Direct dans le cœur

[muckefuck]

Today, bullet points in honour of the return of febrile!

• Speaking of febrile, his ears should've been burning a week ago today. I had just sat down to dinner with my friend M³ at Istanbul and had just a moment to concentrate on the music playing. "OMIGOD IT'S SERTAB ERENER!" I blurted, which led to me having to explain how it came about that my straight Okie actor friend ended up introducing me to a Eurovision-winning Turkish pop diva.
• Speaking of Istanbul, the food was quite decent. The mücver was a bit odd--fried in big balls like falafel--but the pide was definitely a hit. They do a very tasty all-vegetable version. (The waiter asked me, "Are you sure you don't want any sucuk?" and I admit, even I was a bit surprised at myself.) M³ is all gung-ho now about having them cater a work lunch.
• I happened to mention Dalida to a European coworker studying Arabic, and it set off a whole wave of nostalgia in her for the chansons of her youth. Yesterday, she presented me with two CDs burned from her LPs: Georges Moustaki and George(s) Brassens. Even monshu hadn't heard of the latter, but said coworker had already sent me a link to his "La parapluie".
• In return I gave her a tafel (seems odd to say "bar" for something that's square) of Ritter Sport Spekulatius, their special flavour for Winter '09 and my personal crack of the moment. I thought my one precious tafel was all that was left, but Devon Market still has a stash; I think I may just have to return tonight or tomorrow and buy them out.
• When I say "run" I really means "step gingerly", because this is when Chicago is at its most treacherous. It dipped down below freezing long enough last night to convert some of the meltwater on the sidewalks to invisibly thin sheets of ice that appear indistinguishable from harmless slicks. Also, the heaps of old snow are rapidly converting to whatever-febrile-decided-to-call-that-nasty-mix-of-névé-and-dirt.

Comments

[febrile.livejournal.com]

I'm not positive without looking it up, but I seem to remember that "Grixt" was what was finally decided upon.... (I still remain open for better suggestions, which your linguistically-inclined friends list might be able to provide moreso than my lot.)

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

As I recall, my friends failed to dazzle me with their suggestions when I made mention of the conundrum, so "grixt" it is!

[embryomystic.livejournal.com]

Georges Brassens was such a dirty old man. In a charming way, of course. Have you heard 'Je me suis fait tout petit', or 'À l'ombre des maris'?