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The man who plots the stumbling blocks in the lives of the likes of me
A new record this year: of slightly more than a hundred hamantashn made this evening by my mother and myself, only three unfolded and bubbled out while baking. We ate the evidence anyway. And also some non-evidence. In addition to the traditional flavors of apricot, poppy seed, and prune, this year we tried a raspberry filling, which produces an effect not unpleasantly like a jam donut.
Having just heard Momus' "I Was a Maoist Intellectual" for the first time, I thought maybe I was over-reading the line about the hotel doorman as a shout-out to Murnau's Der letzte Mann (1924), but then I saw that his second most recent album is heavily inspired by Pasolini, so I stopped worrying.
My headache levels were within endurable limits today, which is why I suppose I found out that my credit card information has been hacked.
Having just heard Momus' "I Was a Maoist Intellectual" for the first time, I thought maybe I was over-reading the line about the hotel doorman as a shout-out to Murnau's Der letzte Mann (1924), but then I saw that his second most recent album is heavily inspired by Pasolini, so I stopped worrying.
My headache levels were within endurable limits today, which is why I suppose I found out that my credit card information has been hacked.