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Mirror, mirror, and she froze like stone
And today I woke up with a lightly scratchy throat that I figured was normal variation in humidity or not drinking enough, except by midafternoon it had turned into the feeling of someone using a cheesewire on my tonsils; so much for any evening plans, although I suppose it's just as well that I had to bow out of spending this weekend with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
schreibergasse. I made brownies to cheer myself up. Somehow they ended up this complex thing with condensed milk substituted for half the butter and sugar, tart cherries and a glaze of cherry jam, and whipped cream because it seemed like a good idea. I'm waiting to find out what kind of torte I just reverse-engineered—I have this sneaking feeling I should just have dumped it full of kirsch and claimed it was intentional.
Tomorrow, unless some kind of technological stupidity interferes, I am getting up at a completely normal (read, bizarrely early) hour to watch the Glyndebourne Festival's Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg streaming at the Guardian. It struck me rather after the fact that I should maybe have gotten hold of a libretto, but that's what the internet is for, when you're not using it to watch opera in another time zone.
I need to get hold of the revival cast recording of Assassins. I heard "The Ballad of Guiteau" on Standing Room Only this afternoon; I very much doubt that I will prefer their Booth or Czolgosz to Victor Garber and Terrence Mann, but Neil Patrick Harris and Denis O'Hare make a formidable Balladeer and Guiteau. I am fond of both actors, even if I'm not actually going to start watching How I Met Your Mother or True Blood.
This is the sort of photograph I wanted to post yesterday:
schreibergasse. I made brownies to cheer myself up. Somehow they ended up this complex thing with condensed milk substituted for half the butter and sugar, tart cherries and a glaze of cherry jam, and whipped cream because it seemed like a good idea. I'm waiting to find out what kind of torte I just reverse-engineered—I have this sneaking feeling I should just have dumped it full of kirsch and claimed it was intentional.Tomorrow, unless some kind of technological stupidity interferes, I am getting up at a completely normal (read, bizarrely early) hour to watch the Glyndebourne Festival's Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg streaming at the Guardian. It struck me rather after the fact that I should maybe have gotten hold of a libretto, but that's what the internet is for, when you're not using it to watch opera in another time zone.
I need to get hold of the revival cast recording of Assassins. I heard "The Ballad of Guiteau" on Standing Room Only this afternoon; I very much doubt that I will prefer their Booth or Czolgosz to Victor Garber and Terrence Mann, but Neil Patrick Harris and Denis O'Hare make a formidable Balladeer and Guiteau. I am fond of both actors, even if I'm not actually going to start watching How I Met Your Mother or True Blood.
This is the sort of photograph I wanted to post yesterday:
no subject
Ergh. I'm sorry: the cold that came to dinner is never a welcome guest. I've been mainlining tea and honey (and Wagner) all morning, so I am hoping that by the time I wake up tomorrow, I'll mostly feel like I can yell enthusiastically at people again, but it is kind of iffy at the moment. All hail the internet and typing.