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Feb. 5th, 2002 01:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quislibetLast night, on my way home from the local cafe, where I had been reading book reviews of books I should probably read in full in the near future, I was struck with one or more sudden desires to do two inexplicable and not apparently related things: first, to eat Bugles corn chips, and second, to listen to a Sondheim musical.
I resisted both of these curious urges, aided in no small part because Bugles don't seem to come in single-serving sizes, and I didn't want too many around, and because my copy of the original Broadway cast recording of "Into the Woods" is, I believe, inaccessible, being either in a box in our quasi-attic or else perhaps even sitting in a similar box in Ohio, not having been listened to, so far as I can remember, since roughly 1989.
So instead I ate a gorgonzola-and-fancy-pasta Mac-n-cheese to the accompaniment of Karl Zero's "Songs for Cabriolets" and of spinach salad, the former a fine recording of mid-century lounge music even cheesier than
my dinner, dripping with postmodern irony or at least with a thick French accent, unlike my salad, which was dripping with too much fig-infused balsamic vinegar; salads with too much vinegar seem to be a sort of Leitmotiv of late, although this time I have only myself to blame.
Oh, I realized that I forgot to include "Castle Falkenstein" in
yesterday's list of influences for the game I want to do some day. AND I think there are too many fat naked men just sort of lounging around the locker room at the Y. What I want to know is, who's going to do something about it? Maybe I should write to the mayor and demand a compulsory time
limit to nudity. I met his wife last summer at a library cookout, so watch out guys. Enjoy your exhibitionism while you can: your days are numbered.
I resisted both of these curious urges, aided in no small part because Bugles don't seem to come in single-serving sizes, and I didn't want too many around, and because my copy of the original Broadway cast recording of "Into the Woods" is, I believe, inaccessible, being either in a box in our quasi-attic or else perhaps even sitting in a similar box in Ohio, not having been listened to, so far as I can remember, since roughly 1989.
So instead I ate a gorgonzola-and-fancy-pasta Mac-n-cheese to the accompaniment of Karl Zero's "Songs for Cabriolets" and of spinach salad, the former a fine recording of mid-century lounge music even cheesier than
my dinner, dripping with postmodern irony or at least with a thick French accent, unlike my salad, which was dripping with too much fig-infused balsamic vinegar; salads with too much vinegar seem to be a sort of Leitmotiv of late, although this time I have only myself to blame.
Oh, I realized that I forgot to include "Castle Falkenstein" in
yesterday's list of influences for the game I want to do some day. AND I think there are too many fat naked men just sort of lounging around the locker room at the Y. What I want to know is, who's going to do something about it? Maybe I should write to the mayor and demand a compulsory time
limit to nudity. I met his wife last summer at a library cookout, so watch out guys. Enjoy your exhibitionism while you can: your days are numbered.
