na-vidya-na-avidya:

melissablock:

Maybe you know the feeling. Call it an apple awakening: the moment when you realize there are infinitely more delights to be found in the universe of apples than Red Delicious (meh), McIntosh (booooring and prone to mushiness), or Granny Smith (holding up well for her age, but a one-note standby.)
My first apple awakening came early on, growing up in apple country in upstate New York, when my family switched from McIntosh loyalists to devotees of the Macoun (crisper, more full of flavor) and never looked back.
But my true initiation came in my 20s, when I went apple-picking at an heirloom orchard in the Virginia countryside.  Revelation! Apples of every shape and size and color, from rosy peach to deepest purple, with fabulous names:  Black Twig. Newtown Pippin.  Esopus Spitzenberg (a favorite of Thomas Jefferson).  Each with history, and a taste to make you rethink the essence of appleness.  
So imagine my delight when the book “Apples of Uncommon Character” landed in my mailbox, a glorious compendium of “123 heirlooms, modern classics, and little-known wonders.”  Author and self-described apple geek Rowan Jacobsen does for apples what he did earlier for oysters: he captures in vivid language what makes the flavor of each type unique (with extraordinary photographs by Clare Barboza you want to bite into.) 
One apple makes Jacobsen “think of the aurora borealis, of green ribbons of cold fire swaying against the blackness.”  Another is “tart and snappy, with an acid tongue and a rustic coarseness. Picture a ruddy barmaid in some nineteenth-century Holland tavern.”
Say no more. It’s clearly time for an All Things Considered apple foray.  I’m off, with producer Viet Le, to Scott Farm in Dummerston, Vermont. We’ll meet up with Rowan Jacobsen and the orchard manager, Ezekiel Goodband, and talk heirloom apples.  Word from Zeke is that Ananas Reinette, Claygate Pearmain, Chenango Strawberry, and Opalescent are among the dozens of varieties that may be ready for picking (and tasting.)  We’ll bring you the story next week on ATC, and will post photos from our visit here along the way.  

Dude, Sabina. You lived for part of your life in a town with experimental apple farming. (Okay, largely that was out in Geneva, but still some trees were right there, and the products of that sweet sweet fruit science and breeding and husbandry were right there for your family to take. You might have been too young to understand, but your parents weren’t.)

This does indeed trigger a vague memory. XD I think we may have gone once, or maybe my dad wanted to do it and my mom didn’t, or I wanted to do it and my parents didn’t. Maybe we went for strawberries once and not apples? As fobby Chinese in the 80s the idea of paying extra (we were poor grad student types) to do agricultural work for “fun” was a baffling proposition, I think.
Anyway I didn’t like apples much until I was well into adulthood — partly it was better varieties appearing on the market, partly just that I’m sensitive to acids in fruit and Macintoshes and such are actually too sour for me to enjoy. I had the opportunity to go apple picking with friends this year but had a bad cold that weekend.

na-vidya-na-avidya:

melissablock:

Maybe you know the feeling. Call it an apple awakening: the moment when you realize there are infinitely more delights to be found in the universe of apples than Red Delicious (meh), McIntosh (booooring and prone to mushiness), or Granny Smith (holding up well for her age, but a one-note standby.)

My first apple awakening came early on, growing up in apple country in upstate New York, when my family switched from McIntosh loyalists to devotees of the Macoun (crisper, more full of flavor) and never looked back.

But my true initiation came in my 20s, when I went apple-picking at an heirloom orchard in the Virginia countryside.  Revelation! Apples of every shape and size and color, from rosy peach to deepest purple, with fabulous names:  Black Twig. Newtown Pippin.  Esopus Spitzenberg (a favorite of Thomas Jefferson).  Each with history, and a taste to make you rethink the essence of appleness. 

So imagine my delight when the book “Apples of Uncommon Character” landed in my mailbox, a glorious compendium of “123 heirlooms, modern classics, and little-known wonders.”  Author and self-described apple geek Rowan Jacobsen does for apples what he did earlier for oysters: he captures in vivid language what makes the flavor of each type unique (with extraordinary photographs by Clare Barboza you want to bite into.)

One apple makes Jacobsen “think of the aurora borealis, of green ribbons of cold fire swaying against the blackness.”  Another is “tart and snappy, with an acid tongue and a rustic coarseness. Picture a ruddy barmaid in some nineteenth-century Holland tavern.”

