running down corridors

on blueberry hill

I'm going to get kicked off of flickr for poor photography skills any day now. In the meanwhile, here's my way of snapping out of a funk. I rushed home last night to make use of the other goods I had purchased from Rainbow Grocery- blueberries and meyer lemons. Meyer lemons are those rare things that I actually believe are worth the extra cost. I spit in the general direction of the organic moniker. But there is a point to Meyers. Their zest somehow packs more citrus than your average lemon. And if you cut a Meyer in half and squeeze, you get more juice than you would out of three normal lemons from a Mission bodega (i.e. the back of someone's truck). A little experimental tinkering, and the next thing I knew, I had a batch of lemon-blueberry scones on my hands. That stuff on top is just sprinkled sugar. Not maple sugar- Anna, your suggestion is currently under advisement at casa brimful (despite my dislike of baking raisins into anything). At any rate, I don't know how people turn out blueberry scones frequently- it was quite the task to knead this dough without pulverizing those ever important berries.

After making scones, I ate a big pile of crow, since a woman was not, in fact, named as the next Supreme Court nominee. It gives me a headache to think about Roberts, so instead, I'll just point you towards an excellent Sarah Vowell piece in today's NYT about Montana, Ohio and election correction. I can't think about politics for an extended amount of time, which is why I will never be a lawyer or host a political blog or write like Sarah Vowell. Actually, there are lots of reasons that I will never write like Sarah Vowell. For example, she can write. Anyway, the current state of the government just feels too hopeless. Just wake me up when there's a revolution, and I'll represent.

As part of the blues-killing productivity burst of yesterday, I went for my first run in... well, in recent memory. Up until Macchu Picchu, I had been torturing myself on Stairmaster on a highly irregular basis. The run was great, but I almost fell off the treadmill at one point. You see, my gym's cardio room has a wall of televisions, and they're always tuned to the worst channels/shows imaginable. And since I have ADD, it wasn't enough that I had my iPod mini blasting Cake and was getting to my target heart rate. No, I had to peruse the sea of craptacular television programming. FoxNews, check. Man, reading the ticker on FoxNews alone is pretty entertaining. Lousy infomercial, check. Wait... what is this show? Maybe this is that show called Big Brother. That's what I have to assume, since people are pacing around a house self-importantly, but aren't actually going anywhere. I can avoid reality television everywhere, and then the gym slams this on me. Luckily, I can't hear what they're saying, but some dude looks like he's about to pounce on some woman. And I don't mean that in a sexually predatory manner. I mean, it looked like he was about to throw down with her. Classy. Hey... wait a minute. That dude looks suspiciously sepia in nature. Holy... his name is Kaysar. A wiki search this morning reveals that his name is actually Kaysar Ridha. You know, some times, you don't yearn for brown representation on the tele so much. Updated: Kaysar may actually be from Iraq, so I might be talking out the wrong orifice. And what a shock that would be.