OK. I finished my powerpoint for class. I don’t have to leave for another 45 minutes to an hour, so I probably have time to actually answer one of those prompts from like… a week ago. I think I shall do that. ^_^ And when I get home from class, I intend to do the others. If anyone else would like to get in on the action and send prompts, here are the two I’m currently playing with: hurt meme and nonsexual acts of intimacy meme. ^_^
It’s been a really weird week. I feel like I’m sitting in this oasis of calm that’s entirely deceptive. I have work to do for my summer class. I have work to catch up on from previous classes. I have a syllabus to write for the class I’m teaching this summer. I have SO MUCH TO DO.
…but I’m just not there.
And part of the reason why has been because this stupid C.aptain A.merica thing bit me in the ass so hard that I haven’t quite recovered from it. The worst part of it was that I had just hit a point where I couldn’t care anymore. I knew I should. I knew it should matter. But it just DIDN’T. Because the more I saw people reblogging about how upset they were about H.ydraC.ap, the more _I_ got upset that it was the only instance of antisemitism that I’d seen tumblr, as a whole, get upset about. And that made me feel isolated and alone and very alienated. And I honest to fuck had no idea what to do about it.
Then yesterday I started seeing different posts. I saw posts calling people out on the fact that when it’s their beloved superhero they’re all inflamed and outraged about antisemitism, but otherwise… crickets. And better than that, these posts were providing resources, alternatives, ways to talk about antisemitism and learn from this to do better. And something in me woke up.
Donate to the Holocast Memorial instead of buying the comic? DON’T MIND IF I DO. Reblog posts about antisemitism and microaggressions against Jews? ABSOLUTELY. Share resources for people who want to learn about Judaism? No problem! These are things I can do. I can be proactive. I can be more involved. In fact, I can post more about my Judaism, PERIOD. So, I will. Maybe not much at first, maybe not always, but I’m going to do more. I will not be a part of the deafening silence around this topic.
And do you know what happened when I made this decision? Something else in me woke up, too. I’ve been falling into a lot of bad habits lately. Weight gain. Lack of exercise. Lack of contact with friends. I’m not writing. I’m not reading. I’m not even doing any crafting. I’m sure as hell not doing my schoolwork. And these are long-standing habits that I’ve fallen into over months; years, really. And they can’t stand. I won’t let them. I’m going to reclaim the parts of me that I miss.
I’m going to lose that damned weight so I can enjoy walking on the beach again without pain. (Lord help me, as much as I hate the new points system, I signed up for WW online for the month to see if I can live with it, because one thing I can’t deny is that their system works for me. *sigh*) I’m going to go digging through my closet for all the hippie clothes I’ve let fall to the back because I a) gained weight and b) felt so disconnected from that peace and nature-loving part of myself that I couldn’t even wear the clothes I loved. (And when they don’t fit, I’ll buy new ones. ^_~ No, this has nothing to do with the fact that I have soulflower’s website open in the other browser, why do you ask?) I’m going to devote time every day to sit down and work – whether that’s on my writing, my schoolwork, or my syllabus, I don’t care. But every day I’m going to do SOMETHING before I let myself drift off into the neverending land of tumblr.
For the past year, I feel like I’ve been so buried in my own anxiety that I’ve been out of touch with the world. I feel like I’ve been utterly and completely lost and disengaged from myself and everyone around me. And I think I needed to sit in this oasis of calm for a while so I could start to see the difference. I feel like I’ve been asleep.
I’M AWAKE, NOW.
And I’m going to do my best to fucking stay that way.
First of all, I’m going to put it out there that idgaf about the Tonys. I really don’t. I couldn’t care less if I TRIED. (And let this be my formal request that people tag any Tony talk so I can’ blacklist it? Thanks.)
That being said, I caved to all the talk on my dash and went and looked up the nominations and can I say that the only thing that truly surprised me about the nominations was this: Audra was in a musical and didn’t get a nomination.
(I haven’t seen S.huffle Along yet, so I can’t actually offer an opinion on her performance, but I honestly thought that was a rule somewhere – that if Audra’s in a thing, she gets nominated. Is that not a rule? I really thought that was a rule. ^_~)
I will, until I am blue in the face, defend any adult’s right to enjoy whatever silly, all-ages thing they like without being hassled for it.
But there’s a flip side to that right: As adult fans it is absolutely our responsibility to make sure our enjoyment of that thing does not interfere with a minor’s ability to enjoy the same thing in a safe space.
