memento • corso

  Harris, T. (1988). Silence of the lambs. Harris, T. (1999). Hannibal. Nylund, E. (2003). Halo: first strike. Marieb, E.; Wilhelm, P.; Mallatt J. (2017). Human anatomy; eighth edition. Takaki, R. (2022). A different mirror. A history of multicultural america. Bitterman, M. (2010). Salted. A manifesto on the world’s most essential mineral, with recipes.   Princess Cruises (2002). Courses: a culinary journey. Maccioni, S. (2012). A table at le cirque.   Ellis, B.E. (1991). American psycho. Oppenheim, C. (2025). Ride. The most iconic wheels of the silver screen. Dostoevsky, F. (2006). Crime and punishment. Mayuzuki, J. (2025). Kowloon: generic romance; volume 9. Mayuzuki, J. (2025). Kowloon: generic romance; volume 10. Mayuzuki, J. (2026). Kowloon: generic romance; volume 11.   Madeleine, M. (2012). We love madeleines.   Fotinos J. (2026). The book of stoicism.   Redzepi, R. (2026). The noma guide to building flavor.  

  The Emperor is naked.   Had to explain to someone that we used to have to pay to use minutes on cellphones… “back in my day”.  It’s weird that Molly Ringwald’s character in the Breakfast Club brings sushi for lunch for a lot of reasons…not only is this supposed to represent “rich kid” status, but…she has unrefrigerated raw fish with her until whenever their lunchtime is…which is probably supposed to be hours after they arrive? The original pasta salad idea would have made more sense.  The ability to still feel safe as the country around you goes to war is nothing short of a blessing.  Instagram will show me things like “how to find a banana bread baddie” and then immediately go to “I do not fuck with any burrito without heft” and I think I’ve won? It can’t figure out what I’m into? It’s just throwing anything and everything that maybe kind of sort of has slightly to do with food at me? Instagram’s algorithm has basically just said “Well, she’s human right? She...

Waste gash gnashing, gnawing  nasty, gnarly snarling -- who are you trying to fool now, darling?

We all bleed red.  There is a collection of Mr. Potato Head video games for PCs.  If you only save/bookmark (and never like) content from your feed on Instagram, then you can go into your saves and delete all/some when your algorithm is no longer suiting you.  Call for a bloody good time.  Fading in and out of existence.  Winter sunrise.  Playing Tchaikovsky while in moderate LA traffic makes it seem like all of the cars around you are dancing in a ballet.  Cold moon.  A ridiculous amount of Pokémon knowledge.  Remnants of yesteryear.  “This is what happens to those who leave a life of solitary contemplation and choose to come to dwell in cities among people full of infinite evil.” Excerpt From Leonardo da Vinci, Walter Isaacson  I wonder how much time I waste deleting emails every day.  Top (Secret) Ramen.   Delete. Delete. Delete.  Points for using “besmirched” in daily conversation.  Parmesan cheese has starte...

Playlist Link: Ramble On Autumn 2025 Edition Here we go again. And again. And again.  One of my favorite parts of The Sopranos is how often the men ask women for red peppers.  Mercurial at best. Sadistic at worst.  Teeth baring smiles.  https://www. scientificamerican.com/ article/how-did-the-smile- become-a-friendly-gesture-in- humans/ Dream eater.  For the love of god, please take creamed spinach off of menus.   A trail of baby ducks.  The foot bone's connected to the leg bone. The leg bone's connected to the knee bone. The knee bone's connected to the thigh bone… But you said you would.  Missed connections.  Starbucks should serve hash browns.   Sundays are for 8+ hour conversations with strangers, Mondays are for disappearing into the ether.  Your educational institutions, religious organizations, and/or governments may not hold you to a higher standard, but I sure as fuck will.  Flashbacks are actually the worst thing in e...

O, Times! O, Manners! It is my opinion That you are changing sadly your dominion — I mean the reign of manners hath long ceased, For men have none at all, or bad at least; And as for times, altho’ ’tis said by many The “good old times” were far the worst of any, Of which sound doctrine l believe each tittle, Yet still I think these worse than them a little. I’ve been a thinking — isn’t that the phrase? — I like your Yankee words and Yankee ways — I’ve been a thinking, whether it were best To take things seriously, or all in jest; Whether, with grim Heraclitus of yore, To weep, as he did, till his eyes were sore, Or rather laugh with him, that queer philosopher, Democritus of Thrace, who used to toss over The page of life and grin at the dog-ears, As though he’d say, “Why, who the devil cares?” This is a question which, oh heaven, withdraw The luckless query from a member’s claw! Instead of two sides, Bob has nearly eight, Each fit to furnish forth four hours debate. What shall be done?...