In the time since my last post, the weather has progressively worsened, to the point where nearly everyone in the Great Lakes region has some form of Seasonal Affective Disorder, manifesting in general crankiness.  So that’s my excuse for not writing: the weather has smushed me under its thumb and left me as a broken young woman on the slushy road of life.  Our hearts here are not filled with love for our fellow human, today or anytime soon…

Crap, I was totally going to crochet a bunch of wee red hearts this year.  Argh.

Between that and the presidential primary next week, they’ve got plenty to talk about on the news, so the whole rest of the world could be under attack from a pretentious giant sea monster and all we’d know about was the WGA strike being over.  Which, though I supported the strikers, is a good thing.  Reality television of the throw-a-bunch-of-people-together-for-money genre makes me want to cry; my mental image of purgatory is being the poor sap that has to edit that.

Haven’t done much (read: any) cooking lately, but I have read Nigella Lawson’s latest, Nigella Express.  It’s beautifully photographed, as usual, and also a decent read.  I can’t quite figure out what I like so much about Nigella, to be honest, save maybe that her writing seems to be frank and domestic without being excessively cute, and considers American food availability* without much disdain.  She also has a fine appreciation of alcohol.

There need to be more knitting books in the Nigella vein, I think–images, technique, and a slice of life.  Mason Dixon Knitting is pretty close, and The Yarn Harlot is like it without the pikturs, but other than that, I can’t really think of anything recent.  Admittedly, knitting is far more of a niche market than cooking.  There’s not a Fiber Arts Network, and yarn consumption isn’t something that must be done regularly for every human’s survival.

By the way, I’m sort of appalled that Julie and Julia is becoming a movie with Meryl Streep and Amy Adams.  Not that I don’t wish Julie Powell the best, but Hollywood’s really mining every last book they can, aren’t they?