The Sabbatical

Without going into detail, I have too many things going on to do my usual (using the word loosely of late) two updates per week. As such, I've decided to take a sabbatical from my blog.

There will possibly be one update (something I've been working on a bit) over the next two weeks, but other than that I'm taking a two week sabbatical. I really enjoy writing for you all to read, but I just can't do it right now. I hope you understand.

Without going into detail, I have too many things going on to do my usual (using the word loosely of late) two updates per week. As such, I've decided to take a sabbatical from my blog.

There will possibly be one update (something I've been working on a bit) over the next two weeks, but other than that I'm taking a two week sabbatical. I really enjoy writing for you all to read, but I just can't do it right now. I hope you understand.

The Sabbatical

Love in the Fall

It is October, and the weather has clearly turned to Fall. I cannot stress enough my love for this season. Pumpkin and falling leaves are perpetually on my mind this time of year. Also, per usual, I've been thinking a lot about love, both in the romantic (for lack of a better word) sense and otherwise. This being the case, I wanted to post a poem I wrote in college about the Fall and love.

This poem is in a highly fixed form called a Sestina. A Sestina consists of six sextets and a triplet, totaling to thirty-nine lines. Each line of the sextets is ten words long. The six words that end each line of the sextets are repeated throughout using a system called retrogradatio cruciata, Latin for "retrograde cross." The pattern is as follows:
123456
615243
364125
532614
451362
246531
The triplet then contains all six end words.

I took some liberties in the nature of these words, specifically focusing more on the sound of the words, as language was ultimately spoken first, with writing developed later only as a way to record what was being spoken. My poetry teacher did not appreciate this, though it made for what I look back on eight years later as one of my favorite poems I've ever written. The cheesiness is intentional, conveying the shallow and vapid nature of the "love," which is of course only seasonal. Without further ado, Love in the Fall.

Love in the Fall is the best love of all.
I sit beneath the trees, thinking gladly of us two
sitting in dying grass amidst a pile of fallen leaves.
The breeze reminds me of you, soft and sweet.
At night, I look at stars. Is anything more beautiful?
But when I see your eyes, I think I know...

And then comes winter, with the cold and the snow,
and April really is the cruelest month of them all.
But soon comes summer, when the weather is too beautiful.
Then it's autumn again in just a month or two,
and we move like the seasons with movements so soft,
as one person cries while the other person simply leaves.

But I think we should dance, like falling golden leaves,
and I would ask, but I'm afraid you'd say no.
I touch your hand, and your hand touches back: soft
pulses of electricity fill my body...I'm left in awe.
It's like the whole world is gone but us two.
But I don't deserve this moment - you're just too beautiful.

And I guess that I can't truly comprehend beauty fully:
it's something deep inside of you that will never leave.
And though I want to I don't know how to
love. And I want to learn, but I don't know
how to. And when I try, I know I'll fall
flat on my face (it's expected, having happened quite oft).

Sometimes love is hard, not always so easy and soft;
and looks fade, but love brings out inner beauty, full
of character, not like what our society preaches at all.
Love never crumbles like a pile of dries up leaves.
When it comes to love, this is all I know,
and soon I hope to learn another thing or two.

I hope you're learning all about what love is too
so that, as I cry my tears that flow softly,
I'll still have a reminder (something to let me know
without the slightest hint of doubt) that you're stunningly beautiful.
But when what I can see on the outside leaves,
it's still there to remind me you have it all.

Love is patient. Love that leaves is no love at all.
And I know you're soft and beautiful,
but if I concentrate too much on that I'll fall.

It is October, and the weather has clearly turned to Fall. I cannot stress enough my love for this season. Pumpkin and falling leaves are perpetually on my mind this time of year. Also, per usual, I've been thinking a lot about love, both in the romantic (for lack of a better word) sense and otherwise. This being the case, I wanted to post a poem I wrote in college about the Fall and love.

This poem is in a highly fixed form called a Sestina. A Sestina consists of six sextets and a triplet, totaling to thirty-nine lines. Each line of the sextets is ten words long. The six words that end each line of the sextets are repeated throughout using a system called retrogradatio cruciata, Latin for "retrograde cross." The pattern is as follows:
123456
615243
364125
532614
451362
246531
The triplet then contains all six end words.

I took some liberties in the nature of these words, specifically focusing more on the sound of the words, as language was ultimately spoken first, with writing developed later only as a way to record what was being spoken. My poetry teacher did not appreciate this, though it made for what I look back on eight years later as one of my favorite poems I've ever written. The cheesiness is intentional, conveying the shallow and vapid nature of the "love," which is of course only seasonal. Without further ado, Love in the Fall.

