1. Like I said: last week's zeitgeist was pointing to cake. Period.
About 18 years ago, the one time I got intimate time with certain cousins was when they, Dad and I traveled to Ireland for an unexpected vacation (won in a school charity auction). The vacation was relaxing, but standing in the airport for the trip home was incredibly stressful. One cousin looked at the other and said: "Chocolate cake would help." And they both chuckled. When Dad and I looked at them with quizzical expressions, they explained the backstory:
The elder cousin's mother (Dad's sister) used to work in a school for kids with intellectual disabilities. And one girl with Down's syndrome was perpetually cheerful -- her habitual way of moving through the world was to skip rather than walk. But one day, she came to school sobbing uncontrollably, and all the staff tried to coax the reason out of her, so they could help. And finally, between sobs, she managed to get out: "S-Some Ch-chocolate cake would help." And thus began a search of the kitchen for anything resembling chocolate cake; a Ho-ho or Ding-dong -- anything.
And thus began the family tradition of invoking the power of cake whenever the world just became Too Much.
Genache! One of my regrets in life is that I don't have truly accessible means of baking (or someone who can handle getting things in and out of the oven, at least).
My mother's signature celebratory cake was to bake these brownies (from The Joy of Cooking [recipe]) (with walnuts) into two nine inch round cake pans, and, when they were done, layer them with slightly sweetened, full-fat whipped cream; macerated strawberries or wedges of mandarin oranges were an optional nod to the healthy.
2. Maybe it was Lestat's whining that pinged my brain to the wrongness.
3. I think it was something I read on a "feminist" website, and was in context of trying to make a point about our rape culture, and how dangerous it is to fuzzy up the lines around choice and consent in regards to sexual expression. Which may be a fair point, but, as you said, spoken from a specific P.O.V. (And a privileged one at that).
no subject
About 18 years ago, the one time I got intimate time with certain cousins was when they, Dad and I traveled to Ireland for an unexpected vacation (won in a school charity auction). The vacation was relaxing, but standing in the airport for the trip home was incredibly stressful. One cousin looked at the other and said: "Chocolate cake would help." And they both chuckled. When Dad and I looked at them with quizzical expressions, they explained the backstory:
The elder cousin's mother (Dad's sister) used to work in a school for kids with intellectual disabilities. And one girl with Down's syndrome was perpetually cheerful -- her habitual way of moving through the world was to skip rather than walk. But one day, she came to school sobbing uncontrollably, and all the staff tried to coax the reason out of her, so they could help. And finally, between sobs, she managed to get out: "S-Some Ch-chocolate cake would help." And thus began a search of the kitchen for anything resembling chocolate cake; a Ho-ho or Ding-dong -- anything.
And thus began the family tradition of invoking the power of cake whenever the world just became Too Much.
Genache! One of my regrets in life is that I don't have truly accessible means of baking (or someone who can handle getting things in and out of the oven, at least).
My mother's signature celebratory cake was to bake these brownies (from The Joy of Cooking [recipe]) (with walnuts) into two nine inch round cake pans, and, when they were done, layer them with slightly sweetened, full-fat whipped cream; macerated strawberries or wedges of mandarin oranges were an optional nod to the healthy.
2. Maybe it was Lestat's whining that pinged my brain to the wrongness.
3. I think it was something I read on a "feminist" website, and was in context of trying to make a point about our rape culture, and how dangerous it is to fuzzy up the lines around choice and consent in regards to sexual expression. Which may be a fair point, but, as you said, spoken from a specific P.O.V. (And a privileged one at that).