27 November 2003 - 7:48 p.m.

"Sometimes lousy writing days are lousy writing days because you're still figuring something out, and you're not quite ready to let yourself know what it is. And sometimes they�re just days when your head doesn�t want to do the thing where anything worthwhile ever seems to make it out of your fingertips."

- Neil Gaiman

Ayup. Drab but mild outside, mild but drab internally.

But I have brilliant friends, droll pets, an abundance of books. . . and the food has been good: dinner at Alley Cat and dessert at Margot's with Statos, Ter, and the BYM Tuesday night; a traditional Thanksgiving feast with the parents-in-law yesterday evening; and today, frying pancakes and bacon after sleeping in. After coming back from the grocery, I baked gingerbread and focaccia. The cioppino is almost done: it's got tomatoes from my mother's garden and basil from mine, and all that's left to add is the seafood - the store was out of mussels, so I'm substituting scallops and oysters, plus shrimp - whenever the BYM and I decide it's time for supper.

Seen over at Naomi Chana's LiveJournal:

You are Julia Kristeva! You were a student of
Roland Barthes, and came up with such important
notions as intertextuality and abjection. You
are a semiotician, psychoanalyst, scholar of
literature, and dozens more things. You are not
dead.

What 20th Century Theorist are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Current reading: Bits of Geoffrey Block's These Enchanted Evenings: The Broadway Musical from Show Boat to Sondheim (I managed to catch part of the 1999 National Theatre Oklahoma! on tv last week; still not keen on that particular musical, but it - and the ads for Angels in America - have me a bit wistful; too many interests, not enough lives. Yeah, we should all have such problems.). One year ago, I was reading Brian Cox's Lear Diaries.