Love in the Fall is the best love of all.
I sit beneath the trees, thinking gladly of us two
sitting in dying grass amidst a pile of fallen leaves.
The breeze reminds me of you, soft and sweet.
At night, I look at stars. Is anything more beautiful?
But when I see your eyes, I think I know...

And then comes winter, with the cold and the snow,
and April really is the cruelest month of them all.
But soon comes summer, when the weather is too beautiful.
Then it's autumn again in just a month or two,
and we move like the seasons with movements so soft,
as one person cries while the other person simply leaves.

But I think we should dance, like falling golden leaves,
and I would ask, but I'm afraid you'd say no.
I touch your hand, and your hand touches back: soft
pulses of electricity fill my body...I'm left in awe.
It's like the whole world is gone but us two.
But I don't deserve this moment - you're just too beautiful.

And I guess that I can't truly comprehend beauty fully:
it's something deep inside of you that will never leave.
And though I want to I don't know how to
love. And I want to learn, but I don't know
how to. And when I try, I know I'll fall
flat on my face (it's expected, having happened quite oft).

Sometimes love is hard, not always so easy and soft;
and looks fade, but love brings out inner beauty, full
of character, not like what our society preaches at all.
Love never crumbles like a pile of dries up leaves.
When it comes to love, this is all I know,
and soon I hope to learn another thing or two.

I hope you're learning all about what love is too
so that, as I cry my tears that flow softly,
I'll still have a reminder (something to let me know
without the slightest hint of doubt) that you're stunningly beautiful.
But when what I can see on the outside leaves,
it's still there to remind me you have it all.

Love is patient. Love that leaves is no love at all.
And I know you're soft and beautiful,
but if I concentrate too much on that I'll fall.

Love in the Fall

How Does Your Garden Grow?

As you may know, though many of you probably don't as I don't think I've ever written about it, I am an avid gardener. Though I hated helping in the garden while growing up, I have over the last three years developed a passion for it. It's a great way to get food while actually knowing where it comes from, what it has (and more importantly hasn't) been treated with*, and the like. Unfortunately the weather in Seattle this year has been such that the harvest was generally disappointing.

Until the month of August, we had broken 80 degrees for a total of just 84 minutes. Despite the complaints of a lot of people, I loved this, except for the implications on my garden. Everything seemed slightly drier than usual, and even the sunniest days were mildly overcast. In August it got hot. Too little too late for struggling plants.

On to plants. This was my first year growing lima beans. My mom** sent me three different kinds of lima bean seeds, which are themselves just lima beans. Two of the three grew and did better than most of my other crops. I'm still getting beans: they're hanging in the pods on the plant, slowly drying. Hopefully this will be done before our first frost.

Near my beans are tomatoes, which despise the lack of sun almost as much as the low high temperatures. Of the forty or so seeds I planted, three have survived and actually grown. I've gotten a few tomatoes, but for the most part they still hang full of green fruit.

Blueberries did rather well this year and were quite delicious. Raspberries did less well, though they were equally delightful. No one plants blackberries, because, as I've previously stated, they grow as weeds here. Unfortunately, most of them never ripened, though the ripe berries were quite possibly the best I've ever tasted.


Spinach, chard, and lettuce performed quite well. They are generally easy to grow here, as are root vegetables, exemplified by my onions and garlic. I chose not to plant carrots this year. I will not make that mistake again next year.

Snow peas, one of my best crops year after year, were full again this year. Unfortunately, the lack of sun in late spring meant white, flavorless pods with little to no nutritional value.

I say all this to talk about my neighbor. I've learned from talking to her daughter on her occasional visits that my neighbor moved here from China in the 1950s. I've also unfortunately learned that she speaks no English. She is growing squash, which are growing out of her yard into mine, climbing the ledge of approximately eight feet that is the result of our living on the side of a hill. More importantly, she has two plum trees.

Every other year her trees bear a bumper crop of plums. This is that year. The last two years she has simply let the plums fall to the ground and rot, which kills me. I would gladly pick them and give them to her, or eat them myself. But she doesn't speak English, and I don't speak Chinese. Suggestions?

*Yes, I did just end both of those phrases with prepositions. The MLA ain't (gasp) the boss of me!
**I found out recently that my mom reads my blog. Highlight of my week.

