sovay: (Sovay: David Owen)
I have finally won a meme. According to this Shakespeare performance generator, I am Drunk Twelfth Night: The Musical. I suspect most of my friendlist would watch that. I certainly would.


It has actually not been the best of weeks, but [livejournal.com profile] rushthatspeaks and I had dinner at Mamaleh's (we had planned on barbecue at the Smoke Shop, but they had a half-hour wait and too many sports TVs) and I got the salmon collar special with black sesame tahini and a lemon-cardamom soda and I keep forgetting to tell the internet about BROJOB, but they are hilariously queer deathcore with a really adorable social media presence and if they are not already collaborating with Chuck Tingle, by God I hope someone has at least introduced them. They give writing advice like "YOU JUST HAVE TO SPEAK FROM THE HEART. THE HEART OF YOUR BALLS." Maybe he can do cover art for their albums.

Speaking of awesome queer music, I can recommend Against Me!'s Shape Shift with Me (2016) almost as strongly as their previous studio album, 2014's knockout Transgender Dysphoria Blues. I've been listening to it most of the afternoon and evening. Where its predecessor was heavily autobiographical about the process of coming out and transitioning, Shape Shift with Me concentrates on what happens afterward, on relationships in all stages from infatuation, hope, and invitation through passionate frustration and full-bore scorched-earth DGAF. I also now own a T-shirt with the album title on it, since as a philosophy it's the kind of thing I approve of. I am going to watch some kind of movie off the internet because I have been having a terrible time doing anything for myself. Tomorrow I make hamantashn.
sovay: (Rotwang)
Tonight in Judaica: I made nearly a hundred hamantashn in four different flavors. (It may have been a hundred before a couple of the more catastrophic outliers got eaten.) The latter part was intentional; the former was a side effect of tripling the usual recipe to make sure that I would have enough to distribute to the various branches of my family and to bring to a social event tomorrow. I definitely do now. It turns out that when you scale up this recipe, you have to add an extra egg to the dough, otherwise it has no cohesion and cracks instead of folding. I always forget how much I like poppy seed paste and how stupid it is that I never do anything with it the rest of the year.

I have received an unexpected unbirthday present from my parents: Werner and Elisabeth Heisenberg's My Dear Li: Correspondence 1937–1946 (2016), edited by Anna Maria Hirsch-Heisenberg and translated by Irene Heisenberg, daughter and daughter-in-law respectively of the physicist and his wife. I've never written about Heisenberg except in context of Michael Frayn's Copenhagen, but he's interested me for long enough that this may change. I was coveting the book at the end of last year, partly because of Werner and partly because Elisabeth as a person is utterly unknown to me. I am holding it in reserve until I have completed several work items, none of which got done earlier today because I was baking ~hundred hamantashn and had to visit three grocery stores in order to find both prune and poppy seed fillings. Several of the blackberry ones exploded, but I have no regrets. (The fourth flavor was apricot, like usual.)

How you can tell your daily life now includes much more discussion of dystopia than it had heretofore: while looking up a biographical detail about Flannery O'Connor for your mother, you run across the following photograph and, ignoring Robie Macauley completely, think, "I didn't know she knew the author of Darkness at Noon."

Have an article about H. P. Lovecraft and Robert Barlow. It succeeded in making me want to read the author's novel.
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