Say no more. It’s clearly time for an All Things Considered apple foray.  I’m off, with producer Viet Le, to Scott Farm in Dummerston, Vermont. We’ll meet up with Rowan Jacobsen and the orchard manager, Ezekiel Goodband, and talk heirloom apples.  Word from Zeke is that Ananas Reinette, Claygate Pearmain, Chenango Strawberry, and Opalescent are among the dozens of varieties that may be ready for picking (and tasting.)  We’ll bring you the story next week on ATC, and will post photos from our visit here along the way.  

Dude, Sabina. You lived for part of your life in a town with experimental apple farming. (Okay, largely that was out in Geneva, but still some trees were right there, and the products of that sweet sweet fruit science and breeding and husbandry were right there for your family to take. You might have been too young to understand, but your parents weren’t.)

This does indeed trigger a vague memory. XD I think we may have gone once, or maybe my dad wanted to do it and my mom didn’t, or I wanted to do it and my parents didn’t. Maybe we went for strawberries once and not apples? As fobby Chinese in the 80s the idea of paying extra (we were poor grad student types) to do agricultural work for “fun” was a baffling proposition, I think.

Anyway I didn’t like apples much until I was well into adulthood — partly it was better varieties appearing on the market, partly just that I’m sensitive to acids in fruit and Macintoshes and such are actually too sour for me to enjoy. I had the opportunity to go apple picking with friends this year but had a bad cold that weekend.

‘Paris or Amsterdam (acoustic session)’ by Basia Bulat
I had a weird experience at the Basia Bulat/Owen Pallett gig last week whereby she played this song (which I’d never heard) and I started crying — not tears-in-eyes but like outright raining-on-my-face crying for the entire duration of the music. I was tired and punchy and two beers in at the time but now at 9am in the office there is still something in her voice that triggers emotional contagion. The weirder thing is that I’ve written this song, basically, in the form of flash fiction.

‘Paris or Amsterdam (acoustic session)’ by Basia Bulat

I had a weird experience at the Basia Bulat/Owen Pallett gig last week whereby she played this song (which I’d never heard) and I started crying — not tears-in-eyes but like outright raining-on-my-face crying for the entire duration of the music. I was tired and punchy and two beers in at the time but now at 9am in the office there is still something in her voice that triggers emotional contagion. The weirder thing is that I’ve written this song, basically, in the form of flash fiction.

melissablock:

Maybe you know the feeling. Call it an apple awakening: the moment when you realize there are infinitely more delights to be found in the universe of apples than Red Delicious (meh), McIntosh (booooring and prone to mushiness), or Granny Smith (holding up well for her age, but a one-note standby.)
My first apple awakening came early on, growing up in apple country in upstate New York, when my family switched from McIntosh loyalists to devotees of the Macoun (crisper, more full of flavor) and never looked back.
But my true initiation came in my 20s, when I went apple-picking at an heirloom orchard in the Virginia countryside.  Revelation! Apples of every shape and size and color, from rosy peach to deepest purple, with fabulous names:  Black Twig. Newtown Pippin.  Esopus Spitzenberg (a favorite of Thomas Jefferson).  Each with history, and a taste to make you rethink the essence of appleness.  
So imagine my delight when the book “Apples of Uncommon Character” landed in my mailbox, a glorious compendium of “123 heirlooms, modern classics, and little-known wonders.”  Author and self-described apple geek Rowan Jacobsen does for apples what he did earlier for oysters: he captures in vivid language what makes the flavor of each type unique (with extraordinary photographs by Clare Barboza you want to bite into.) 
One apple makes Jacobsen “think of the aurora borealis, of green ribbons of cold fire swaying against the blackness.”  Another is “tart and snappy, with an acid tongue and a rustic coarseness. Picture a ruddy barmaid in some nineteenth-century Holland tavern.”
Say no more. It’s clearly time for an All Things Considered apple foray.  I’m off, with producer Viet Le, to Scott Farm in Dummerston, Vermont. We’ll meet up with Rowan Jacobsen and the orchard manager, Ezekiel Goodband, and talk heirloom apples.  Word from Zeke is that Ananas Reinette, Claygate Pearmain, Chenango Strawberry, and Opalescent are among the dozens of varieties that may be ready for picking (and tasting.)  We’ll bring you the story next week on ATC, and will post photos from our visit here along the way.  

melissablock:

Maybe you know the feeling. Call it an apple awakening: the moment when you realize there are infinitely more delights to be found in the universe of apples than Red Delicious (meh), McIntosh (booooring and prone to mushiness), or Granny Smith (holding up well for her age, but a one-note standby.)