As you may know, though many of you probably don't as I don't think I've ever written about it, I am an avid gardener. Though I hated helping in the garden while growing up, I have over the last three years developed a passion for it. It's a great way to get food while actually knowing where it comes from, what it has (and more importantly hasn't) been treated with*, and the like. Unfortunately the weather in Seattle this year has been such that the harvest was generally disappointing.

Until the month of August, we had broken 80 degrees for a total of just 84 minutes. Despite the complaints of a lot of people, I loved this, except for the implications on my garden. Everything seemed slightly drier than usual, and even the sunniest days were mildly overcast. In August it got hot. Too little too late for struggling plants.

On to plants. This was my first year growing lima beans. My mom** sent me three different kinds of lima bean seeds, which are themselves just lima beans. Two of the three grew and did better than most of my other crops. I'm still getting beans: they're hanging in the pods on the plant, slowly drying. Hopefully this will be done before our first frost.

Near my beans are tomatoes, which despise the lack of sun almost as much as the low high temperatures. Of the forty or so seeds I planted, three have survived and actually grown. I've gotten a few tomatoes, but for the most part they still hang full of green fruit.

Blueberries did rather well this year and were quite delicious. Raspberries did less well, though they were equally delightful. No one plants blackberries, because, as I've previously stated, they grow as weeds here. Unfortunately, most of them never ripened, though the ripe berries were quite possibly the best I've ever tasted.


Spinach, chard, and lettuce performed quite well. They are generally easy to grow here, as are root vegetables, exemplified by my onions and garlic. I chose not to plant carrots this year. I will not make that mistake again next year.

Snow peas, one of my best crops year after year, were full again this year. Unfortunately, the lack of sun in late spring meant white, flavorless pods with little to no nutritional value.

I say all this to talk about my neighbor. I've learned from talking to her daughter on her occasional visits that my neighbor moved here from China in the 1950s. I've also unfortunately learned that she speaks no English. She is growing squash, which are growing out of her yard into mine, climbing the ledge of approximately eight feet that is the result of our living on the side of a hill. More importantly, she has two plum trees.

Every other year her trees bear a bumper crop of plums. This is that year. The last two years she has simply let the plums fall to the ground and rot, which kills me. I would gladly pick them and give them to her, or eat them myself. But she doesn't speak English, and I don't speak Chinese. Suggestions?

*Yes, I did just end both of those phrases with prepositions. The MLA ain't (gasp) the boss of me!
**I found out recently that my mom reads my blog. Highlight of my week.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Think Different, in the Same Way

Yesterday started just like any other day: I woke up complaining about having to get up early. I went to work, then to the gym. After working out I ran into my friend David, with whom I walked around the Pike Place Market and ate most of a jar of pickles*. When I got home, I logged onto Twitter.

First tweet:
@danlesac I'm honestly stunned http://www.apple.com/stevejobs/
[Still unsure what's going on, I assume Jobs has retired. I keep reading.]
@seattletimes What do you remember most about Steve Jobs or his impact on the tech world?
@derekwebb devastated by the news of steve jobs' passing
[I'm sorry? Passing???]
@nytimes Developing: Steve Jobs, visionary co-founder and former CEO of Apple, has died at 56. http://nyti.ms/plZYSJ #stevejobs
[These were four of my first five tweets]

Wow. I'm dumbstruck, speechless. Just the evening before I had been joking about how the only thing on Twitter was the election and new iPhone, so iPhone must be running for president. And now, Steve Jobs is dead. I keep reading. Everyone is weighing in - personal friends, President Obama, Bill Gates, Pee Wee Herman - the full gambit. While there are several tweets about his death, I'm struck by the quantity of tweets about his life. This is legacy.

The Steve Jobs cult is in full effect. Let us not forget, by way of example, this article, which compares Steve Jobs to Jesus. Jobs is often compared to men like Edison, which is still not a fair comparison as Jobs is more a leader of a group of engineers developing products, as opposed to the primary developer himself. While Jobs has done a great deal of development, he moved out of that role and achieved the preponderance of his notoriety in a leadership capacity.
Jobs was an interesting character: those who worked most closely with him consistently said that working under Jobs inspired one of the most amazing and groundbreaking creative periods of their lives and they were pushed in ways they have never been before or since, but also that they hope to never have to work with the man again. We've all worked with people who fall into either of these categories, while most people fall in the middle, but I can't even grasp the concept of someone falling so heavily into both. Though erratic and temperamental, Jobs led a team off and on for 35 years that developed things previous generations had never dreamt of. But what he did next was even more amazing, as he convinced us all we wanted these things, using what has been referred to as his Reality Distortion Field**.

