This morning I fucked up some kasha — I mean, it was edible, but barely. It turns out that, contrary to the propaganda at aboutkasha.com –”It is difficult to imagine any simpler and easier cooked meal that in the same time has so many varieties and flavors. Usually, kasha is very easy to cook” — cooking kasha is an exact science with dozens of variables. Should I put an egg in it? Should I buy toasted or untoasted and, if I’m toasting it myself, how long should I toast it for? Should I cook it in a pot or a covered skillet? How low should the heat be? Can someone’s Russian mom help me out here?

Also, I’m back in New York. While I was gone a healthy number of my friends lost their jobs or didn’t get raises they’d expected or firmly decided to cling to their hated jobs for dear life. It’s an odd moment here, full of uncertainty and fear and tentative excitement. On Sunday I walked around and it seemed like everyone was having the exact same conversation; there is basically no other conversation that’s possible to have right now.

Except I guess ‘OH MY GOD THIS LIVE FEED OF PUPPIES. ONE OF THEM IS MOVING. OH MY GOD.” [via]