Doing It Wrong: an ongoing series
Oct. 5th, 2012 09:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceSo I had curious dreams last night, and woke from them utterly earwormed, which is not unusual because my dreams tend to have soundtracks and sometimes those are composed (hah!) of popular song.
So this morning, my inner geek is outraged with me because I keep hearing Paul Simon sing The moon rose unexpectedly and my geek goes "No, it didn't! Nothing in the moon's motions is the least bit unexpected, we know its orbit and its period exactly!" while my inner pedant is shrieking "He never sang that! It's a lie!" - for lo, I have in fact been mis-earwormed. The line is my soul rose unexpectedly, and the moon comes later on. Apparently my head occupies an alternate world, though, because I still hear it as cited. And my geek still wants to argue, every time. "You personally may not have expected it, but that doesn't mean it was not expected!" quoth'a. At length.
Sometimes it's just so wearisome, having a life of the mind.
In other news, I may accidentally have invented rillettes. The bits of flesh and fat abiding, after I had rendered out my lard from the pork back fat? I drained them and put them in a bowl in the fridge, expecting to scoop out a spoonful now and then to be fried up crisp. But they have of course coagulated into a single mass, and I tell you what, spread cold on bread, with a sprinkle of crunchy salt? Om nom. I'd serve this, if I were only sure that my guests wouldn't be shrinking inwardly from the fat content. These days, I'm not sure that you ever actually can be.
In other other news, I seem to have recovered physically from yesterday's crise de whatever it was. In the morning I thought it was just nerves & reluctance, because I had to go and talk to a class of teenagers about the book trade and the changes therein, and that's enough to upset anybody's internal economy. But we had a ninety-minute conversation and actually I was quite sorry it was over, because I was enjoying myself: smart, interested, interesting kids. (Note to Tori: do not ride your bike off a[nother] cliff. Seriously.) And then I came home and spent the afternoon mostly lying on the sofa and moaning faintly, so it wasn't just anticipation. I'm still inclined to put it down to mostly stress, mind, and not wanting to deal. I don't think I believe in actual illnesses that pass off so quickly. (Note to stressors: you could pass off too. All this hanging around and still needing to be dealt with? Not cool. Seriously.)
Now I suppose I should do something with the day. Maybe I'll go to the coffee shop and, y'know. Write. Or something.
So this morning, my inner geek is outraged with me because I keep hearing Paul Simon sing The moon rose unexpectedly and my geek goes "No, it didn't! Nothing in the moon's motions is the least bit unexpected, we know its orbit and its period exactly!" while my inner pedant is shrieking "He never sang that! It's a lie!" - for lo, I have in fact been mis-earwormed. The line is my soul rose unexpectedly, and the moon comes later on. Apparently my head occupies an alternate world, though, because I still hear it as cited. And my geek still wants to argue, every time. "You personally may not have expected it, but that doesn't mean it was not expected!" quoth'a. At length.
Sometimes it's just so wearisome, having a life of the mind.
In other news, I may accidentally have invented rillettes. The bits of flesh and fat abiding, after I had rendered out my lard from the pork back fat? I drained them and put them in a bowl in the fridge, expecting to scoop out a spoonful now and then to be fried up crisp. But they have of course coagulated into a single mass, and I tell you what, spread cold on bread, with a sprinkle of crunchy salt? Om nom. I'd serve this, if I were only sure that my guests wouldn't be shrinking inwardly from the fat content. These days, I'm not sure that you ever actually can be.
In other other news, I seem to have recovered physically from yesterday's crise de whatever it was. In the morning I thought it was just nerves & reluctance, because I had to go and talk to a class of teenagers about the book trade and the changes therein, and that's enough to upset anybody's internal economy. But we had a ninety-minute conversation and actually I was quite sorry it was over, because I was enjoying myself: smart, interested, interesting kids. (Note to Tori: do not ride your bike off a[nother] cliff. Seriously.) And then I came home and spent the afternoon mostly lying on the sofa and moaning faintly, so it wasn't just anticipation. I'm still inclined to put it down to mostly stress, mind, and not wanting to deal. I don't think I believe in actual illnesses that pass off so quickly. (Note to stressors: you could pass off too. All this hanging around and still needing to be dealt with? Not cool. Seriously.)
Now I suppose I should do something with the day. Maybe I'll go to the coffee shop and, y'know. Write. Or something.