My first apple awakening came early on, growing up in apple country in upstate New York, when my family switched from McIntosh loyalists to devotees of the Macoun (crisper, more full of flavor) and never looked back.

But my true initiation came in my 20s, when I went apple-picking at an heirloom orchard in the Virginia countryside.  Revelation! Apples of every shape and size and color, from rosy peach to deepest purple, with fabulous names:  Black Twig. Newtown Pippin.  Esopus Spitzenberg (a favorite of Thomas Jefferson).  Each with history, and a taste to make you rethink the essence of appleness. 

So imagine my delight when the book “Apples of Uncommon Character” landed in my mailbox, a glorious compendium of “123 heirlooms, modern classics, and little-known wonders.”  Author and self-described apple geek Rowan Jacobsen does for apples what he did earlier for oysters: he captures in vivid language what makes the flavor of each type unique (with extraordinary photographs by Clare Barboza you want to bite into.)

One apple makes Jacobsen “think of the aurora borealis, of green ribbons of cold fire swaying against the blackness.”  Another is “tart and snappy, with an acid tongue and a rustic coarseness. Picture a ruddy barmaid in some nineteenth-century Holland tavern.”

Say no more. It’s clearly time for an All Things Considered apple foray.  I’m off, with producer Viet Le, to Scott Farm in Dummerston, Vermont. We’ll meet up with Rowan Jacobsen and the orchard manager, Ezekiel Goodband, and talk heirloom apples.  Word from Zeke is that Ananas Reinette, Claygate Pearmain, Chenango Strawberry, and Opalescent are among the dozens of varieties that may be ready for picking (and tasting.)  We’ll bring you the story next week on ATC, and will post photos from our visit here along the way.  

(via ajora)

"HERA: who is this
ZEUS: who is what
HERA: who is this naked youth
ZEUS: youre going to have to be more specific
HERA: the one at your feet
ZEUS: oh
him
what about him
HERA: where did he come from
ZEUS: where did any of us come from
you know?
could be from the sea
or my own head
or spit up by an angry snake
hard to tell
HERA: did you kidnap him for sex
ZEUS: what
no
what?
HERA: did he kidnap you for sex
ZEUS: no
he’s
my cup guy
this is Ganymede, Official Cup Holder
he holds the cups
HERA: really
ZEUS: youve been saying forever that we need a guy to hold all the cups we use
HERA: i’ve never said that
ZEUS: someones been saying it
i just thought id save us all a little trouble
HERA: why isn’t he holding any cups
ZEUS: what
HERA: if he’s the cup holder why doesn’t he have a cup to offer me
i’m thirsty
ZEUS: I’m
EARTHQUAKE
[ZEUS raises his hands and all of Mount Olympus begins to shake violently. HERA is trapped underneath a falling rock]
ZEUS: sorry babe
cant hear you over all this earthquake"
Dirtbag Zeus on thetoast.net (via laurencombeferre)

My friends with cinematography degrees tell me this is where the “script girl” job name originally comes from.

(via thoughtsnotunveiled)

unbornwhiskey:

So if “manufactured” is unfair, what is the right metaphor for Britney’s relationship to the pop machine? Scanning the pop culture of the late 90s gives us a better possibility: mecha, the Japanese anime genre where beautiful, tragic youth fuse themselves to sublime, state of the art machines. Britney is not the machine’s puppet; she’s its pilot.

Tom Ewing, “Popular: Britney Spears - “…Baby One More Time”

(via mbmelodies)

gowns:

Roland Barthes’s list of likes and dislikes


Well, he’d be in luck w/r/t the new-cut hay perfume accord, at any rate.

gowns:

Roland Barthes’s list of likes and dislikes

Well, he’d be in luck w/r/t the new-cut hay perfume accord, at any rate.

(via softerthansound)

theparisreview:

“The novel’s takeaway, for me, is a don’t-look-back realization most teenagers have, at some point, wherein they recognize that everything they thought was the best—or the most important, or the worst thing ever—was actually mundane, trivial. That’s a sobering feeling, even when it comes to the vagaries of young love, the ache that feels like a hole in the stomach.”
J. C. Gabel on remembering Alain-Fournier’s Le Grand Meaulnes on the centenary of its author’s death.

theparisreview:

“The novel’s takeaway, for me, is a don’t-look-back realization most teenagers have, at some point, wherein they recognize that everything they thought was the best—or the most important, or the worst thing ever—was actually mundane, trivial. That’s a sobering feeling, even when it comes to the vagaries of young love, the ache that feels like a hole in the stomach.”

