fool me ... can't get fooled again

Last year at this time I was auditioning apples. This year I'm hoarding them.


I currently have 23 honeycrisps in my fridge, and if all goes according to my master plan I will squirrel away enough to get me through to local berry season, skipping those pesky grapefruit altogether.

It's an evil master plan, obviously.

the final frontier, & also easter

The yachtsman just had this conversation with himself while I stared at a blank bl*g post: "What are you doing? Writing a bl*g? About the space shuttle liftoff? There're more women in space than ever. More Japanese in space than ever. You know what that means: It means hamachi in space."

Yesterday was Easter. Jesus rose from the dead, and I rose from the couch and went to my Greek stepmom's. This year the cupcakes (aka the sin that Jesus died for) were made by Mojie.

Photo by Mojie.

You can read about last Easter and find the world's best spanakopita recipe here.

After a long diatribe about hitching a ride with the Russkies after the space shuttle program ends ("It's like taking the bus"; "That's not how we roll"; "I don't even think they have bathrooms"; "Do you know what the Russkies eat in space?"), the yachtsman emailed me this photo. "For your bl*g," he said.

131 memory lane, apt. 306

This week we'll take a little wander down memory lane, if you don't mind. I've been sick and tired for the past two days (not in a "I'm sick and tired, goddammit!" kind of way; I'm literally sick and literally tired, goddammit), and I can't seem to muster a post. I spent much of the most beautiful weekend of the year thus far (sunny, breezy, 70s and 80s) on my couch drinking tea, reading magazines, and eating koulouria. (There may also have been a little whining and copious amounts of nose blowing involved.)


The koulouria are on memory lane. You can read about them here.

And so are the magazines: I read three from this pile on Saturday.


Now I'm going to pop half a Benadryl (which acts on me like an elephant tranquilizer would on someone else) and travel the well-worn path from the couch to my bed.