… but you wouldn’t know it from looking at the utter lack of packing going on in our place. It’s not a big move. We’re just switching neighborhoods and going into a bigger place, but I’m getting surprisingly sentimental about this one.
One of the most amazing restaurants I’ve ever eaten in is right around the corner from our current apartment. I get all misty-eyed now whenever I walk by the place. Of course our new place is only a half an hour walk away, so it’s not like we’re moving to the moon or anything – but still, it was right around the corner.
The semester ends this week. I’m pretty happy about that.
Lastly let’s hear it for boiling soups you crack raw eggs into.
– Time to let all the blarg dribble out.
– I don’t begrudge anyone their desire to earn a dollar even when it is my dollar (and not called a dollar) — I just don’t like it when they become so aggressive about their desire that they resemble parasites on the expat community.
– We’re not disagreeing so much as exploring the contours of our agreement.
– Hey Annoying 4th Grade Girl, you are soooooooo annoying, but have embraced being that kid no one likes with such defiance that I have to salute you. Everyone in life will hate you and try to grind you down. Don’t change. Stay annoying. (Just maybe, you know, do your homework sometimes…)
– Isn’t he one of those guys who goes to Steampunk conventions wearing a girdle on top of his JC Penny suit?
– When people favorite my tweets I assume they’ll use them later to blackmail me.
Husband: “I’m going to make pesto and apple crumble this weekend.”
Wife: “Are you okay?”
Husband: “What? Why?
Wife: “Just asking.”
Husband: “… If I decide to sweep the floor are you going to call an ambulance?”
“Afterward I remembered these things very clearly, with that longing we feel sometimes to recover a state of life that we have lost for ever, though perhaps that we have lost it is all its value.”
I still make an ass-kicking omelet.
You can never go wrong with sesame leaves.
That is all.
All right, this book is one of those I wish I had read as a fifteen year old. At fifteen I would have gobbled this up as I did Moorcock’s Eternal Champion. A Mohawk-sporting, telepathic juvenile delinquent hops through time and dimensions to raise an army to do battle with mind parasites?
Yes. Sign me up.
Now sometimes this is a mixed bag. Often encountering something that speaks to our teen-self only increases our awareness of time’s passing, and you either succumb to wistful nostalgia or get grumpy because you got older. Other times by some quirk in the work or possibly within ourselves, the magic’s still there waiting for us to open the pages and discover it. Warchild was one of those other times.
If you have SFnal fifteen year olds in your life, find them a copy of this book and give it to them.
Have a happy New Year everyone.
My resolution for 2012 is to sweep the floor more often.
(And, yes, I’m not much of a Tom Waits fan. I pretty much like three of his songs and this one is two of them.)