middle C their wings
beat, so in the end, we protested with tuning forks.
You must think we hated the stars, the empty ladles,
because they conjured thirst. We didn't. We thanked
them and called them lucky, we even bought the rights
to name them for our sweethearts. Believe it or not,
most people kept plants like pets and hired kids
like you to water them, whenever they went away.
And ice! Can you imagine? We put it in our coffee
and dumped it out at traffic lights, when it plugged up
our drinking straws. I had a dog once, a real dog,
who ate venison and golden yams from a plastic dish.
He was stubborn, but I taught him to dance and play
dead with a bucket full of chicken livers. And we danced
too, you know, at weddings and wakes, in basements
and churches, even when the war was on. Our cars
we mostly named for animals, and sometimes we drove
just to drive, to clear our heads of everything but wind.
--JP Grasser
***
doctors doctors everywhere
Apr. 12th, 2025 08:20 pmhafitalI know The Pitt is the premiere medical show on the scene at the moment, and it is an excellent show. They better not make me wait long for season 2! But as much as I love The Pitt, I am also completely taken by Doctor Odyssey (on Hulu). It's ER meets The Love Boat, while The Pitt is more ER meets 24.
Doctor Odyssey is so fun and exciting. It has a built in OT3! Fun guest stars, exciting action! I was holding my breath all the way through the shark episode haha. But it also isn't as serious as The Pitt is. Also the 3 leads are all so gorgeous. HEART EYES. I like all the weird medical stuff that pops up. Even the relationship drama is not too annoying.
If someone had told me a couple years ago I would become medical drama fan, I would have said never not ever. Goes to show me! Also let's blame George Clooney via Danny Ocean, because I decided to revisit ER after my Ocean's 11 renaissance and he's totally the reason why.
Doctor Odyssey is so fun and exciting. It has a built in OT3! Fun guest stars, exciting action! I was holding my breath all the way through the shark episode haha. But it also isn't as serious as The Pitt is. Also the 3 leads are all so gorgeous. HEART EYES. I like all the weird medical stuff that pops up. Even the relationship drama is not too annoying.
If someone had told me a couple years ago I would become medical drama fan, I would have said never not ever. Goes to show me! Also let's blame George Clooney via Danny Ocean, because I decided to revisit ER after my Ocean's 11 renaissance and he's totally the reason why.
How many shadows are left to name?
Apr. 12th, 2025 05:45 pmmusesfoolToday's poem:
NASA Video Transmission Picked Up By Baby Monitor
Instead of her little one nestled between the purple
elephant from Aunt Meg and the blanket knitted
by Tricia, the new mother glances up to see a space
station—tattooed by a meteorite—
now plummeting toward Hamtramck, Michigan.
Maybe she feels the same terror I felt when I sat
in a theater as a child. A man in a black tuxedo
staggered across the stage, removed his gloves
and tossed them into the audience, gloves as black
as piano keys that shrieked above us, became
two fuming ravens that flapped around the room
and circled the chandeliers. Plato says
we live in a cave and stare at a wall of shadows
cast by the light outside. We name the shapes
and believe them real. Turn around and the sun
blackens the pupil. I've known people, afraid of the sun,
who opened their eyes to God, but found only
a wine cellar lit by a guttering lamp. There's so much
to be afraid of, so much to gaze at and be wrong about.
How many shadows are left to name? Logophobia
is the fear of words. Keraunothnetophobia
is the fear of falling man-made satellites. Imagine
how a woman might walk out and look to heaven
for the sky lab plunging down on her—
wires everywhere, bolts loosening, metal body in flames.
But, she sees only blue, endless blue, the color
of a baby's new blanket, cloaking everything.
--Matthew Olzmann
***
As I may have mentioned, I love pretzel rolls, so I decided to take a stab at this recipe since her peasant bread recipe is so easy, and the rolls are good! (pics) But the timing is so weird. First of all, using cold water instead of warm is odd, and I guess contributes to the EIGHT TO TEN HOUR first prove. On the counter, not in the fridge. I mixed up the dough last night around 10 pm, and set my alarm for 8 am so I would be up in time to set it up for the second rise, which takes FOUR TO FIVE HOURS. (then I went back to bed for a couple of hours.)
I'm not sure why I think the timing is so weird - I guess a 12 hour/overnight proof in the fridge would make sense and also be fine timing-wise - you could do it at 9 pm and get up at 9 am without worrying, because the fridge is going to inhibit the rise enough that it won't overprove. But 8 to 10 hours means starting at 8 am means you don't start the second rise until 4pm and then they have to prove for another 4 hours at least? I guess it's meant for people who get up earlier than me. Idk.
