Chop an onion and saute in 1/4 cup olive oil. While the onion softens, slice a 1-lb. eggplant into rounds, then dice the rounds. By the time you've done this properly, the onion will be brown and wilty. Add eggplant. Sprinkle veggies with 1.5 T brown sugar, then pour 1/4 cup balsamic vinegar and 1/2 cup water overtop all. Cover and simmer about 15 min. Stir in 3/4 cup of olives (green or black, sliced or whole - your call) and let simmer about 3 min. more. Grind black pepper overtop to taste, then stir in 1 cup feta crumbles. Serve over brown rice, and thank your luckystars for eggplant.

*sparkles*

Have picked up a number of other adventures in eggplanty goodness which we'll be trotting out as the occasions merit. You have been warned. Next time you make this--and you will--you can adjust the proportions of sugar and vinegar, depending on how much sweet you like in your sweet, or sour in your sour.

When not scribbling down recipes, am reading Soul Work, which has turned out to be the history of psychological movements attempting to incorporate spiritual principles. I like it because it's pretty simple: Here's a school of thought, here are its principal thinkers, here's what they tried to do, here are the seminal books they wrote. A nice roadmap of past thought, which is what I like in my histories of things. There's a time and a place for complicated, but sometimes straight up across the plate is the way to go: tell me what I need to know, and let me move on, book. Kthnxbye.

Am also, as I said I would, rewatching my way through Sports Night. It's just something I feel like I have to do, to put it to bed once and for all. I figure, if it's burned on my brain, I don't really need to own the discs, now, do I? Especially since the discs aren't mine. I have a funny notion of honor, but it's my own, and I'm going to strive to live up to it. Have just re-reached "The Six Southern Gentlemen of Tennessee Tech."

Am starting to suspect I need a new mythology anyway. Can't imagine where I would find it, given my aversion to most television, but things never happen the same way twice. And, much like the stamps that appear when most needed in "Dear Louise," things have a way of turning up on schedule.

*ponders*

And with all that, I return to the office, hopefully a little smarter and a little more resilient for having taken time away to care for myself. Nobody died, and the place didn't catch fire, so maybe there's really no need to let myself get all upset over stupid little dramas that aren't nearly as important as, say, rocking Pandora jazz and moodling with eggplant. Or painting nails a fetching shade of dangerous. Or walking for miles and miles. Or spending time with people I like.

*smiles*

Poem = John Updike, Slum Lords.

On the local front, more handwringing and punditry over our friends, the wedding brawlers.

*headdesk*

Y'know, I'm probably not the most qualified person to comment on these matters. I still don't understand, though, why this is a front-page story for any other reason than to make the rest of us feel better, and allow us to project our own grapplings with matters marital onto a distant, safe target. JMHO, YMMV.

Oooh, yeah, that left a sour taste in my mouth. Methinks I should go do something pleasant. Like a crossword puzzle. An extremely difficult, head-scratching crossword puzzle.

That is amusedly-resignedly all.