Tonight I spent fifty minutes on a disabled train. At one point it started moving, then stopped again because of signal problems. ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch was waiting to meet me at the Diesel. I sent him home to start the potatoes baking and the garlic roasting or dinner would have been hours late; once off the train, it took me nearly another hour to get actually home. Charlie Baker continues in his plan to starve the T until he can privatize it. The next Somerville caucus is in March and I am going back to see if I can run as a ward delegate again, because I want a governor who will actually put money into public transit instead of disingenuous apologies. Forward the ethical artichoke. This is some week.
1. I wish Marcin Wrona hadn't killed himself in 2015. It struck me late last night that between Poland's legally sanctioned denial of history and Jewish cemeteries excavated for car parks, his Demon (2015) is more pertinent now than ever: "We must forget what we didn't see here." On that note, I got some good literary recommendations as well as history out of David G. Roskies' "Poland's Judas Holocaust."
2. I don't live in Massachusetts' third congressional district, but anyone who does should be paying attention to Alexandra Chandler. She's running as a Democrat, she's a former senior naval intelligence analyst, and she's openly trans. She comes recommended by friends of mine. She has good positions. At the moment I'm especially in favor of the ones on infrastructure, gun control, healthcare, and, well, most of them.
3. I am having some trouble believing that Georgiana Houghton and her nineteenth-century paintings of ghosts, which look appropriately like nothing on earth or any other artistic tradition of the time, did not retroactively come into being because of something Gemma Files wrote.
4. I did not comment on the death of John Mahoney when it went by in the news, but I am sorry: I never saw him in Frasier (1993–2004), but I remembered him from Moonstruck (1987)—a middle-aged professor with a habit of ending his dates with a drink thrown in his face, dazzled and rebuked by Olympia Dukakis—for years.
5. I am made curiously happy by this picture of one of Heathcote Williams' mixtapes.
P.S. I should stress that I came home to a house that smelled like baking potatoes and garlic, which was a huge improvement on the usual neighbors' ditch-weed funk; we turned them into overstuffed potatoes with grated cheddar and roasted garlic (for Rob) and potato skins with grated cheddar and roasted garlic (for me) and we made short-order burgers to accompany them and cinnamon rice krispie treats for dessert. Autolycus did his best to get into every single bowl and plate and pan and tired himself out enough in the unsuccessful process that as soon as dinner was over, he crawled into my lap and fell asleep, where he remains to this minute. I am enjoying not being on a very crowded, going-nowhere train.
spatch was waiting to meet me at the Diesel. I sent him home to start the potatoes baking and the garlic roasting or dinner would have been hours late; once off the train, it took me nearly another hour to get actually home. Charlie Baker continues in his plan to starve the T until he can privatize it. The next Somerville caucus is in March and I am going back to see if I can run as a ward delegate again, because I want a governor who will actually put money into public transit instead of disingenuous apologies. Forward the ethical artichoke. This is some week.1. I wish Marcin Wrona hadn't killed himself in 2015. It struck me late last night that between Poland's legally sanctioned denial of history and Jewish cemeteries excavated for car parks, his Demon (2015) is more pertinent now than ever: "We must forget what we didn't see here." On that note, I got some good literary recommendations as well as history out of David G. Roskies' "Poland's Judas Holocaust."
2. I don't live in Massachusetts' third congressional district, but anyone who does should be paying attention to Alexandra Chandler. She's running as a Democrat, she's a former senior naval intelligence analyst, and she's openly trans. She comes recommended by friends of mine. She has good positions. At the moment I'm especially in favor of the ones on infrastructure, gun control, healthcare, and, well, most of them.
3. I am having some trouble believing that Georgiana Houghton and her nineteenth-century paintings of ghosts, which look appropriately like nothing on earth or any other artistic tradition of the time, did not retroactively come into being because of something Gemma Files wrote.
4. I did not comment on the death of John Mahoney when it went by in the news, but I am sorry: I never saw him in Frasier (1993–2004), but I remembered him from Moonstruck (1987)—a middle-aged professor with a habit of ending his dates with a drink thrown in his face, dazzled and rebuked by Olympia Dukakis—for years.
5. I am made curiously happy by this picture of one of Heathcote Williams' mixtapes.
P.S. I should stress that I came home to a house that smelled like baking potatoes and garlic, which was a huge improvement on the usual neighbors' ditch-weed funk; we turned them into overstuffed potatoes with grated cheddar and roasted garlic (for Rob) and potato skins with grated cheddar and roasted garlic (for me) and we made short-order burgers to accompany them and cinnamon rice krispie treats for dessert. Autolycus did his best to get into every single bowl and plate and pan and tired himself out enough in the unsuccessful process that as soon as dinner was over, he crawled into my lap and fell asleep, where he remains to this minute. I am enjoying not being on a very crowded, going-nowhere train.
