Writings

Although you’d never guess it from their names, Jean-Francois Boudet is French and Premysl Sedivy is Czech.

A Guac recipe.

You know, I try not to listen in on telephone conversations unless I’m in a switch center and the techs are placing bets. Will she? Won’t she?

OK, so I mostly built a concrete Ofuro at Shoal Creek, and had gotten rather used to the whole idea of a nice, hot soak after a long day of helping loony airplane builders:

I write about relationships for the same reasons I write about flying: it’s something I do, enjoy, and don’t completely understand.

Scientists use instruments for various things, and one of the more common visions is that of the astronomer looking to the night sky with his telescope.

Ah, Mussels. I love ’em. Cindi won’t eat them, having survived (barely) a bad mussel in Italy in the fog of the early 90s, Vince won’t eat them either since they’re shellfish, but I sure as hell will.

Sounds complex, but it’s a two-pan wonder and is done start to finish in 15 minutes. Looks impressive, tastes incredible.

The National Portrait Gallery really is worth seeing, but not so much for what’s there, but for how and why it’s there.

It’s not widely known that when Thoreau wrote Walden he was within walking distance of town. Not exactly the howling wilderness, Thoreau’s woods were almost, well, I’d have to say Suburban to portray things accurately.