moving.
I am starting to be bothered by WordPress.
So I moved to tumblr.
find me at bellicosity.tumblr.com.
love you all.
teaandtext is closed for business.
thoughts on smell
I was reading a graphic-design blog and came across a comment on how recognizable the smell of Crayola crayons is to American adults (very). In consequence, I thought about what smells I found were so identifiable that they practically screamed what they were, and I came up with:
Coffee (studies have shown that the smell of coffee can increase appetite, even in those satiated or aversive to food)
Laundry soap/ the dryer
Crayons
Play-doh
Industrial cleaner, mostly ammonia
Photocopier/ printer
Old book
Copper/ really any metal that makes your skin smell/ coins
Sunscreen
Baby powder
Batik wax
Nail polish
Toast
Peppermint
Thoughts?
sorry for the hiatus
If anyone noticed, I’ve been away for a little while. Here’s a brief rundown (in no particular order) of what happened to me whilst I was offline:
The Pope came to town and caused traffic the likes of which you’ve never seen
I realized that I can’t remember all of the Chorus Line routine, goddamn
I, once again, remembered why I despise matzos and the kashrut
I felt heavy, bluh
I had an icky stomach thing
I lost three pounds
I got over my icky stomach thing
I gained some back
I picked sonnets for the Shakespeare Revels, with help, hat-tip for you if you’re reading (doubtful)
I got my hair cut to right below my chin
I learned to swallow pills (finally I can stop taking chewable vitamins and liquid tylenol, score)
I got all psyched for Vienna in advance
I was reminded how much I love my friends
I watched spring spring
I picked forsythia
I drew on my hand
I haven’t practiced in four days, shit I need to go do that
I resented kitniyot- can I go be Sephardic please?
I listened to the Barber cello concerto
I tried to get my crazy great-uncle off of me
I watched Charlie’s Angels with my cousin
I did some trig
I once again neglected to ask my grandfather to teach me the four questions in Yiddish, although hearing them makes more sense than it used to
I cracked my knuckles.
QED.
what part of speech am I?
On first read, are these their verb forms or their other forms (some are nouns, some are adjectives, at least one is an adjective-or-noun and has no verb form)? Opinion poll, I guess. Some languages capitalize their nouns. English… you’re left to your own devices.
talk, judge, play, cough, ink, view, read, book, smoke, conduct, walk, run, dance, track, fence, bowl, cut, thread, light, hammer, plug, bike, drink, tile, finger, pen, press, stamp, wax, print, weld, seam, piano, faint, rose, blush, face, tooth, cushion, down, bag, pad, stuff, clean, glow, point, balloon, call, salt, plow, farm, build, plot, travel, tread, plan, map, jog, grenade, steam, paint, figure, pack, shift, phase, rake, shovel, snow, bow, burn, bus, curve, rule, drop, fall, trip, step, fire, spoon, pitch, tune, scrape, fist, curl, mint, shoulder, slide, tack, staple, tape, slice, ski, wire, phone, squash, weave, bar, page, mash, rub, oil, dream, color, crack, punch, fold, crease, sweat, paper, spit, chance, select, special, chain, tie, boil, love.
That was a brief idea that got WAY out of hand. There are so many more.
Feel free to add.
edna st. vincent millay
Love is not all; it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain,
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink,
And rise and sink, and rise and sink again;
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want, past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.
I’ve gotten very into this sonnet recently.
worth your time.
Watch. Think.
blah blah vacation blah
So the title gave it away, eh? It’s raining, it’s 6ºC, and it’s the middle of March. So I’ve decided to do a little food-critic-y crap, do a little recap, sleep a lot more, get back to drawing and painting architecture (more on that later). First, a brief whatever:
I hate vacation because I always end up gaining weight. A pound over 6 days isn’t the apocalypse, but it’s a slippery and annoying slope. That’s what you get for sleeping in, I guess. Even though I’ve been biking an hour every day (except today- I’m waiting for the rain to let up- maybe I’ll just bike in the rain if it stays light), my mother had people over for dinner for three nights in a row, which means I end up eating too much. Time for an overhaul. And a food-critic-y sidebar:
Blanched string beans with carmelized shallots are god. Do it. Google “blanch vegetables” if you don’t know what I mean (essentially, boil them veryveryveryfast and dunk them in cold water to make them stop cooking), and carmelize some shallots in a little bit of olive oil. Mix/chill/salt and pepper/ serve. Good call. Your family will be pleased.
