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Super Green Quinoa Salad with Fresh Basil and Pistachios


What more can you ask from me than the recipes for one of my favorite Quinoa salads?

This takes just 15 minutes to put together and will serve 2 very hungry people.


3 large leaves of lacinato kale, ribs removed + shredded thinly
1 cup fresh basil leaves, chopped
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 to 1 1/2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 cup cooked quinoa
1/2 avocado, cubed
1 packed cup spring greens or sprouts {I used miner’s lettuce}
1/4 cup shelled + lightly chopped pistachios
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
generous pinch of black pepper
In a large bowl toss together the shredded kale, basil, olive oil, lemon juice and salt + pepper. Massage together for about 3-5 minutes.

Then add in the cooked quinoa, avocado, greens and pistachios; toss together gently and serve.

(Adapted from Sainsbury’s Magazine)

From the YouTube Music Video Archives: Stars and Stripes Forever, by John Philip Sousa, as performed by the United States Marine Band

The most abstract idea conceivable is the sensuous in its elemental originality. But through which medium can it be presented? Only through music. Kierkegaard, Either/Or

We interrupt the regularly scheduled, interminable Straussfest with a truly great piece of music, performed by the most excellent U.S. Marine Band.

Happy Fourth of July!

Meanwhile, California Legislature successfully trolls the Catholic Church.


Bitchslap backatcha!

In which Korrektiv attempts to troll GQ as well.


H/T Second Oldest Daughter

Three Very Short Poems about Scenes from Scripture

In the Days of Noah
Because of our sins, the antediluvial
age gave way to one more pluvial.

Tithe—Or Else!!
If you don’t, you’ll fear a
finish like Ananias and Sapphira.

What About Some Fresh Towels?
What’s worst,” they said to Moses,
”After the thirst, is the hyperhidrosis.”


Screen Shot 2015-07-01 at 1.35.34 PMSome folks are fretting that civilization is threatened by the legalization of gay marriage. But people, Chandon is selling the notion of drinking Champagne straight out the bottle through a straw. Civilization isn’t threatened; it’s already dead. We’re just picking at the corpse.

Wound: opening line

I’ve learned this much: there is power in pain.

Six Months

That’s all I’d need to write Lancelot vs. The Pale King: Walker Percy, David Foster Wallace, and the Fight of Your Life. (Okay, that’s a first stab at the title.) But I just finished D.T. Max’s bio of Wallace and the audiobook of The Pale King, and oh my goodness. Why don’t hack film critics get sabbaticals the way academic librarians do?

CatholicVote successfully trolls GQ

File under: things you never thought you’d type. But it’s true.

from Territorial Rights by Muriel Spark

Territorial Rights isn’t Spark at the top of her game, but even Spark at half power is more inspired than most writers at their best. It takes place in Venice, where a handful of English acquaintances improbably, ridiculously, end up at the same pensione. One is a young man, Robert, who has recently walked out on Curran, his chicken queen, in Paris in order to chase Lina, a young Bulgarian art student who may or may not be under surveillance by Bulgarian spies (the novel was published in 1979 and takes place not long before then).

Robert disappears, perhaps at the hands of those same Bulgarian spies, and Lina befriends Curran, who in turn gets her a job doing sociology research for his friend Violet, yet another English expatriate who does research abroad for a private detective agency. Leo, who is traveling with Grace, who is in Venice to find out about her former lover, Robert’s father (also in Venice, with yet another adulterous companion) on behalf of Robert’s mother (back in England).

Lina moves into the attic apartment of Violet and soon after begins sleeping with Leo (Robert, remember, has gone missing).

Another scream, a bang, a man’s voice protesting, trying to placate. Violet precipitated herself out to the landing, in time to see the little lift descending and, through its glass windows, Lina with her head thrown back dramatically and, her hands clutching her head, giving out frightful animalistic noises.

The lift passed the upper floor of Violet’s apartment and reached the ground floor of the building. Violet, followed by Curran, had run down the flight of stairs to meet the descending lift, while Grace, outside Violet’s landing joined the banister audience.

Lina flew out of the lift, still yelling wildly, barefoot, dressed in a huge yellow flannel nightdress and throwing her arms around in a way which was quite alarming to watch. Violet caught old of her, and Curran, too, tried to hold her, both joining the exclaiming chorus of people above in the tall echoing palazzo. ‘What’s the matter? … Lina, whatever is the matter? You’ll catch your death … Stop … Wait! ….’

But Lina had struggled free in a flash and had opened the front door. She ran out on to the landing-stage. She turned with her back t the water for just a moment in order to cry out ‘Leo is the son of a Jew — I have slept with a Jew — God, oh God! — I must cleanse myself! I die for shame!’ And with a further shriek the girl half-turned and dropped into the canal.

That would be a canal in Venice.

You’re Welcome!