A koan

One day the sous-chef said to Alton Brown, “Master, how much kosher salt is the right amount for a rib roast?”  And Alton Brown said, “Dice two cloves of garlic.”  In this moment, the sous-chef achieved enlightenment.

Cats and birds: an observation

If you live with a cat, “played with” means “gone forever.”  As in, “Where is my pen?”  “It fell on the floor and got played with.”  If you live with a bird, however, “played with” means, roughly, “torn into little shreds to the point of no longer being recognizable.”

In other news, I’m on chapter five of Iorich (or Your Itch, if you prefer).  So far, it’s opening up in front of me in interesting ways.  I’m sure I’ll come to hate it later.

Leap Day

Leap Day has a tradition going far, far back in time.  In ancient Sumeria, it was considered a day for taking chances–for doing things normally considered too risky, such as entering a hitherto unexplored cave, descending a steep cliff, or making wisecracks to airport security.   The Aztecs celebrated leap day with drunken revelry and corset piercings.   To the Hunnish tribes, it was a day for telling long jokes that always ended, “That’s what the horse said.”  The ancient Celts saw it a time when the barriers to faerie were thin, so they would engage in religious rites at stone circles in which they would ask the gods to please give them a better calender. The magyars saw it as a day for eating fine food and having wild, abandoned sex–in other words, they didn’t take particular note of it.

Today, our celebrations are more sedate, and we usually use it as an opportunity to make fun of a certain class of neo-pagan and for making things up out of whole cloth.