Five years ago no one was saying, "Man, I wish I had a cell phone on which I could check my email, shop on Amazon, find a recipe, and play video games." Companies like Blackberry, Motorola, and Palm were already making products with these very features, though they were appealing only to a small segment of the market. And then came the iPhone. Suddenly, these were the very things that I'd always wished I could do while riding the bus, though I had never realized it. And a keyboard? We don't want that - an on-screen keyboard is much better. Yes, now that you tell me I have, I do recall always hating physical keyboards.

Because we all suddenly wanted (or maybe even needed) it, sales of all smartphones jumped, but Apple's iPhone had a huge market share straight out of the gate because that was exactly what we had always wanted without realizing it. Everything else fell into the category of good enough, for now. And when Jobs made you want something, it was contagious: I needed an iPhone, and so did everyone I talked to.

Steve Jobs understood humanity in a way that few of us ever will, and he knew exactly how to appeal to us. He was more than just a CEO: he was a pied piper. He would play his flute as we listened through white earbuds, and we would buy whatever he led us to. We all were thinking different(ly) in the same way, the way of a perfect Keynote speech made in a black turtleneck.





*I don't know whether it's a good or bad thing that this sentence doesn't strike me as a strange part of my day.
**There are some interesting parodies of this, including a Dilbert strip that I cannot find and this episode of The Simpsons (which is unfortunately no longer available on Hulu).

Yesterday started just like any other day: I woke up complaining about having to get up early. I went to work, then to the gym. After working out I ran into my friend David, with whom I walked around the Pike Place Market and ate most of a jar of pickles*. When I got home, I logged onto Twitter.

First tweet:
@danlesac I'm honestly stunned http://www.apple.com/stevejobs/
[Still unsure what's going on, I assume Jobs has retired. I keep reading.]
@seattletimes What do you remember most about Steve Jobs or his impact on the tech world?
@derekwebb devastated by the news of steve jobs' passing
[I'm sorry? Passing???]
@nytimes Developing: Steve Jobs, visionary co-founder and former CEO of Apple, has died at 56. http://nyti.ms/plZYSJ #stevejobs
[These were four of my first five tweets]

Wow. I'm dumbstruck, speechless. Just the evening before I had been joking about how the only thing on Twitter was the election and new iPhone, so iPhone must be running for president. And now, Steve Jobs is dead. I keep reading. Everyone is weighing in - personal friends, President Obama, Bill Gates, Pee Wee Herman - the full gambit. While there are several tweets about his death, I'm struck by the quantity of tweets about his life. This is legacy.

The Steve Jobs cult is in full effect. Let us not forget, by way of example, this article, which compares Steve Jobs to Jesus. Jobs is often compared to men like Edison, which is still not a fair comparison as Jobs is more a leader of a group of engineers developing products, as opposed to the primary developer himself. While Jobs has done a great deal of development, he moved out of that role and achieved the preponderance of his notoriety in a leadership capacity.
Jobs was an interesting character: those who worked most closely with him consistently said that working under Jobs inspired one of the most amazing and groundbreaking creative periods of their lives and they were pushed in ways they have never been before or since, but also that they hope to never have to work with the man again. We've all worked with people who fall into either of these categories, while most people fall in the middle, but I can't even grasp the concept of someone falling so heavily into both. Though erratic and temperamental, Jobs led a team off and on for 35 years that developed things previous generations had never dreamt of. But what he did next was even more amazing, as he convinced us all we wanted these things, using what has been referred to as his Reality Distortion Field**.

Five years ago no one was saying, "Man, I wish I had a cell phone on which I could check my email, shop on Amazon, find a recipe, and play video games." Companies like Blackberry, Motorola, and Palm were already making products with these very features, though they were appealing only to a small segment of the market. And then came the iPhone. Suddenly, these were the very things that I'd always wished I could do while riding the bus, though I had never realized it. And a keyboard? We don't want that - an on-screen keyboard is much better. Yes, now that you tell me I have, I do recall always hating physical keyboards.

Because we all suddenly wanted (or maybe even needed) it, sales of all smartphones jumped, but Apple's iPhone had a huge market share straight out of the gate because that was exactly what we had always wanted without realizing it. Everything else fell into the category of good enough, for now. And when Jobs made you want something, it was contagious: I needed an iPhone, and so did everyone I talked to.

Steve Jobs understood humanity in a way that few of us ever will, and he knew exactly how to appeal to us. He was more than just a CEO: he was a pied piper. He would play his flute as we listened through white earbuds, and we would buy whatever he led us to. We all were thinking different(ly) in the same way, the way of a perfect Keynote speech made in a black turtleneck.





