Assump­tions are the ter­mites of relationships.
–Hen­ry Win­kler, actor (1945- )
(I found myself some­what sur­prised by the source of this quote.)

For­mer home­school­er, now MIT pro­fes­sor, wins “genius” grant
A 22-year-old MIT pro­fes­sor whose work fus­es art, sci­ence, work and play is the recip­i­ent of a $500,000 MacArthur Fel­low­ship, com­mon­ly known as the “genius” grant.
His father home­schooled him from age 7–12, then Erik entered col­lege. At 17 he solved a geom­e­try prob­lem which launched the field of com­pu­ta­tion­al origami.

Choose, then, whether you will be loved by those who for­mer­ly loved you, and be like your for­mer self; or be bet­ter, and not meet with the same treat­ment. For if this last is prefer­able, imme­di­ate­ly incline alto­geth­er this way, and let no oth­er kind of rea­son­ing draw you aside; for no one can improve while he is wavering.

One rea­son I like opera
by Marge Pier­cy, from Col­ors Pass­ing Through Us

In movies, you can tell the heroine
because she is blonder and thinner
than her side­kick. The villainess
is dark­est. If a woman is fat,
she is a joke and will prob­a­bly die.

In movies, the blond­est are the best
and in bleach­ing lies not only purity
but vic­to­ry. If two peo­ple are both
extra pret­ty, they will end up
in the final clinch.

Only the flaw­less in face and body
win. That is why I treat
movies as less interesting
than com­ic books. The camera
is stu­pid. It sucks surfaces.

Let’s go to the opera instead.
The hero­ine is fifty and weighs
as much as a ’65 Chevy with fins.
She could crack your jaw in her fist.
She can hit high C lying down.

The tenor the women scream for
wolfs down an eight course meal daily.
He resem­bles a bull on hind legs.
His thighs are the size of beer kegs.
His chest is a red­wood with hair.

Their voic­es twine, gold­en serpents.
Their voic­es rise like the best
fire­works and hang and hang
then drift slow­ly down descending
in bril­liant and still fiery sparks.

The hip­popota­mus bari­tone (the villain)
has a voice that could give you
an orgasm right in your seat.
His voice smokes with passion.
He is hot as lava. He erupts nightly.

The con­tral­to is, how­ev­er, svelte.
She is sup­posed to be the soprano’s
moth­er, but is ten years younger,
beau­ti­ful and Black. Nobody cares.
She sings you into her womb where you rock.

What you see is work like dig­ging a ditch,
hard phys­i­cal labor. What you hear
is mag­ic as tricky as knife throwing.
What you see is strength like any
great ath­lete’s. What you hear

is still ren­dered pre­cise­ly as the best
Swiss watch­mak­er. The body is
res­o­nance. The body is the cel­lo case.
The body just is. The voice loud
as hunger remag­ne­tizes your bones.

Cur­rent Mood: 🙁sore
Cyn is Rick's wife, Katie's Mom, and Esther & Oliver's Mémé. She's also a professional geek, avid reader, fledgling coder, enthusiastic gamer (TTRPGs), occasional singer, and devoted stitcher.
Posts created 4259

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