This intelligent and capable person, alone that I know of, has half the secret of crab cakes: Ritz crackers, for buttery flakiness, as opposed to any other kind of breading or thickening. The other half (of the secret of crab cakes) is the explicit realization that mayonnaise is not to be cooked--but if you must, make your own damned mayonnaise. Apparently, I'm the only one who knows this.
I burn hot. I tend to exhaust people in conversation, like Margaret Fuller did Carlyle. Which leaves me (but apparently not Margaret) always wishing I'd shut up sooner. I have quite a few friends and not many enemies, but I'm very proud of the few I do have. There is consensus among my friends about me, which is how I know to write about myself. What my enemies think of me I have no idea. That, of course, could be dangerous.
The list of interests and favorites is absurdly partial and half-assed, particularly as to music and books. It's the stupid format of the blog itself, as given, that, of course, I color outside the lines and burst the seams of.
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