Diner Journal

Monday Distractions



A bit early for Halloween but a vintage ghost is appropriate year-round.

Check out the art of Angela Deane, adding haunt to your old photographs.

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DJ 30 Indian Summer: Curried Tuna

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Be sure to make it!

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Saturday Slowness

The only song to listen to today.

Also, woah:

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Sylvia Plath


Self-Portrait with Sylvia Plath’s Braid

Diane Seuss

Some women make a pilgrimage to visit it
in the Indiana library charged to keep it safe.

I didn’t drive to it; I dreamed it, the thick braid
roped over my hands, heavier than lead.

My own hair was long for years.
Then I became obsessed with chopping it off,

and I did, clear up to my ears. If hair is beauty
then I am no longer beautiful.

Sylvia was beautiful, wasn’t she?
And like all of us, didn’t she wield her beauty

like a weapon? And then she married,
and laid it down, and when she was betrayed

and took it up again it was a word-weapon,
a poem-sword. In the dream I fasten

her braid to my own hair, at my nape.
I walk outside with it, through the world

of men, swinging it behind me like a tail.

image: http://www.pastemagazine.com/blogs/lists/2013/02/timeless-sylvia-plath-quotes.html
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Can we all have a dance affair?

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It’s gonna be good


Your dear DJ staff has been working tirelessly on a cookbook that will blow your minds.

Check out #dinneratthelongtable for the goods.

Fall 2016.

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Thinking American


A New York Child’s Garden of Verses

(With the usual.)

In winter I get up at night,
And dress by an electric light.
In summer, autumn, ay, and spring,
I have to do the self-same thing.
I have to go to bed and hear
Pianos pounding in my ear,
And hear the janitor cavort
With garbage cans within the court.
And does it not seem hard to you
That I should have these things to do?
Is it not hard for us Manhat-
Tan children in a stuffy flat?
It is very nice to think
The world is full of food and drink;
But, oh, my father says to me
They cost all of his salaree.
When I am grown to man’s estate
I shall be very proud and great;
E’en now I have no reverence,
’Cause I read comic supplements.
New York is so full of a number of kids
I’m sure pretty soon we shall be invalids.
A child should always say what’s true,
And speak when he is spoken to;
And then, when manhood’s age he strikes,
He may be boorish as he likes.

–Franklin Pierce Adams

image: http://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/95508508/

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Sometimes there’s nothing more beautiful than watching milk slowly collide into coffee…or perhaps it’s just that Wednesday b.s..

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