I’ve been trying for days to find something profound, meaningful or beautiful to say & return with a giant splash. Those kinds of expectations never work in practice, so I’ll just say this: am trying to get back with the program — watch this space.

In the meantime, a flower for you:

[Plein soleil]

If you do want beautiful and profound, I’ve recently found out my dear college friend Romy keeps an amazing blog and can fix you up nicely.



Total apathy.

The last two weeks I’ve spent emotionally immobile, mired in the past, having risen up with fire with my last entry and falling, crashing back to earth almost immediatley. Now I’m stuck, afraid of moving, because the only way I can think of doing it is to throw myself off the edge of some place very high. Progress is just not on my radar.

Spent many hours ostensibly cleaning out my files, but really that meant reading through hundreds and hundreds of old emails sent over the last fifteen years. I’ve — changed, over and over; I don’t want to say grown, because it’s not like that, really. More like resets.

And frightening that relationships seem so fragile: people have passed in and out of my life like water, shining for brief, wonderful moments before fading, never to be seen again. More often than not, seeing their names pop up in my correspondences tore me up with regret. And what’s worse is I can feel it happening now, again, all around me. I’ve always let things silently slide by.

…but maybe some good will come out of this. I’m terrible at being a friend, but I can do better. I know it.

In the meantime, sideways I can still do, and I have to eat. So I’ll take some pleasure in experimenting in the kitchen tonight: spaghetti with capers and sardine filets, if I can wrangle it.


Kitchen therapy

[Pasta Experiment, a.k.a. Kitchen Therapy]

As promised:

1 tin of sardines, packed in water, crumbled
2 oz capers
4 cloves minced garlic
chopped parsley
white truffle olive oil
salt & pepper to taste
3 servings of pasta (I used spaghetti)

Quick, and tasty, despite my ham-handed kitchen technique. I think I’d have preferred a wetter sauce, both to suspend the capers (which tended to fall to the bottom of the dish & are essential to the flavor, I think) and to help with the texture, which was a bit dry. So next time, a little more oil (though probably not all truffle), and maybe some grated parmesan or romano. Also, tinned sardines crumble really easily — originally I sauteed the garlic, sardines, parsley and capers at the beginning but I think I’d reserve half the sardines in larger pieces to garnish the pasta once served, to get a more solid fish texture into the dish.

So it wasn’t perfect, but! Everyone posts perfect recipes — I thought I’d post a work in progress. After all, it was yummy, and therapeutic! the best kind of dinner. :)

(also, thanks for all your kind comments, as always — love to you all.)


This cadaver

It’s been difficult, settling into this skin again. Strange how unfamiliar this electric body of numbers and lights and words has become in just a few weeks. So easy to let go, and tempting, and finding me again gets harder and harder each time.

I’m starting to sound like a broken record, aren’t I?

I don’t want you to think my existence is all uncertainty or depression. There’s a me somewhere enjoying the weather, reconnecting with old friends, reading the occasional potboiler (currently The Da Vinci Code, about forty years behind the rest of the world), or enjoying a newly-acquired piano (v. badly)… in other words, life goes on. But there’s something missing, and I think I left it here.

We are all pieces, moving in different planes. But, with care, we can meet ourselves and become whole again — for awhile. That’s what I’m looking for.

So thanks for all who e-mailed me asking if I was all right. I really am (as much as I ever am, at least). Just a swift, healthy kick to the head, ‘sall I need. Or that long-lost treasure map.

In the meantime, we’re on Movable Type 3.2 now, so there might be some little earthquakes over the next few days. Please excuse the dust.


The Da Vinci Code

Finished The Da Vinci Code a few minutes ago, and not a minute too soon. Reading it was like listening to a know-it-all explaining the story of a Jerry Bruckheimer film without a time limit. Consider:

“… Langdon noted with uneasiness that these particular cloisters lived up to their Latin ties to the word claustrophobic.”

Do you know anyone who talks like this all the time? Do you like to spend time with this person? There are whole pages of discussions of things like the golden ratio and fibonacci sequences that come off as masturbatory. Plot twists and puzzle solutions are condescendingly telegraphed with marquee lights pages ahead of time as if reaffirming the idea that Langdon (and by extension, Dan Brown) is just that much smarter than the reader.

Still, I’ve no-one to blame but myself. Despite the silly plot and tone I still stayed up late and finished the whole thing, if only to witness unbelievable moments such as three supposed Da Vinci scholars staring at a “code” of clearly-reversed cursive lettering and not recognizing what was going on. That’s not all of it, however — I guess I’m a bit of a sheep after all.

Summary? Let’s just say that it was about as entertaining as National Treasure with three times the time investment.

It’s possible that I’m just feeling annoyed at a book that has yet to be released in paperback after two years in print. I doubt it, though. Thank goodness for the library — where I also picked up some Mishima as a palate cleanser.

In other news, I’ve had that poppy cover of “Pure Imagination” (Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) from the Mastercard commercial stuck in my head all evening, which kicked off a brief google search to find out how I might get ahold of it in a more on-demand format. Phooey on Wikipedia for making it so easy to find bad news.


dear diary #11

dear diary,
are you wondering where we are? we’re running away from home. i’m afraid of the wind monsters coming under the blankets and mommy doesn’t believe me when i tell her & i didn’t wanna spend the night in the basement again with the man with no mouth who talks from the hole in his chest, so when mr. dipple wasn’t looking i took you and a jar of peaches and miss sniffles and we’re all gonna move to filla-delfy-ah like i saw on tv. oh and a pencil too, or i wouldn’t be able to write!!
its getting dark but its not too cold and i like it better at night anyways. earlier i thought i saw the wood men following me with their water buckets but when i turned around there was nothing. tomorrow we’ll walk fast so we can get far away and hopefully they won’t see.
maybe we’ll find hannah again. wouldn’t that be the greatest?
goodnite and xoxo,

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