:TESTO:Banana bread is baking
Eggs are on my plate
A farmer's market beckons
And I've got one roommate.

Tho paperwork is pending
I think she'll stand the test
and brings with her a 3-year lab
Happy, dogs are best.

By the water sails are docked
where often there are ducks
An ocean-race has come to town
to please the muckity-mucks.

The boats fly their flags proudly
Brasil and Nederlandish
UK, Denmark, Disney
the last Carribeanish.

And there I walk, and hear the music
playing by the shore.
I would to dance
but hesistance
Abeys me at the door.

So there I am
O friends and kin
Again I oft anhaga
Until perhaps my housemate brings
a new page to my saga. :ENDTESTO:

:TESTO:A number of things went very well this weekend.
1. Mom (with a few hours' visit planned between train and plane) arrived two hours late in Baltimore, and I read about knot theory in Scientific American while waiting in the train station. We each ate a very nice crepe and accepted the seemingly unavoidable missing of her plane... only she made it, at the last happy moment.

2. I strode with speed and purpose back from the light rail stop where I bid Mom goodbye, because a potential housemate was meeting me in half an hour. (The walk typically takes me 35 to 40 minutes). I arrived on the stroke of our agreed meeting time, and so did she, and she likes the place, and will be moving in on 1 May.

3. I went to go see "CSA" (a "documentary" of the history of the Confederate States of America, from the War of Northern Agression to present) at the local independent-movie theatre, and arrived early. I ate a crepe (again), and had a nice chat with old Ben Kenobi*, who had decided to go see a movie because he (like myself) didn't want to stay at home in an empty house for yet another evening. Then I saw the movie (which was interesting and provoking, though not smoothly executed), and went home.

4. The sum of items 1, 2, and 3 is about 6 miles of footwork and 60 minutes on the light rail.

5. Today I baked a pizza (with sugared potatoes, a la Harkness) with a friend, and enjoyed the first post-bottling mead, which was good.

6. I've got about 4 hours of work ahead of me for school, and 8 hours available before bedtime.

7. Seven is a prime number.


*a retired teacher and Episcopal "man of the cloth". Very much like a Jedi, and also named Ben. :ENDTESTO:

:TESTO:"Smo rode forth in his firey chariot, and true to his name he Smote every one in his path, believer or no. He ground their bones to glue, and squashed them between great sheaves of graham, and ate them toasted over the fire of his wheels.

"Thus we eat Smores in remembrance of the end times, which (like the firey wheels of Smo) will come round again in their due course."


The previous post prompted a discussion about the etymological connections between "cosmological" and "eschatological" myths, in which it was determined that the dual of one was the other, and thus a synonym for "eschatological" is "smological", pair to "co-smological". The above is a smological myth. :ENDTESTO:

:TESTO:The people of the Orly tribe believe that all of Creation was designed according to the will of a wise and benificent God. They say that every creature, rock and tree had a prescribed destiny, a place in their creator's great plan.

The Orly also say that their God overslept on the first day of creation, and frantically packed while the angels waited impatiently by the van. In the hasty move, God's plans for the trees and rocks and creatures of the world were largely forgotten. "Just put them down anywhere" is the first commandment of the Orly's God.

This, the Orly will tell you, is why the world is imperfect, and incomplete. God is still unpacking, and will be until the end of time.


Today is Tuesday, the day before Liz and Nat were planning to move. Today was to be a day full of packing and cleaning and getting-ready for tomorrow. The movers, by some slip of schedule on their part, were planning to move today. The decision was made to go ahead and do the deed this morning, to pack like a frantic deity in simultaneity with the loading of the furniture into the moving-truck. Many odds and ends remain here, and many boxes were packed in such a way that  the new house may be overrun by gnu and platypi, if Liz and Nat are not mindful in their unpacking. At least the move is underway, the hard part (furniture down our twisty pointy stairs, or out our windows) happily done by Somebody Else.

This morning's epic inspired me to pen the myth above -- not a direct match to the events here unfolded, but there it is.


Unrelatedly, here's a nice picture of the mead, coming soon to a feast-hall near you:


:ENDTESTO:

:TESTO:The mead is bottled, the birth-day is done.

A whiff of hydrogen sulfide had me concerned, but my very first homebrew is quite palatable, if a bit strong.
It's got a fantastic color, vibrant autumn-orange. Experts suggest the stuff is best after 6 months in the bottle, but it's drinkable now -- 9 bottles (4 @ 750 ml, 5 @ about 350) of a sweet, dark brew, with slightly more alcohol than wine.

Hooray!

I also used my new Dutch oven (gift from my dad) to bake what seems to be my best corn bread since Harkness, to accompany a solid performance from my chili repetoire. I drank the dregs from the carboy with the meal, and that was that.

Tomorrow, I'll figure out the best way to affix my labels. Packing tape?



:ENDTESTO:

:TESTO:On this day in history, we celebrate the birthdays of the Buddha, and Tom DeLay.
Handel's Messiah debuted on April 8 in 1742.

Today in 1982 (24 years ago), the war in the Falklands was building up steam, and a late-season blizzard smashed the northeast.
Canadian "actress" Judy Star was born on April 8 in 1982, and so was I.

I think I'll bake a cake for all of us - an enlightened easter war and winter scandalous naked birthday cake.

Hooray! :ENDTESTO: