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Current Mood: sleepy
Current Music: Mets vs Phillies on tv

Entry tags:

in some solitary midnight Starbucks Golgotha

Today'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

*

Current Mood: thoughtful
Current Music: Good Times, Bad Times = Led Zeppelin

Entry tags:

this picnic is no picnic

Monday 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.

***

An era passes

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The Wheel of Time - 2.8 What Was Meant To Be

Mostly satisfying, if at times confusing, season’s finale, ( Read more... )

Entry tags:

Happy Saturday

Hey folks!

Still alive, still employed! Booyah.

Not loving the job right now: it's never boring, but I had never intended to be a manager of people, and it's really quite stressful. Plus, you know, ::waves vaguely:: the omnishambles of everything is not helping.

But I did take the Tornado out for a 7-mile hike this morning, and she behaved quite well, and we just did some agility practice, and she got six weave poles in a row! Five times! So great. (If you have never seen dog agility, it looks like this, although that's one of the top dogs in the UK, and the Tornado is just beginning her agility journey.)

I call her the Tornado because she is Very. High. Energy. (And tends to knock things over.) I fear she will be one of the dogs barking all the way through the agility course.

Anyway, I'm planning some vacation time this summer, although it feels a little weird to be planning an international trip at this time. I plan to do some judicious app-deletion before coming back through Customs, because that's the world we live in right now.

Currently very excited about both Andor and Murderbot! I've already gotten a tiny bit spoiled for Andor, so I think I will have to lock down my browsing for the next few days. I understand the next Star Wars animated show (after Underworld) is also going to be about Darth Maul, and I'm kind of dubious, but maybe they can do something interesting with it. Myself, I would rather have learned more about Omega's adventures in the Rebellion.

I'm halfway through this month's book for book club, but it's heavy going: Therese Raquin, by Zola. I have liked Zola: he's very grounded, very vivid. Not at all romantic. But these characters are really very unlikeable. I may end up skimming a lot to finish by Tuesday.

***

I feel like I'm running out of plotty time-travel fixit fics in which determined heroes (and heroines) go back in time and prevent the errors of their forebearers. I suspect I have not found the right tags on AO3...

In other news, I am listening to Mind the Tags, a charming podcast about fandom, specifically fic-writing fandom. And although the hosts are quite nice, they're so young, and I found myself talking back to them as they fumbled their way through a discussion of the early days of alt.tv.x-files.creative. They tried to talk about show-specific archives and auto-archiving and never even mentioned Ephemeral and Gossamer! There are plenty of us fandom Olds still around!

(Although, how cool is it that Gossamer is still up? WTF.)

Still, it's a very friendly and upbeat podcast full of enthusiasm for fandom and fannish institutions, so I encourage y'all to give it a try if that's the sort of thing you enjoy. I found them because one of the hosts got interviewed by Anne Helen Peterson on her Culture Study podcast, which is also great.

In other other news, I lined up a group of local pals to go see our local minor league baseball team next month! So that will be fun! I like minor-league baseball because it's cheap and low-stakes and you can sit outside and drink beer and eat corn dogs and it doesn't really matter except you're there with a crowd and it's just fun. And all the seats are good.

Current Mood: hungry
Current Music: Mets vs Cards on tv

Entry tags:

the indivisible wave of your body

I 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. ???)

***

Current Mood: satisfied
Current Music: Mets vs Cards on tv

Entry tags:

the shape of wind against a sheet

I 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

***

Current Mood: okay
Current Music: Homewrecked - Empires

Entry tags:

the patience that has lived so long in this body

Today'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.

*

(no subject)

- Tuesday involved me getting up earlier than usual because I had to go to the office for an in-person working session on the thing I presented last week. We got a lot done and have a plan, yay. I also learned a non-work thing: I am WAY more sensitive to garlic than I thought, especially if it's uncooked. I felt inflammation coming on as I was heading back home in the evening, and woke up on Wednesday feeling AWFUL. When do I get the good side effects of being a vampire? When?

- I am, as usual, doing a lot of window shopping. This pink hat with black bats and moons calls to me, of course, but then I decided I could DIY something even more suited to me. Thanks to AliExpress, I have a pink hat with an even wider brim and a bunch of black lace bat appliques. This coming weekend will involve painting the hat with a darker pink alcohol dye, then attaching the appliques. And maybe wide ribbons (attached to the inside of the crown) so I can tie it on if I want.

- I'm also coveting this sterling silver choker with a giant quartz centerpiece, but it's out of my price range. But it's so pretty!

- I'm thinking of taking a day off from work and persuading the Stroppy One we should go to the zoo. The things that are giving me pause are 1) the Stroppy One is about to start deadline work, and 2) the local zoo is very hilly, and will be challenging for me. (There's a part of me that thinks making the trek to Seattle to go to Woodland Park may be a better idea, especially since I could go visit my beloved red pandas. Our local zoo doesn't have red pandas.)

- All in all, things are meh around here, but I'm trying to find things that make me happy. I hope you peeps are also finding things that bring you joy.

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Help me find a book?

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Current Mood: thoughtful

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After this love there will be more love

I 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 -

***

Current Mood: busy
Current Music: Mets vs Twins on tv

Entry tags:

their flux and gush, their roar

I'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?

