I'm Gonna Lose It...

...in shavasana - like last time - if my yoga teacher makes this a part of his class this afternoon:

Ah, A Good Photo Deluge.

How I love thee.

First gay couple to be married in MN!

I actually did something akin to this in my first ballet class.
Kay pulled me right outta THAT one.

Throwin' up their ovaries!

Splendid suit

Some pastas, more here

Enviable noms via Wednesday Chef

Wiseness via  < House of Alpha > 
(and Snoop Lion, duh)

*Guffaw*

Epicurious

Oh Molly Wizenberg, you are so wise (and entertaining).

"I cook because it grounds me; because it connects me to the place where I live; and because afterward, I get to sit down and eat with the people I care about.  I don't need cooking to be anything more."

-via the column called "Cooking Life" that she wrote for Bon Appétit

One of these days I'm going to delve into her books A Homemade Life and Delancey: A Man, a Woman, a Restaurant, a Marriage.  Props to my wife for turning me on to Orangette (Wizenberg's long-standing, delightful blog with ethereal photos,  sophisticated/seasonal/crunchy recipes, and a personal and intimate writing style ) years ago - I've been reading it, trying her recipes, and getting inspired since.  Also, the blog gets its name from the lovely Parisian candy which I've held dear to my heart ever since watching a chef friend make a massive amount of them from scratch for Hanukkah gifts during the year that I took off to work as a server in the restaurant industry (aka to find myself.) The warm farro salad with chickpeas, feta, and spicy (thai-ish style) dressing is my favorite "recette" off Orangette so far, and a great way to utilize that fish sauce that's been sitting in the fridge for a while now.

Licaudo Hipster Dreamz

Made this/these yesterday, on my day off, alongside doing a bunch of soul-nourishing organizing of paper piles and junk drawers.  Interspersed with taking Toby out to play in the yard, talking to Halle and my mom on the phone, and playing with my new iPhone.  It's the little things, peeps.

The jar is mint water (basically mint tea: a packed handful of fresh mint, boil in two cups of water, once it boils take it off the stove, let it cool with the leaves still in it, drain), the glass is full of licuado aka batido aka refreshing mexican milkshake (1 cup coconut milk + 1 cup mint water + two handfuls of frozen rasberries + couple teaspoons of agave + a spin in the blender), and the cute industrial planter contains a "chick and hens" succulent from Tim's mom.  So sweet.  Also, the leftover mint water makes a deLIGHTful addition to cocktails - I did tequila and white grapefruit juice with lots of ice and topped it with the mint water.  Luuush.

This Song, By This Person, is the Queen of Le Sigh

I really like how the pared down arrangement and scrappy, jangly guitar Nataly Dawn plays gives a haunting, subtle vibe to it.

Also, just because this is the first thing I listened to from her/them ages ago:

Not So Foolish

Olivia Lammel, MHC '14, puts into words in this essay what I never could re: that sick, dismal feeling of not being outstanding enough to satisfy the MHC credo of "Uncommon Women," especially upon graduation.  Wish I would've been this insightful at that age!  That said, I've come to terms with what the phrase means to me now and am so, so grateful for my Mt. Holyoke education because it empowers me on a daily and profound level to be a better, more aware human.  Unfortunately, it wasn't always easy to be zen about the whole thing as I was blatantly unequipped for that kind of pressure at the time!  There is an awful amount of [academic/social] pressure while you're there, but I think that that ultimate goal of "standing out" happens at different times in different way for different people, and being anxious/scared about it is natural but doesn't help the process (or your quality of life in the moment) at all.  Anyways.  The essay:

"I am a junior now. And when I look out at the real world on the horizon, it’s decorated with ominous clouds. 

You see, this is the first time on this trip through life that I haven’t had a map to follow. So far, I’ve just had to pass my classes. First grade led to second, and high school graduation led to college convocation. But where will college graduation lead? My dad often asks, “How’s that internship hunt going?” My friends innocently ask, “What are your summer plans?”These questions, inserted into conversations as friendly filler, are starting to give me a constant case of clammy hands and panicky gut. I dream of becoming a respected journalist, but I’m in serious need of directions. I have no idea what my next step is, but I have a hunch it’s supposed to be remarkable. 

The source of this feeling must be something in the water at Mount Holyoke, the result of a steady drizzle of pioneer propaganda. The mantra of greatness reverberates through my professors, peers, admission pamphlets, and even President Pasquerella. My writing professors believe that words can change the world. My adviser calls journalists “professors to the people,” making knowledge accessible to the masses. These truths are her religion, and I am a convert. Scanning the state of today’s media, how could I not go into journalism? 

So, as I contemplate deadlines for internships with NPR, the New York Times, the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, the New Yorker, and Ms. magazine, I panic. “Maybe I’ll just go to bartending school after college,” I muse, half-kidding. “Hanging out at the bar worked for Hemingway, right?” The idea makes my dad nervous and confuses my friends. 

My dad is comforted by my econ major: “You could always go into business, sweetie. My company values good writers,” he tells me. This idea bores me to death. A career in the corporate world seems so unremarkable, so common. Doesn’t he know Mount Holyoke women must be uncommon? An english major is supposed to be an award-winning novelist, the voice of her generation. A film major will be a fearless documentarian. A biology major will work for Doctors without Borders…or cure cancer. But what if a student wants to go into PR, international business, or private-practice medicine? What if she wants to be a parent or a volunteer? 

I get the impression that my dear, soon-to-be alma mater is nurturing me to bloom in the direction of nonprofit work and starving artistry. On the one hand, this is fine, because I want to be a starving artist…well, a starving writer, really. The job market for writers is bleak, though if by some miracle I do become a pulitzer prize–winning journalist, I will be published and applauded. But what if I fail? At times, this feels so frightening that I can’t even write a cover letter, fill out an application, or work on my résumé. Yet, I am slowly learning to accept this expectation to accomplish great things. Although it stresses me out, the pressure also inspires me. In a year and a half, I will be catapulted out of this ornate academic bubble. The bill-paying, food-on-the-table demands of the real world may initially knock me flat on my back, but I’m going to get up and do everything I can to save the world."

A carbuncle...

...is a cluster of furuncles.  That is all.

So Yeah...

...pandemics (even just the potential for one) are totally horrifying.

http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2013/06/06/188908959/how-nature-builds-a-pandemic-flu-virus?ft=1&f=1128&sc=tw

Aw, Love

I just used Shazam to discover Little Person by Mayer Hawthorne. http://shz.am/t53701827

"...Squirrel"