(no subject)

It is a lovely Saturday morning. The sun, nature's bright heating pad, soothes the muscles of my quiet suburban street. The weather is placid and calming. Coffee is brewing. I have some appointments to attend to, shortly, but for the moment, it's my coffee, my banana bread, and my laptop.

Before I carry on, it's time to use Voltaire's random Gothic Poetry Generator! Lots of sixes and eights on this poem.

Waning is the core of my consciousness.
Unhappily I do the “electric slide” through the horrifying land
Until childhood fears free me of my inner demons.
Demons, demons, demons.
Thou art my compulsion.


I really like the texture of spelt flour in things like cupcakes or quick-breads. It's a little coarser, heartier.

Last night I put in time in the gym as I promised. Next week will be a bit better. At least 3 times next week shall my pink feet grace the carpet of my company's fitness center.

After work, I pranced home to make the banana bread in little bundt loafs, practiced me drums, and then played a little City of Heroes.

Last night's gaming was a bit of a bustarama. I was going on my cape mission. What a goat rope. First, you have to run around to three different locations and hear stories about some great hero, "Hero 1". He must have been so great, he couldn't have possibly come up with a unique name that does his talents justice, so why bother? Finally, I have to go to Perez Park and kill some thugs who are having at the Hero's time capsule. But when I first attempted the mission, I was promptly overwhelmed and killed. Okay, no soloing this one. So I gather some blokes to help me, and we get our butts kicked again, and my mission failed! I didn't know I had a time limit, or perhaps if a hero dies twice, no cape for you!

Crapola.

There are a few hours I'll never get back. Sad as it is, I'll probably try again tonight. Zarathustra needs a cape, dammit!

My father was a furnace fighter.

Today was fun. All went pleasantly. The highlight of the day was the brewing of the braggot.

modeleccentric was the master brewer, I was the grasshopper.

The process:

• Sterilize instruments
  
• Boil two pots of water...2 gallons for the boiling of the honey, 1 for the malt.
  
• Steep ginger in the malt mixture, black, hops and other spices in the honey mixture
  
• Mix toghether at the end and let cool
  

Let the record reflect that the honey was boiling on a uber-large bunson burner outside. Let the record also reflect that the neighborhood bees were drawn to this vat of sweetness. Furthermore, it must be understood that modeleccentric was engaged in a hot battle with said bees, armed with a broom and many choice unintelligible words. Think the father in "A Christmas Story".

Also overheard, while modeleccentric was adding the yeast nutrient to the honey pot:

"We've secretly replaced this man's yeast nutrient with arsenic. Let's see if he notices."

Now, I ought to head to bed. Berkeley beckons in the morning.