No more pocket lint
Nov. 6th, 2007 07:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
philenaI have not been picking at Anna Karenina for quite a while. All the сельские вещи have really gotten to me, so I'm reading about similar aspects in English. Specifically, Jack London--I just read The Call of the Wild and reread White Fang. I had heard from a few people that The Call of the Wild is better, but I must say I don't agree. The beginning alone of White Fang, with the chilling recounting of the starving wolf pack haunting the arctic travelers carrying home the dead body, and the recurring discussion of how many dogs they actually have, is so artistic in itself that it would make White Fang the superior book, even if the plot were not more exciting and vibrant. I"m set next to begin The Sea Wolf, after which I'll probably have had enough of Jack London for a while. Richard Russo has a new book out, and I was so impressed by Empire Falls that I imagine I'll give it a peek, or if not the new one, at least Nobody's Fool, which seems pretty well known, although judging from what I know of it (i.e., from the previews of the movie, which I have not seen) I am sure someone (coughcoughMommycoughcough) will tell me I'm too young to appreciate it. However, given that my knee, which I injured years ago falling off a horse, has started twinging in damp weather, I think I can make a reasonable stab at being a crotchety old grump long enough to enjoy literature for old people.
Before Jack London I read some more Henry James--this time, Washington Square and Daisy Miller, both of which I enjoyed tremendously. I will not say quite yet that his early writing is superior to the later stuff (in particular The Ambassadors, which was an even richer brownie than Daniel Deronda*), but it certainly is easier to read. I had originally been planning to read those two preparatory to reading Colm Toibin's The Master, but now that I have my reading list of James finished, I'm finding my interest in Toibin's work less pressing. I might wait until I've completed The Golden Bowl, but since even my brilliant grandfather has admitted that he never finished it, I feel that that's a dangerous postponement to make.
In other news, I carved a pumpkin this season! It was not for Halloween, because we didn't sit down to it until at least November 2nd, but I did it! Here's a picture:
I love farmer's markets! I was thoroughly converted to them by Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma, and I must say that they are great, if for no other reason than being able to take some item that before I had regarded merely as an ornament next to the vegetables that I actually eat and asking the farmer, "so, how do I cook this, anyway?" I have in this way discovered kale (rip out the stems, sauté like spinach, and enjoy without the gritty coating that spinach give to your teeth) and today, delicata squash!
Cut it in half lengthwise, scoop out the seeds, and back face-down on a cookie sheet at 400 degrees for about 20 minutes. Serve with butter and salt. Fabulous! I can't wait to get some more varieties and see what this newly discovered form of food might yield.
In other food news, a bakery customer has been giving me a hard time. I might even post it on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
customers_suck (which I keep rather alarmingly up-to-date on; it's a bit embarrassing to admit it, considering the rather appalling llevel of writing and foul language, but I'm sure my sister, addicted to such places as aintitcoolnews.com, will understand the draw.), but the saga is so boring that I won't inflict it on people who don't already know me. In a nutshell, a customer comes in a week and a half early to get information about a big, fancy cake. I help him, give him all the facts he needs about pricing and ordering, and tell him very clearly (I remember this consultation distinctly: he came in less than two weeks before he needed the cake and told me that the party was "in November sometime." You see why I had to be especially firm with him on the timetable) that he must order at least a week in advance for me to be able to guarantee his selections. Well, he waits until four days before he needs the cake to order, and--surprise!--the flavor he wanted is not available. So he goes for a different flavor, orders the cake, and then calls back and complains to my manager that it's not fair, he hadn't been told, he'll never order from us again, blah blah blah, and gets a big discount to make him happy. So of course my manager has to talk to me about it, and even though she's very nice and understanding that customers hear things selectively, I'm still kind of grumpy about it. Dude--I told you! I TOLD YOU!!! It's nobody's fault but your own, so stop making trouble for us.
Goodness, that was a boring tale, wasn't it? I've lost interest in it myself, which I guess is the point of this whole exercise.
*Daniel Deronda is not by Henry James, I hasten to clarify, but rather by George Eliot. This comparison is linked not by authors, but by the brownie metaphor.
Before Jack London I read some more Henry James--this time, Washington Square and Daisy Miller, both of which I enjoyed tremendously. I will not say quite yet that his early writing is superior to the later stuff (in particular The Ambassadors, which was an even richer brownie than Daniel Deronda*), but it certainly is easier to read. I had originally been planning to read those two preparatory to reading Colm Toibin's The Master, but now that I have my reading list of James finished, I'm finding my interest in Toibin's work less pressing. I might wait until I've completed The Golden Bowl, but since even my brilliant grandfather has admitted that he never finished it, I feel that that's a dangerous postponement to make.
In other news, I carved a pumpkin this season! It was not for Halloween, because we didn't sit down to it until at least November 2nd, but I did it! Here's a picture:
I love farmer's markets! I was thoroughly converted to them by Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma, and I must say that they are great, if for no other reason than being able to take some item that before I had regarded merely as an ornament next to the vegetables that I actually eat and asking the farmer, "so, how do I cook this, anyway?" I have in this way discovered kale (rip out the stems, sauté like spinach, and enjoy without the gritty coating that spinach give to your teeth) and today, delicata squash!
Cut it in half lengthwise, scoop out the seeds, and back face-down on a cookie sheet at 400 degrees for about 20 minutes. Serve with butter and salt. Fabulous! I can't wait to get some more varieties and see what this newly discovered form of food might yield.
In other food news, a bakery customer has been giving me a hard time. I might even post it on
customers_suck (which I keep rather alarmingly up-to-date on; it's a bit embarrassing to admit it, considering the rather appalling llevel of writing and foul language, but I'm sure my sister, addicted to such places as aintitcoolnews.com, will understand the draw.), but the saga is so boring that I won't inflict it on people who don't already know me. In a nutshell, a customer comes in a week and a half early to get information about a big, fancy cake. I help him, give him all the facts he needs about pricing and ordering, and tell him very clearly (I remember this consultation distinctly: he came in less than two weeks before he needed the cake and told me that the party was "in November sometime." You see why I had to be especially firm with him on the timetable) that he must order at least a week in advance for me to be able to guarantee his selections. Well, he waits until four days before he needs the cake to order, and--surprise!--the flavor he wanted is not available. So he goes for a different flavor, orders the cake, and then calls back and complains to my manager that it's not fair, he hadn't been told, he'll never order from us again, blah blah blah, and gets a big discount to make him happy. So of course my manager has to talk to me about it, and even though she's very nice and understanding that customers hear things selectively, I'm still kind of grumpy about it. Dude--I told you! I TOLD YOU!!! It's nobody's fault but your own, so stop making trouble for us.Goodness, that was a boring tale, wasn't it? I've lost interest in it myself, which I guess is the point of this whole exercise.
*Daniel Deronda is not by Henry James, I hasten to clarify, but rather by George Eliot. This comparison is linked not by authors, but by the brownie metaphor.