Otherwise it was easy enough, except for getting the dough balls neatly out of the tray and into the water, so I couldn't keep them the nicely round shapes. Since they're just for me, and like the recipe author's kids, I can't be bothered to make sandwiches when I can eat them on their own or with butter, I don't really care, but it would be nice for once if something I made looked as good as it tasted. *hands* I'll probably go back to the King Arthur recipe I've used previously, though - it takes much less rising time.
One thing I will recommend, if you are someone who makes a lot of bread but doesn't always use a mixer, is a dough whisk. I'm not a huge fan of single-use kitchen gadgets, but I find this weird-looking thing really good for mixing up dough and getting it to come together without having to use the mixer or my hands.
***
NASA Video Transmission Picked Up By Baby Monitor
Instead of her little one nestled between the purple
elephant from Aunt Meg and the blanket knitted
by Tricia, the new mother glances up to see a space
station—tattooed by a meteorite—
now plummeting toward Hamtramck, Michigan.
Maybe she feels the same terror I felt when I sat
in a theater as a child. A man in a black tuxedo
staggered across the stage, removed his gloves
and tossed them into the audience, gloves as black
as piano keys that shrieked above us, became
two fuming ravens that flapped around the room
and circled the chandeliers. Plato says
we live in a cave and stare at a wall of shadows
cast by the light outside. We name the shapes
and believe them real. Turn around and the sun
blackens the pupil. I've known people, afraid of the sun,
who opened their eyes to God, but found only
a wine cellar lit by a guttering lamp. There's so much
to be afraid of, so much to gaze at and be wrong about.
How many shadows are left to name? Logophobia
is the fear of words. Keraunothnetophobia
is the fear of falling man-made satellites. Imagine
how a woman might walk out and look to heaven
for the sky lab plunging down on her—
wires everywhere, bolts loosening, metal body in flames.
But, she sees only blue, endless blue, the color
of a baby's new blanket, cloaking everything.
--Matthew Olzmann
***
As I may have mentioned, I love pretzel rolls, so I decided to take a stab at this recipe since her peasant bread recipe is so easy, and the rolls are good! (pics) But the timing is so weird. First of all, using cold water instead of warm is odd, and I guess contributes to the EIGHT TO TEN HOUR first prove. On the counter, not in the fridge. I mixed up the dough last night around 10 pm, and set my alarm for 8 am so I would be up in time to set it up for the second rise, which takes FOUR TO FIVE HOURS. (then I went back to bed for a couple of hours.)
I'm not sure why I think the timing is so weird - I guess a 12 hour/overnight proof in the fridge would make sense and also be fine timing-wise - you could do it at 9 pm and get up at 9 am without worrying, because the fridge is going to inhibit the rise enough that it won't overprove. But 8 to 10 hours means starting at 8 am means you don't start the second rise until 4pm and then they have to prove for another 4 hours at least? I guess it's meant for people who get up earlier than me. Idk.
Otherwise it was easy enough, except for getting the dough balls neatly out of the tray and into the water, so I couldn't keep them the nicely round shapes. Since they're just for me, and like the recipe author's kids, I can't be bothered to make sandwiches when I can eat them on their own or with butter, I don't really care, but it would be nice for once if something I made looked as good as it tasted. *hands* I'll probably go back to the King Arthur recipe I've used previously, though - it takes much less rising time.
One thing I will recommend, if you are someone who makes a lot of bread but doesn't always use a mixer, is a dough whisk. I'm not a huge fan of single-use kitchen gadgets, but I find this weird-looking thing really good for mixing up dough and getting it to come together without having to use the mixer or my hands.
***
no blunt announcements of their gravity
Apr. 11th, 2025 08:18 pmmusesfoolStill processing the season finale of The Pitt (it was SO GOOD) so thoughts to come at some later date.
Here's today's poem:
Goodnight
by Li-Young Lee
You've stopped whispering
and are asleep. I go on listening
to apples drop in the grass
beyond the window. Earlier we tried to guess
each fall's moment, but neither kept up
that little game of hope
or fear for long. Now your weight
against me is like … I was about to say
like no other, unmistakably
human, my son's. But, truth is, you're simply
heft. Burden like, say, grain,
your body brings my body pain,
your shoulders, knees, elbows, hands,
lumpy like sacked fruit, and
whatever concord is
actual between us is
not easily meant,
but is so only by our diligence.
I recall a far
season of flowers
when, for love, I crept to the edge of a roof to reach
a petal-decked branch.
It snapped, I
dropped, screaming down sky
and flowering. My father yelled
my name, ran out to find me sprawled,
dazed, gripping his crushed gift, thrust
at him in my bloody fist.
He plunges below us now, as we
fall soundless toward him, our bodies
crowded on your narrow bed,
my arm and leg gone numb, your torso wedged
between the wall and me.
You sleep uncomfortably,
though comforted by my
presence, for which you cry
some nights, and which you, such nights, endure.
