February 25th, 2005

bear by san

more authentic that the usual Ukrainian cooking around here blini

Today, I am making blini. Because I crave blini. Mmmmmmm. Comfort food, warm and tender and delicious...

I use this blini recipe:

modified a bit--2 1/2 cups whole wheat flour and one cup white, specifically, and a little extra yeast to make up the density difference. And more milk than they say--the three and three-fourths cups isn't enough to make them runny enough to be tender.

They're amazing. The krasniy blini on the same site aren't quite as good--too heavy. (retrobabble, stillnotbored, the ones you had were the krasniy blini.)

Warning; they lie. The yeild is not 28. It's six million and four. You gon' be flipping pancakes for a loooong time. *g*
bear by san

Some feminist utopia this turned out to be.

So, as is becoming a habit, all my ideas are for the wrong book. Today, as I sit here making logical extrapolations, I can't decide which society in Carnival I like least--the totalitarian Feminist Utopia, or the Fascist conservatives. My theme appears to be "you can't trust the gummint, no matter what gummint it be." Or possible, "People are OK taken two or three at a time, but beyond that number they tend to choose up sides and wear armbands.*"

Momma, don't let your babies grow up to be anarchists.

I suspect I've been reading too much Daily Kos lately (just from to-day, and a little Jeff Gannon update on the side.) Nevermind the amount of news I am subjected to at the dayjob. (Genocide! You're soaking in it!)

I'm sliding into cynicism fast this afternoon. Maybe if I write pointed-enough books, I can win a free trip to Syria too. What do you think?

At least I haven't got a Heinleinian "the black people feminists want to eat the Libertarians!" thing going on. Maybe I'll appear to hate and mistrust everybody equally, when the critics get around to me. It wouldn't be unusual.

(The first thing we do, let's eat all the libertarians.)

Anyway, it's depressing to discover that when one intended one's protags have an even more icky political situation to deal with than one does one's self, one is having a hard time coming up with one that remains plausible and not caricature. Whatever happened to having somebody to root for? And when did I turn into John Le Carré?

Ah well. I found the second section title for the book, at least: the first half is called The mortification of the flesh and the second half is called The festival of meat. I think. Unless that changes. And the book is definitely cooking down there. Although currently it looks like the only way to get out of it may be "and then they were eaten by bears aliens. The end." And I would feel sad for Michelangelo, Lesa, and Vincent if that happened.

It's a problem. It's also what I get for writing parables. Mm. An Utopia would be nice. Maybe I should write one of those. Except I'd keep finding cutworms in the roses.

Oddly enough, all this whinging has made me feel better.

In other news, I'll be at the Sahara Borders Books & Music in Las Vegas tonight at 8:00 PM for a book-signing/reading/hang out with the local SFF fan group thing. Come on by. I'll be the one with the enormous zit on my chin, because the perversity of the universe tends toward a maximum. (Although it's less spectacular than the one I got for Worldcon.)


*George Carlin
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