So, drawing and painting architecture, eh? I know, right, my performance art roots are pissed at me. A cellist, a singer, a (fat) dancer getting back to visual art? Never fear, folks, I’m still a performer at the end of the day (once again, more on that later). However, I’ve decided that I need to stop sucking so much at drawing. I’ve never felt decent at faces or plants or nudes or whathaveyou, but architecture and engineering runs in the family. I’ve started sketching buildings (the Syndey Opera House, recently) and urban landscapes (the train station and surrounding area) again. I don’t suck too much (that is to say, I’m a talented three-year-old in drawing level), and it makes me happy.
Cello and choir (see I said I’d get to it later) are good too- orchestra is playing this Leroy Anderson light-orchestral fluff, a concerto (oboe and bassoon) that our conductor wrote (um) and (the kicker!) part of Copland’s Rodeo. I think you can see the diamond-in-the-really-really-rough thing going on. Enough said.
I really love Copland. THIS much.
And the Grieg sonata is coming along nicely. No complaints there. I love the girl I’m doing this with. It’s insane.
So… cheers. It’s a good day. Drink tea and enjoy the rain.
Be well, do good work, and stay in touch.
I almost forgot!
Happy blogiversary, those of you who read me regularly (all one or two of you). It’s been a year.
Wow.
holy cow, more writing memes.
Go to page 123 of the nearest book. Find the 5th sentence. Write down the next 3 sentences. (Or, paragraph!)
Pippin, why?!
Anyhow. The closest books are cookbooks, followed by the dictionary, so I took the next one.
“The conductor let his arms fall limply at his sides and stood quite still as darkness claimed the forest. ‘That was a very beautiful sunset,’ said Milo, walking to the podium. ‘It should be,’ was the reply; “we’ve been practicing since the world began.’ And, reaching down, the speaker picked Milo off the ground and set him on the music stand.”
That’s from The Phantom Tollbooth, a children’s book that I absolutely adore.
I didn’t think I’d sink to this
but it’s meme time, thanks to rifling through the archives of Letters Home. I love this guy; you all should read his stuff sometime.
So. The only thing in this meme is.. write about your five strengths as a writer. Five strengths. As a writer, it’s really easy to go on and on about your foibles, your weak spots, and the stuff you really just can’t do. Strengths are, strangely, harder.
1. I know my limits. I write mostly research papers and read mostly poetry. I haven’t tried to write a novel because I’m constantly amazed by the subtlties in people’s creations of other people. Character descriptions always astound me, especially when you can watch a person mature over a book’s course. I’m always blown away, and I don’t think I’m ready to make that- yet.
2. I’m interested in things. Everything is interesting, people most of all. But I’ve written poems about bateadors.
3. The sound of the word matters just as much as its meaning. I make a point of choosing (hopefully) interesting words. When I read translated poetry, I make a point of reading the original, even though I can’t understand it (I am, after all, reading a translation). Whether it’s beautiful (Italian, Spanish, what have you) or kind of utilitarian (German. Sorry, German speakers, but German reads like a smart but sleep-deprived medical journal), the sound of the poetry matters just as much as the meaning.
4. I’m a grammarian. There, I’ve said it. I’m that grammar Nazi whom you recall from school. I correct the people around me, even when it pisses them off. As a consequence, my writing is clear. (that’s it!)
5. My writing is clear. Most of the time. I occasionally get caught up in parenthetical ideas (like this one), but I can usually keep things smooth, lean, and understandable.
I tag Pippin.