Where did you, so young, learn
such sacrifice? Now
I no longer hear the apples fall. But how
they go! Incessantly, though
with no noise, no
blunt announcements of their gravity.
See!
There is no bottom to the night, no end
to our descent.
We suffer each other to have each other a while.
***
Here's today's poem:
Goodnight
by Li-Young Lee
You've stopped whispering
and are asleep. I go on listening
to apples drop in the grass
beyond the window. Earlier we tried to guess
each fall's moment, but neither kept up
that little game of hope
or fear for long. Now your weight
against me is like … I was about to say
like no other, unmistakably
human, my son's. But, truth is, you're simply
heft. Burden like, say, grain,
your body brings my body pain,
your shoulders, knees, elbows, hands,
lumpy like sacked fruit, and
whatever concord is
actual between us is
not easily meant,
but is so only by our diligence.
I recall a far
season of flowers
when, for love, I crept to the edge of a roof to reach
a petal-decked branch.
It snapped, I
dropped, screaming down sky
and flowering. My father yelled
my name, ran out to find me sprawled,
dazed, gripping his crushed gift, thrust
at him in my bloody fist.
He plunges below us now, as we
fall soundless toward him, our bodies
crowded on your narrow bed,
my arm and leg gone numb, your torso wedged
between the wall and me.
You sleep uncomfortably,
though comforted by my
presence, for which you cry
some nights, and which you, such nights, endure.
Where did you, so young, learn
such sacrifice? Now
I no longer hear the apples fall. But how
they go! Incessantly, though
with no noise, no
blunt announcements of their gravity.
See!
There is no bottom to the night, no end
to our descent.
We suffer each other to have each other a while.
***
or framed in silver haunts every room
Apr. 10th, 2025 05:15 pmmusesfoolI spent all of yesterday thinking it was Thursday and was mighty disappointed when it wasn't, which means I also forgot to do a Wednesday reading post, so here we go:
What I've just finished
A Drop of Corruption by Robert Jackson Bennett, which absolutely lives up to the first book and which I enjoyed tremendously, though I wish I had not been eating when I read parts of it, because the body horror is real and it is regular. I can't wait to see where Din and Ana go next!
Finlay Donovan Is Killing It, which is a breezy story about a writer who gets mistaken for a contract killer and ends up involved in some shenanigans of the criminal sort. It's a fun, fast read you shouldn't think about too hard.
What I'm reading now
Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead, which is the first sequel to the above, and so far it is more of the same, though ( spoiler ) I definitely want to know more about Vero and her cousin Ramon, so I hope that comes up in this one.
What I'm reading next
Again, I have spent so long in a book-reading drought these last 5 years that I'm just happy to be here again, so I cannot say.
And now, today's poem:
The afterlife of fame
By David Trinidad
is dark
a neglected mansion
with vanishing court
rats in the empty pool
and antiquated actress
languishing
as ghost of her famous self
flickers in the projector's beam
or framed in silver
haunts every room
Face unrecognizable?
Name forgotten?
O float me to Oblivion
in my swan bed
with my bandaged wrists
and doors shorn of locks
with swirl of my cigarette smoke
and glitter of my jewels
and silent flutter
of my weightless tulle
***
In other news, I baked some bread (I started it at the end of my lunch hour at around 3 pm) and I am waiting for it to be cool enough to eat - it smells so good I want it now!
***
What I've just finished
A Drop of Corruption by Robert Jackson Bennett, which absolutely lives up to the first book and which I enjoyed tremendously, though I wish I had not been eating when I read parts of it, because the body horror is real and it is regular. I can't wait to see where Din and Ana go next!
Finlay Donovan Is Killing It, which is a breezy story about a writer who gets mistaken for a contract killer and ends up involved in some shenanigans of the criminal sort. It's a fun, fast read you shouldn't think about too hard.
What I'm reading now
Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead, which is the first sequel to the above, and so far it is more of the same, though ( spoiler ) I definitely want to know more about Vero and her cousin Ramon, so I hope that comes up in this one.
What I'm reading next
Again, I have spent so long in a book-reading drought these last 5 years that I'm just happy to be here again, so I cannot say.
And now, today's poem:
The afterlife of fame
By David Trinidad
is dark
a neglected mansion
with vanishing court
rats in the empty pool
and antiquated actress
languishing
as ghost of her famous self
flickers in the projector's beam
or framed in silver
haunts every room
Face unrecognizable?
Name forgotten?
O float me to Oblivion
in my swan bed
with my bandaged wrists
and doors shorn of locks
with swirl of my cigarette smoke
and glitter of my jewels
and silent flutter
of my weightless tulle
***
In other news, I baked some bread (I started it at the end of my lunch hour at around 3 pm) and I am waiting for it to be cool enough to eat - it smells so good I want it now!
***