Today is my dad's 80th birthday! He says he's feeling good, so we're all thankful for that. We're taking him out to dinner tomorrow (and my brother ordered a rum-soaked cassata for the cake afterwards), but I'm still trying to figure out what to bake for him. I'm thinking chocolate, maybe cupcakes, maybe brownies? but I could be convinced of other things...
Here are the recipes I'm thinking of:
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what should I make for my dad's birthday:
I'm also interested in suggestions of things you've successfully made and enjoyed. Just remember that I will have to carry it on an hour-long train ride, but it's not supposed to be warm tomorrow (sigh) so it shouldn't be too terrible to schlep. And it probably shouldn't be too complicated, since I'll most likely be distracted by the Rangers game. *deep breaths*
Also, if you've read The Raven Boys
, you know today is St. Mark's Eve. I'd hoped to have mousapelli
's birthday story done by now (only a week late!) but boys are dumb and now there's this whole other thing, because Ronan, and I don't. But maybe soon? I hope.
In other sports news, ELEVEN IN A ROW. BARTOLO COLON'S DELIGHTFULLY NIMBLE UNASSISTED PICKOFF. BRING ON THE YANKEES. I know it's way too early to get excited, but if you understood how depressing the Mets have been for the last seven or eight years, you'd get why it's so exciting that they're doing so well now, even with Wright and d'Arnaud injured and Zack Wheeler gone for season. There's a reason my tag for them is "the existential futility of being a Mets fan." ("Delightfully nimble" is my new tag for Colon/the Mets. If you aren't enjoying the sight of a heavy 41-year-old dude picking a dude off and then tagging him out on his own
, I don't even know what to tell you.)
I enjoyed the B-plot of last night's Elementary
and wish it had been the A-plot, which was a bit too nasty to enjoy, imo. I wish the show would occasionally throw in a crime that isn't murder. Also, once I saw the guest star's name, there was no suspense. *hands* But I'm still enjoying the show though I haven't been talking about it much.
Anyway, here's today poem:In Shakespeare
In Shakespeare a lover turns into an ass
as you would expect. People confuse
their consciences with ghosts and witches.
Old men throw everything away
because they panic and can't feel their lives.
They pinch themselves, pierce themselves with twigs,
cliffs, lightning, and die—yes, finally—in glad pain.
You marry a woman you've never talked to,
a woman you thought was a boy.
Sixteen years go by as a curtain billows
once, twice. Your children are lost,
they come back, you don't remember how.
A love turns to a statue in a dress, the statue
comes back to life. Oh God, it's all so realistic
I can't stand it. Whereat I weep and sing.
Such a relief, to burst from the theatre
into our cool, imaginary streets
where we know who's who and what's what,
and command with Metrocards our destinations.
Where no one with a story struggling in him
convulses as it eats its way out,
and no one in an antiseptic corridor,
or in deserts or in downtown darkling plains,
staggers through an Act that just will not end,
eyes burning with the burning of the dead.