That means putting warnings on fics that have adult themes, that means not posting porn in the main tags, and it absolutely positively means not having any inappropriate interactions with minors you meet on this website, even if it’s their idea.
This is the basic price of admission every adult has to pay for entry into an all-ages fandom.
Having grown up in DC, statues of various dead guys on horses are basically background radiation, or they were before I became Hamilton trash and started noticing them again. Now it’s like every time I turn around there’s a Founding Father looking at me like I personally disappointed him, and it’s getting a little unnerving.
Although: as a result, I sort of want to write a magical realism thing where that can really happen. Where if you do something they would have disagreed with strongly enough, the statues climb down off their columns and lumber down Mass Ave to the Russell Building or the Capitol, where they stand on the sidewalk, arms crossed, glaring into the window of whoever’s just introduced legislation that offended them. They don’t speak, or attack anyone, or damage anything– well, they do tend to bump their heads on low-handing streetlights, sometimes, but that doesn’t count. Mostly they just stand there, mournful, accusing, for everyone to see.
Sometimes lawmakers can talk them around, convince them they’re not actually betraying the political ideals of their predecessors. Politicians who are good at this tend to have much, much longer careers than the ones who aren’t. Politicians who piss off the wrong statues seldom get reelected.
George Washington rarely budges, and when he does it’s front-page news, nationwide. Madison’s always been easier to talk around than most. Hamilton spend more time off his plinth than on it, but he cools off fast. Jefferson holds grudges, to the point that hardly anyone worries too much about making him mad.
It’s not just politicians, either, and they don’t always come to life in anger. Joan of Arc’s bronze horse will shiver to life in Malcolm X Park, sometimes, and carry her off to join protest marches, when she thinks their cause is just. Gandhi walked with Iraq War protestors. The Spirit of American Womanhood, outside Constitution Hall, danced on the day that Roe v. Wade was decided, and when Obergefell vs. Hodge went through, Eleanor Roosevelt taught a clumsy Lindy to Baron von Steuben.
Lincoln has only risen from his seat once since he was put there in 1922, and that was to nod in solemn approval at LBJ from the White House lawn.
Some cities rarely put up statues, and many have taken theirs down. Paris has a great many artists and writers memorialized, and curiously few politicians. In London, during the Blitz, Nelson shinned down his column to help dig people out of collapsed buildings, until he was broken to pieces himself; he stands atop the column again today, reassembled, but has never moved since. In the last months of the Soviet Union, a desperate Communist Party had the statues of Moscow chained in place. These days, Monument Avenue in Richmond is punctuated with a long series of empty plinths and bare columns.
I wasn’t expecting too much when I made this pie. Sure, the name is awesome (sugar? cream? sign me up!), but I mean, it’s just baked custard. Custard is good, but can it be that good?
YES. To put it into perspective, when my husband tried it, he said, “This is almost as good as pumpkin pie.” Now, when I say he loves pumpkin pie, it is a huge understatement. Pumpkin pie is his birthday cake of choice – no substitutions. Pumpkin cheesecake? Nope. Pumpkin bars? Nope. It has to be a pumpkin pie. “Almost as good as pumpkin pie”, he said. And to give my personal opinion, it is better than pumpkin pie, which I also love.
It’s homey, it’s creamy, it’s rich, it’s so very slightly spiced … my only regret is that I only made one, and that I cannot in good conscience eat an entire pie in one sitting. It’s that good. Better than good. It will blow your mind.
1 prepared pie crust, uncooked ¾ cup (150g) sugar 1/8 teaspoon salt 2 cups (475mL) half and half ½ cup (120mL) whipping cream ¼ cup (45g) brown sugar ¼ cup (30g) cornstarch ½ cup (100g) butter, cubed 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
cinnamon & nutmeg, to taste
Directions
In a small sauce pan combine, white sugar, salt, half-and-half and whipping cream. Bring to a boil. In a medium sauce pan, combine brown sugar & cornstarch. Gradually whisk in hot mixture into brown sugar mixture. Add butter. Cook over medium heat, whisking constantly, 5 minutes or until thick. Simmer 1 minute and stir in vanilla. Pour into pie shell and sprinkle with cinnamon and nutmeg.
Bake at 375°F (190°C) for 40-45 minutes. It may still look a bit jiggly in the center but it will set while it cools. Let cool before slicing – preferably until room temperature, or until the next day.
eirenical17 