***

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The point at which I get an icon for the show

Killjoys 1.4 Vessel

( Read more... )

A list of random things

- The work presentation that I was working on last week that caused me so much anxiety and stress ended up going really well, and my team has approval to move forward with a dream project. Tomorrow is a big in-office working session about the project with some other stakeholders and my writer who will be driving this, which means I need to trek into Seattle. I'm not thrilled about that part, but there are some people I'm especially looking forward to catching up with.

- Because of all of this last week, I ended up having a two and a half day seesawing panic attack, which I'm still recovering from. I couldn't do my usual way of recovering from such a thing, sleeping for an extended period, because I had social obligations. WHICH WERE AWESOME, but I'm still feeling the aftereffects of last week. In other words, I want to go be a sloth on the couch and then sleep in.

- I saw my big brother this weekend and got a tarot reading. Nothing like having the powers that be drop anvils on my head that I need to stop listening to the Brain Raccoons. Thanks. Yes, I constantly need the reminder, but DAMN.

Current Mood: sleepy
Current Music: Mets vs Twins on tv

Entry tags:

in the suitcase were bandages for the eyes and bottles of sleep

Today'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.

***

Entry tags:

The Wheel of Time - 2.7 Daes Dae'Mar

A goodie, even if a few things happened very conveniently just before the final episode of the season. ( Read more... )

Current Mood: pleased
Current Music: Mets vs A's on tv

Entry tags:

and sometimes we drove just to drive

I 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

***

Current Mood: artistic
Current Music: people are strange - the doors

Happy Weekend!

Hello everyone, hope your weekend is going well!

Because Val Kilmer recently passed, I decided to watch Tombstone in full for the first time (I'd seen snippets on TV here and there forever). And I really love this movie because it's kinda helping light a creative fire I've been working on stoking all month.

First off, the women in it are negligible in their contribution despite being very interesting! Your sharpshooter hubbies all decide to move to a boomtown in the middle of the desert, and you and your sisters-in-law have to rely on each other for companionship? That's a whole book series right there you can make of it! And it makes me wanna write something about women in 1800s AZ out of SPITE. Good though this movie is, it's very 90s testosterone-fueled manly man movie stuff--but I found out that it wasn't intended to be THAT bad.

In a podcast interview uploaded on YouTube, one of the cast members said the writer/director had 4 weeks of footage that they shot before he was replaced with a different director... and none of the footage was used. Whole scenes about the development of the Earp women and Josephine Marcus were cut. I feel cheated. The girls show up in nice 1870s/1880s frocks and I was SO ready for them to bemoan trying to keep up with the standard of living they were used to in friggin' Arizona, which was basically different from any other part of the US even at that time. But no. Nothin'.

Second, the costumes were all PHENOMENAL. Apparently the whole cast was practically dying because a point was made of using the same kind of wool fabrics for the clothes. I also saw that a point was made for plenty of color because they DID dress up pretty in bright colors in the time, and I love it. Apparently they even used saddles from that era, or at least made in perfect replica. Everything felt very authentic and immersive in ways I just... don't feel in many period dramas anymore.

Third, oho. OHOHOHOHOHO. I have heard praises sung for Val's Doc Holliday my whole life but nobody. NOBODY. Told me he was the definition of disaster bisexual who literally will ride or die for his homies. "I'm your huckleberry"--I'M SURE YOU ARE, HON, YOU'RE A FRUIT ALRIGHT. Literally every single goddamn quip this man makes is him being a brat at dangerous men. It's so delightful.

I shouldn't have been laughing at how much focus was put on Wyatt Earp's budding affair with brunette Miss Marcus, when there was his homoerotic tension with another brunet filling up most of the movie, but. I was. (Now I'm convinced that whoever wrote Brokeback Mountain drew inspiration from both My Own Private Idaho as well as Tombstone.) I was talking with a film buff friend of mine about Doc Holliday online, and she said oh yeah, I legit can't tell if being violently closeted was Val's stylistic choice or just Val being Val because he's like that in Top Gun, too.

Fourth, I have. So much nostalgia for the craft and care people used to put into movies. There's still movies being made like this (Nosferatu 2024, for example), but watching how every cast member either was a HUGE book nerd or had a background in theater to really make their approach to acting so sophisticated, yet whimsical. And they talked so eloquently about how they wanted to be true to the character they were representing, but also show them in as deep and human a light as possible, show more sides to them than they usually got portrayed in film. How passionate every one of them was about art and what it makes you feel, artist and viewer alike. It just makes me sad about how art is being seen as a gimmick to get quick cash now, with no substance to it. (Here's a 28 minute behind-the-scenes video with most of interviews I'm referring to; poster has made it non-embeddable.

Anyway, since now I'm adding Val Kilmer as well as Bela Lugosi to my list of actors whose work I'm going to slowly traipse through this year. I'm off to watch The Doors and learn more about Jim Morrison.

Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Mets vs A's on tv

Entry tags:

How many shadows are left to name?

Today'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.

***

Entry tags:

Recs 4/?

Fanfiction recs in the following fandoms: Community, Firefly, Into the Woods, Jane Eyre and Little Women.

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