ordering catering for a large event and going INSANE. choose your gyro but only if you're poly and/or live in the Bay Area. I am sorry for using this stupid hammer for this problem
pick one side to go with your wrap
is "falafel gyro" just falafel that is pressed into a truncated cone and shaved off with a knife
Saavik be upon ye
dig this -- it conveys her essence
But Simon Iff was the strangest object in that strange room. She had heard of him, of course; he was known for his writings on mysticism and had long borne the reputation of a crank. But in the last few years he had chosen to use his abilities in ways intelligible to the average man; it was he who had saved Professor Briggs, and, incidentally, England when that genius had been accused of and condemned to death for, murder, but was too preoccupied with the theory of his new flying-machine to notice that his fellows were about to hang him. And it was he who had solved a dozen other mysteries of crime, with apparently no other resource than pure capacity to analyse the minds of men. People had consequently begun to revise their opinions of him; they even began to read his books. But the man himself remained unspeakably mysterious. He had a habit of disappearing for long periods, and it was rumoured that he had the secret of the Elixir of Life. For although he was known to be over eighty years of age, his brightness and activity would have done credit to a man of forty; and the vitality of his whole being, the fire of his eyes, the quick conciseness of his mind, bore witness to an interior energy almost more than human.
this book has a famous detective??
Cyril took a chair. To his delight, an aide-de-camp, Lord Juventius Mellor, an exquisite young dandy with a languid lisp, who, in time of peace, had been pupil and private secretary of Simon Iff, came to greet him.
and Crowley made the wise old wizard gay in text, way ahead of JK Rowling
your posts inspired us to try re-reading Moonchild but it was so boring in its pettiness that we had to stop. weirdly we appreciated C. S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength more even even though it is ideologically loathsome
we did smile at the gay wizard bit tho
I need to leave my apartment and go to work but there's a female Downy Woodpecker on my suet block pecking crumbs onto the ground where a female Carolina Wren is eating them #womensupportingwomen
But I can't leave because I would disturb them and they really need this right now (it's 3F and going to snow)
love that you respectfully drew them instead of sharing them live for the world to see 😳
Love is in the air...
Quark & Grilka 🔥
my favorite prefix in german is "er-", meaning "to death" <3
trinken -> to drink | ertrinken -> to drown
schießen -> to shoot | erschießen -> to shoot to death
würgen -> to choke | erwürgen -> to choke someone to death
stechen -> to sting | erstechen -> to stab to death
etc etc :]
*stechen -> to stab (as well, not just sting)
schlagen -> to hit | erschlagen -> slay (also: overwhelm)
drücken -> to press | erdrücken -> to crush
etc.
Completive transitive "er-" my beloved! It has a less productive counterpart in non-lethal transitive "an-".
anschießen -> to shoot non-fatally
anfahren -> to hit (but not run over) with a vehicle
hängen -> to hang | erhängen -> to hang until dead
frieren -> to feel cold, to freeze | erfrieren -> to freeze to death
zählen -> to count | erzählen -> to count until dead
klimmen -> to climb | erklimmen -> to climb until dead
warten -> to wait | erwarten -> to wait until dead
fahren -> to drive | erfahren -> to drive someone dead
finden -> to find | erfinden -> what I just did here
When the next morning brought a burst of brighter sunshine and a dazzling blue sky, Algy began to feel that there was a change in the air. Even though it was still early January, the days were already getting longer and the winter sun was getting stronger – when it wasn't entirely obscured by cloud, that is.
In Algy's opinion, that was one of the few advantages of living at a very northerly latitude, for he knew that friends further south would not perceive the same phenomenon for several weeks to come, but on the wild west coast of the Scottish Highlands the winter darkness began to give way to light very quickly after Christmas, and the change was almost visible day to day.
Flying back to the big pond with a smile on his face, Algy tried its suface again, rather gingerly, being prepared to jump up into the air very hastily if it should give way. It was still frozen, but both the snow and the air were quite definitely softer, and he felt sure that a thaw was on the way…
Recent posts have focused on Horace Biddle, acclaimed poet and famous hermit (yes, you read that correctly, a famous hermit) from the late 1800s. Today, I have three poems by Biddle, and three by Dickinson which Biddle’s poems have called to mind.
First, in Biddle’s poem “Autumn,” the second stanza recounts the seasons of a life, from “young Spring, the sweetest of the year,” to that “hoary age” when “Death’s unwelcome frost soon lays us in the tomb.” The lines reminded me of Death’s carriage ride through the scenes of life in Dickinson’s “Because I could not stop for Death”; the third stanza from Dickinson’s reads thusly:
We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess – in the Ring – We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – We passed the Setting Sun –
Dickinson’s brief scene is much more concise and is certainly more evocative of that age-old notion of a lifetime flashing before one’s eyes.
Next, Dickinson’s take on “hope” is also more succinct than Biddle’s – and more positive; dare I say… more hopeful? Biddle’s vision of hope comes in a “pleasing mask” with “sweet promise” aimed to deceive. Dickinson’s is an endearing little bird that sings sweetly a tune of comfort.
Finally, I’ve paired Biddle’s “The Absent One” with Dickinson’s “Wild nights – Wild nights!” Which, in your opinion expresses a more intense, passionate yearning?
The Holdovers (2023)
people who say this is a feelgood christmas movie baffle me, I cried so so hard
classic billiard pipe there
