The Best Flower

To-day just got away from me somehow. The excuse I'm giving myself is that Sunday's are supposed to be lazy, at least according to Calvin and Hobbes. I watched Gilda, I watched Alien, I watched part of King Vidor's Solomon and Sheba before I realised the file quality was just too low to tolerate. I kept meaning to do something more productive and kept not.

For lunch I reheated some quinoa I cooked last night. It was the first quinoa I'd made in a few years--it's a lot easier on the stove. A reminder I've only dared do something as simple as use a stove as recently as two years ago.

Quinoa in the microwave is a ridiculous exercise. I remember I did it on New Years with the Sci Fi channels annual Twilight Zone New Years marathon on the TV. I don't even know if Sci Fi still does that. I think I went through five episodes of the Twilight Zone endeavouring to cook one small bowl of quinoa which needed constant attention because it kept starting to boil over.

In the pot last night, it was a simple matter of letting it come to a boil then simmering for fifteen minutes while it absorbed the water. I meanwhile sauteed some mushrooms and onions to add to it. The leftover quinoa I had to-day with some microwave cheese and green chili pepper tamales.

According to the bees, though, nothing beats this flower:

I saw this at school a couple days ago. Of a whole shrub of this particular flower (I don't know what it's called) the bees were going just mad over this one.

To-day I also got sidetracked by a discussion in Second Life with several European friends about morality and European politics. I learned to-day there's a National Front in France very similar to the one in England. The Brit in the room wasn't sure if one was an offshoot of the other. I found it rather funny that an isolationist group might spawn chapters in other countries. I wonder if they have an agreement to fight each other once all their mutual enemies are disposed of.

Twitter Sonnet #629

Farm-fed Force users have no lightsabres.
Drum trap jaws pull sagittal crescendos.
In oyster orchards Pearl Woman labours.
Tabasco is the sauce of tornadoes.
Fish monger Monopoly assets slip hands.
Triforce napkin holders make spoon mistakes.
Clipped plastic wings shiver through the wave bands.
The room's elephant's just in the out takes.
Yellow absinthe questions retreat through corks.
Salvaged raccoon masks adorn the cashiers.
Walking gull-wing flagship corvettes bend forks.
Simply shut down all the garbage mashers.
Quinoa kingdoms absorb rivers and streams.
When feet growing from backs walk the gut dreams.