My computer appears to currently have epilepsy, so if a post breaks off nonsensically in media res, do forgive. I really hope this problem is healed, by which I mean, I wish the finger of God would reach down and fix it willy-nilly because I still can't figure out why and how this thing is seizing up and it's a very unsure way to live.
I'd like to now officially exchange Natasha Bedingfield for Daniel. PLIZ THANK YOU.
I would also like to describe the challah french toast I had the other night. I'm not a huge nursery foods fan--I don't often eat pancakes, rarely eat rice pudding, blancmanges, custards, whatever. But this French toast...it was very thick and soft and (I like this) not all the custard got all the way through the bread so chewing through it was through a forest of all these different kinds of Softs, not to mention all the variations caused from syrup and butter above. It was like swimming in a sea...the challah and the elements that make challah (egg, milk) all floating around it, steamily and warmly, with just the nicest enticing bits of crispness outside for contrast. It was unbelievable. I tore through two triangles in a happy daze with my knife and fork before leaning back, suddenly sated. Right on. Mother's milk. Think...MFKF's description of the gooseberry tart at the Strand, for a better description.
Carol Marin was vewy nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnice to John Updike on Chicago Tonight the other night. Verry verry. But he sure is amazing--I hope I'm 1/2 that compos mentis and adventurous intellectually when I'm his age (another reason to worship DLSayers). Funny, he's one of those writers I basically love but rarely reread. It's almost uncomfortable, how sometimes virtuosic his writing is, and it gets in the way of just giving over to fiction. I keep getting too amazed. Ain't saying I love everything about the man, but a lot, even down to his "light" verse that I still enjoy. Plus: he's gone all Dorian Gray in recent years. He certainly went from S&P to all gray some years ago, but since then: very little phsyical change. I think the big honkin WASP schnoz helps anchor it all.
I think my VCR died to spare me the disappointment of riding out the end of the Gilmore Girls season. It was a kind of counter-irritant/distraction--the VCR threw itself on the pyre, as it were. And what next season is going to be like, I don't even know.
I hate, I really hate, when I forget things I want to write about. My head and my life is full of little cryptic lists that are supposed to mnemonically remind me of whole gallons of ideas, but sometimes I can't figure out what I meant later, or sometimes the idea doesn't even make the list, usually because I think brashly that I'll remember it without writing it down. I mourn for this shit. I know how my brain works and it just doesn't always come back around.
I'm starting to like that Ron White comedian guy. Ain't my politics or anything, but I like that nice surreal BillHicks-y edge he has to things when he gets going. Kinda cool.
I would like to hear a bagpipe version of Phil Collin's "Separate Lives."
Unsurprising: My haul from the V&A museum to scratch this crazy spring blue and green William Morris itch I have going on was the most successful at the cheap end, which means I could sit and look at my coasters forever, but the absurdly expensive scarf just ain't working. Seems cheap. A huge pretty ripoff. Still on the hunt for more Liberty hankies...