*I don't know whether it's a good or bad thing that this sentence doesn't strike me as a strange part of my day.
**There are some interesting parodies of this, including a Dilbert strip that I cannot find and this episode of The Simpsons (which is unfortunately no longer available on Hulu).

Think Different, in the Same Way

Havioli Some Ravioli

On Tuesday I made ravioli for some friends. When I say this, I don't mean that I heated the contents of a can or even dumped a frozen package into boiling water for eleven minutes. I mean I made ravioli from scratch.

They were filled with crimini mushrooms and acorn squash. I had an idea of what this juxtaposition would taste like, which I found to be quite wrong (though the actual flavor was quite good). Also, I used ricotta salata instead of traditional ricotta. Salata is dry, preventing excessive moisture from the combination of ricotta and squash. Further, the consistency of the squash eliminated the need for an egg in the filling, generally essential for it's binding properties.

I made the dough using an old family recipe. I departed from the recipe by using a bowl, as opposed to mixing it directly on the countertop, which my great grandmother insisted was the only way. It's a very technical recipe, featuring half an eggshell of water, a pinch of salt, and a splash of olive oil. These ingredients are added to one egg and one cup of flour, though really you gradually add flour until the correct texture is reached.

The amount of flour varies inexplicably. This particular time I needed a lot of flour, resulting in my having a lot of extra dough. Using said dough, I baked two olive oil and basil flat breads. I very much enjoy both baking and eating bread, so these were a welcome surprise.

People will debate sauce until they are blue in the face, and I will let them do so. For me, there is no reasonably-priced sauce that compares to Prego Traditional. It's simple, good if used straight from the jar, and easy to adapt for a lot if different recipes. Further, it was on sale.

People use a wide variety of tools when making ravioli and other fresh pasta. Personally, I use a rolling pin, a teaspoon, and a knife. Roll thin, fill, cut, fold. It's that simple. I find the tools entirely unnecessary, with the possible exception of a pasta roller. In the near future, I hope to move into a better apartment with a bigger kitchen, at which point I plan to buy a pasta roller. A rolling pin simply consumes too much time to achieve a not-entirely-consistent result.

In the end, making ravioli is more expensive and more difficult than buying it. You do know exactly what goes into it, which is always nice. But more importantly, it's as much fun to make it as it is to eat it. At the end of the day, it's all worth it.

On Tuesday I made ravioli for some friends. When I say this, I don't mean that I heated the contents of a can or even dumped a frozen package into boiling water for eleven minutes. I mean I made ravioli from scratch.

They were filled with crimini mushrooms and acorn squash. I had an idea of what this juxtaposition would taste like, which I found to be quite wrong (though the actual flavor was quite good). Also, I used ricotta salata instead of traditional ricotta. Salata is dry, preventing excessive moisture from the combination of ricotta and squash. Further, the consistency of the squash eliminated the need for an egg in the filling, generally essential for it's binding properties.

I made the dough using an old family recipe. I departed from the recipe by using a bowl, as opposed to mixing it directly on the countertop, which my great grandmother insisted was the only way. It's a very technical recipe, featuring half an eggshell of water, a pinch of salt, and a splash of olive oil. These ingredients are added to one egg and one cup of flour, though really you gradually add flour until the correct texture is reached.

The amount of flour varies inexplicably. This particular time I needed a lot of flour, resulting in my having a lot of extra dough. Using said dough, I baked two olive oil and basil flat breads. I very much enjoy both baking and eating bread, so these were a welcome surprise.

People will debate sauce until they are blue in the face, and I will let them do so. For me, there is no reasonably-priced sauce that compares to Prego Traditional. It's simple, good if used straight from the jar, and easy to adapt for a lot if different recipes. Further, it was on sale.

People use a wide variety of tools when making ravioli and other fresh pasta. Personally, I use a rolling pin, a teaspoon, and a knife. Roll thin, fill, cut, fold. It's that simple. I find the tools entirely unnecessary, with the possible exception of a pasta roller. In the near future, I hope to move into a better apartment with a bigger kitchen, at which point I plan to buy a pasta roller. A rolling pin simply consumes too much time to achieve a not-entirely-consistent result.

In the end, making ravioli is more expensive and more difficult than buying it. You do know exactly what goes into it, which is always nice. But more importantly, it's as much fun to make it as it is to eat it. At the end of the day, it's all worth it.

Havioli Some Ravioli