How can this be? What evil is there in the world that would strike the noblest of nuts with Salmonella, no less? My favorite ice cream flavour, my all-time favorite compulsive snacking item. To hell with spinach salad, the peanut and anaphylaxis; things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.
Crap! The morning news . . . Obama acting like he's Hugo Chavez and pressuring auto executives to leave, banks tanking, the economy in turmoil; and now, truly the end of all things -- tons of pistachios recalled:
THE SECOND COMING BY W.B. YEATS
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/31/business/31nuts.html?_r=1&scp=3&sq=pistachio&st=cse
Crap! The morning news . . . Obama acting like he's Hugo Chavez and pressuring auto executives to leave, banks tanking, the economy in turmoil; and now, truly the end of all things -- tons of pistachios recalled:
THE SECOND COMING BY W.B. YEATS
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/31/business/31nuts.html?_r=1&scp=3&sq=pistachio&st=cse