Talking to Zoe about the stabbing in Pittsburgh today, and she mentioned that there was an earlier stabbing spree last year at a Target (3 people). Just noting this for later, as mass stabbings are pretty rare (and often considered one of the highest-emotional-threshhold forms of murder).
So we had this huge rutabaga. Much discussion of what to do with it. Looking up of recipes…despite having about 800 pounds of cookbooks, we drew a blank and had to hit the internet. Made rutabaga oven fries. Watched a video on Youtube about rutabagas. Talked about Sandburg’s book Rutabaga Stories. Talked about how to pronounce rutabaga. Looked it up. Ate rutabaga fries with paprika and rosemary. Cajoled Jonathan into almost trying some. Shared them with extended family. Etc.
At about three AM, Susannah wakes up like she’s seen a ghost and says: “that was a kohlrabi.”
How can this happen?
I am solidly impressed by the things that can clog my sink. Like, if you gave me a peanut and some little onion chunks and said: “Make these into a watertight seal”, no way. But my sink knows how to do that.
A lot of people have said that they preferred band X’s “early stuff”. But because of math, somewhere out there in the world is the guy who said that _soonest_…perhaps only a few hours after band X’s debut in a Newark dive bar.
I want to meet that guy.