Tag Archives: eggs

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I received an envelope in the mail recently featuring the best misspelling of my name yet – Debraha. As in Deborahahahahaha (spoken in the Count’s voice from Sesame Street). Now check out the face staring back from my breakfast plate this weekend. Doesn’t look much like the Count, but he does look ready to let some evil cacklery abound- good thing I ate him. At least he died laughing. ♦

Over the Weather


Faced the day anew from the vantage point of the couch this morning. I’ve been holed up in my room sick as a bog (yes, bog, those things are foul) in bed for much of the week. Sleeping, dreaming, a hibernation of restoration.


Wish I could say all those hours down and out at least went to the art of reading, but no. The last time I really got immersed in a story was well over a year ago with Ernest Cline’s Ready Player One. Hmm, this photo visually recalls another. Yeah, the stack of books near my bed is outta control. Sometimes wish I had a second life where all I did was take in knowledge in every form that could then be USBed into my mind for this one.


Bringing old friends with me as I return to the land of food and sustenance today. Eggs, sourdough, marmalade, hot sauce. This is one of those live photos that captures a few seconds of sound and movement along with the image on an iPhone, and it’s really too bad that the frothing spitting sizzle of the browning butter crisping the edges of my eggs doesn’t translate to this page because, golly! A worthy little event to witness. And on the heels of nourishment? Audio visual needs met- finally gonna watch Hard Lovin’ Woman in a moment, a short documentary about Juliette Lewis. She’s crazy wonderful- her + a stage + all that manic energy = electric!


2016, I still love you, despite your harsh dealings with us, the people of this world. Defiantly declaring life is good, and will do so forever more. The camper on a ferry ride last year told me so.


Now, if I could just get a ton of snow for about three days straight past the point of this pretty frost nonsense. Thanks, 2017. ♦


I’m glad it didn’t try to shake hands.

Those are the words I jotted down recently knowing at the time exactly what they referred to. Key words being “at the time.” Now? Not a clue. I do know, these words followed other words, that of “jaunty poo” and “foam” of which I do remember the origin and hope to expand upon at some point. Was I perhaps glad that the jaunty poo didn’t try to shake hands? Must’ve been it.


Good golly, I love breakamafast. So much in fact, it needs more syllables just to contain all the good. Made some eggs this morning similar to these from last week. A slab of grilled bread under there sops up all the yokey goodness. Something called TryMe tiger sauce- a hot sauce with a sweetish sour kinda kick finishes it off. Meow.


But first, coffee. Despite four new teas, two cinnamon and two Earl Grey (gimme all your bergamot), coffee it was. Today, at least. With cinnamon.


I just watched a docuseries from several years ago, The Story of Film: An Odyssey, based on a book written by film critic Mark Cousins. He chose to narrate the work as well, over fifteen hours in length. His manner of narration added much to the feel of the series- his cadence and phrasing lulled me in, though reviews listed this as having turned off quite a few viewers.

I enjoyed much of the series, my eyes opened more to how a scene is framed, an action relayed. I often notice such things, but from a reactionary standpoint. The film helped me see it more through the eyes of a director, how the scene is initially thought up and then carried out. It showed the clear progression and evolution of film, the additions of angles and light, continuity and mood, and as they developed, the new techniques employed that allowed an even better telling of story.

Most enjoyable was the coverage of threads of similarity woven throughout different film periods. This director showed such ’n’ such an element at this angle and this director then emulated it. I was familiar with some, and with others, I wanted to ask if it was an intentional ode or appropriation of sorts by the director, or merely an observation by Cousins- he sought patterns and therefore found them. Maybe a bit of both? ♦