J. C. Gabel on remembering Alain-Fournier’s Le Grand Meaulnes on the centenary of its author’s death.

Autumn one-pot recipe #1: apple cake

1 cup pastry flour
1 cup scant sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp powdered cinnamon
1/2 tsp powdered nutmeg
1 tsp vanilla extract
4 eggs
4-5 apples (any of the various smallish red-green white-fleshed types you get this time of year)

Pre-heat oven to 350F.

Put the dry ingredients in a bowl. Add the eggs and vanilla extract, and give it a quick stir — there’s no point in trying to get it to come together at this point, since the apples provide most of the moisture. Chop the apples coarsely, directly into the bowl (T. peels, I don’t bother), and mix until anything that’s not apple is the consistency of cake batter. Butter an 8” pan (square or round), pour in the mixture, and bake for 45 minutes, adjusting for oven. (The cake should be moist, since it’s mostly apple by volume.)

Notes: this is a Russian cake in the sense that it is the specialty of my Russian friend who had it from an older female relative. I’m giving the recipe in the “classical” format (dry first, then wet) in which I make it myself; T. makes it by dumping the ingredients hodge-podge into a mixing bowl then pouring cider vinegar over a teaspoonful of baking soda and dumping that over the top. It’s very flexible — you can use white sugar, brown sugar, honey, rum, different spices, any baking fruit (eg. berries, pears). T. says not to use grapes as the one time she tried that it exploded. As pictured I’ve topped it with brown cinnamon sugar but a caramel drizzle is also nice. Like an apple crisp, it’s best warm out of the oven with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Autumn one-pot recipe #1: apple cake

1 cup pastry flour
1 cup scant sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp powdered cinnamon
1/2 tsp powdered nutmeg
1 tsp vanilla extract
4 eggs
4-5 apples (any of the various smallish red-green white-fleshed types you get this time of year)

Pre-heat oven to 350F.

Put the dry ingredients in a bowl. Add the eggs and vanilla extract, and give it a quick stir — there’s no point in trying to get it to come together at this point, since the apples provide most of the moisture. Chop the apples coarsely, directly into the bowl (T. peels, I don’t bother), and mix until anything that’s not apple is the consistency of cake batter. Butter an 8” pan (square or round), pour in the mixture, and bake for 45 minutes, adjusting for oven. (The cake should be moist, since it’s mostly apple by volume.)

Notes: this is a Russian cake in the sense that it is the specialty of my Russian friend who had it from an older female relative. I’m giving the recipe in the “classical” format (dry first, then wet) in which I make it myself; T. makes it by dumping the ingredients hodge-podge into a mixing bowl then pouring cider vinegar over a teaspoonful of baking soda and dumping that over the top. It’s very flexible — you can use white sugar, brown sugar, honey, rum, different spices, any baking fruit (eg. berries, pears). T. says not to use grapes as the one time she tried that it exploded. As pictured I’ve topped it with brown cinnamon sugar but a caramel drizzle is also nice. Like an apple crisp, it’s best warm out of the oven with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

magictransistor:

Gustave Doré, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (Samuel Taylor Coleridge), Harper & Brothers, New York, 1876.

I saw the Musee d’Orsay’s Gustave Doré exhibition twice this year: once in Paris and again in Ottawa. One of those artists whose sheer facility (and popularity) stood in the way of critical respect, it seems; as Dorothy Dunnett noted if you’re good at one thing you’re a genius, but if you’re good at three things you’re a mountebank.

Other observations on Doré: he wasn’t sentimental in the Victorian mode. As a natural caricaturist, he was interested in social issues only insofar as it made for a great picture, but his eye was so good that intent barely matters. No shadowy corners, no obsessive or unintentional symbolism where he couldn’t have told you upfront why he put it there (anything inexplicable or weird seems to be light-stakes personal whimsy). Relatedly, no eroticism at all — no repression either; just the carefree asexuality of adventure comics for boys. A down-to-earth Christian faith, but a mystical feel for nature. For all that he was immensely popular he reads retrospectively as out of step with any and all artistic movements of the period including the salon mainstream, which I suspect was the other main part of his problem — if he’d been born fifty or a hundred years later he’d have gone to Hollywood and been happier for it.

(via imathers)

Countdown to JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure cover art…

Countdown to JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure cover art…

(via threelisabeth)

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Themed by: Hunson