We are our most perfect selves when we're being distracted

By the time I got back from my orthodontist's appointment this evening, I was starving and derspatchel had a headache. So we made quiche for dinner. It took a frozen pie shell, a quarter-pound of chopped ham, three eggs, a cup of milk, somewhere between two and three cups of grated cheddar and Monterey Jack cheese, and nutmeg and black pepper to taste. Baking times were an experiment, but it took about thirty-five minutes at 375°F after first pre-baking the pie shell for twelve minutes at 400°F. It was very fast and very tasty. Cream would have been nice, but milk was what we had in the refrigerator. I am already cataloguing fillings I would like to try the next time.

Tomorrow we have plans to see the Porpentine Players' Copenhagen at the Nave Gallery. This thing where good theater exists within walking distance of our house is really nice. Speaking of which, Theatre@First is putting up Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap in late February and early March and—along with some other very fine actors—Rob is in it. He is playing a man with a very interesting accent. I am waiting to see if any of his horrible ties will get to make an appearance.

None of the songs I have stuck in my head are cheerful. They aren't depressing me. They aren't stuck in my head because I'm upset. They're just really catchy and their subjects range from loss and loneliness to fucked-up relationships. Have a really tiny mix of chipper downer earworms.

Against Me!, "Dead Friend"

Now she waits for you to haunt her
She sleeps with your ghost at night in bed

The Daily Pravda, "She's So Mature"

She'll never let you down
You really want it bad now
On the floor of an old house with cameras on the walls

Mad Planets, "Yr Version of Cool"

I'm tired of wanting what I don't have
Fuck you for flaunting your version of cool
You want the birthday girl wrapped in your hand
But it will happen in its own strange way

The Mountain Goats, "Harlem Roulette"

Just a pair of tunes to hammer out
Everybody's off the clock by ten
The loneliest people in the whole wide world
Are the ones you're never going to see again

The Secret History, "Eleanor (The City & Sea)"

This city never liked me
I blow about like trash
Between the pillars of salt
And the piles of ash

Oh, and if I owe you e-mail, it's because my mail program collapsed earlier this evening and is still in the process of being rebuilt. I had a really helpful orthodontist's appointment, though.