Thursday, October 4, 2012

squirtin' tears on subway platforms

1. Today Natalie and I made peanut noodles with this fantastic sauce. Some changes I made to the sauce: we didn't have any sesame oil, so I just didn't put any. I also tripled the garlic, doubled the ginger. Added about a table spoon chopped cilantro (I have it frozen in ice subes). And I honestly didn't measure any of it other than the water so...
To make it a healthy meal we had it with super spaghetti (fortified with protein or something), and stir fried some onion, carrots, and broccoli (no seasonings there, since it was going to be mixed with the sauce). I added red chili flakes to my own. It was delicious and easy. Do it.

2. Good walking song:

3. Free plays! Thanks Laura!

4. Yesterday I stopped into a used bookstore near Boston Commons. Bought a little collection of poems about winter, "Mind of Winter." Stood waiting for the orange line train and read some, and misted up right then and there when I read this one (warning: death content and some potentially disturbing imagery):

Snow Day

I have nothing to day on a white afternoon
but there are candlesticks, etched,
hieratic, guarding the pane
with arching wicks; and there is the bottle of glue, and there
squirming upward, one black curlycue
succeeding another, the jungle plant on the window sill.
The life in this room is still.
There is nothing, nothing to do
about tonnage of snow in New
Haven, or
bells that won't ring downstairs at the door
or bells, in the tower, that will. 
Nothing to say, except here,
discretely, we are
shaped in the dark in a darkening room
against the snow window, against the snow day.
                                                                    And I think

of my friend, who was
not really my friend,
except for the death in her eyes, which were round
and wise like a turtle's.
I think of my friend and the snow, because
of that blank haven she found
when the Buick spun into her last snow day
on Route whatever-it-was, toward nightfall, and she
had no way to say what it was that she knew
with glass in her eyes and her mouth full of snow.

- Rosanna Warren

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