Wednesday, November 28, 2012

"Coup de Coeur" of the Week #15

This man is a legend. I dare you to watch this video
and not smile from ear to ear, it's impossible. He is perfect.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Chocolate and Almond Cake

Having to cook every night for my own survival, I had forgotten how much fun baking was. I am invited to eat brunch tomorrow with some Erasmus friends, so I decided to bring a chocolate cake. I looked around on the Internet for recipes and I ended up using a bit of every recipe and making my own. And on top of that, getting to bake with my roommate was just a lot of fun, especially with the cake baking in a very weird shape. Enjoy this very simple recipe!
200g of chocolate (dark, preferably)
125g of butter
125g of sugar
80g of flour
+/- 50g of powdered almonds
6 eggs
Preheat the oven at 180°C (thermostat 6; 350°F). Melt the chocolate with the butter. Add the sugar, then the powdered almonds and the flour. Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing the dough between each egg. Bake in the oven for about 40 minutes.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Soneto de Lupercio Leonardo de Argensola

Si quiere Amor que siga sus antojos
y a sus hierros de nuevo rinda el cuello;
que por ídolo adore un rostro bello
y que vistan su templo mis despojos,
la flaca luz renueve de mis ojos,
restituya a mi frente su cabello,
a mis labios la rosa y primer vello,
que ya pendiente y yerto es dos manojos.
Y entonces, como sierpe renovada,
a la puerta de Filis inclemente
resistiré a la lluvia y a los vientos.
Mas si no ha de volver la edad pasada,
y todo con la edad es diferente,
¿por qué no lo han de ser mis pensamientos?

Monday, November 12, 2012

"Coup de Coeur" of the Week #14

This video is hilarious, and answers, quite convincingly,
a question we've all asked ourselves. Enjoy!

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Maya Angelou's Inaugural Poem (1993)

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.

The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages. 

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow. 

I will give you no more hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance. 

Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.  

The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face. 

Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side. 

Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege. 

Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more. Come, 

Clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the stone were one. 

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
Brow and when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing. 

The River sings and sings on. 

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock. 

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree. 

Today, the first and last of every Tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River. 

Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.  

Each of you, descendant of some passed
On traveller, has been paid for.  

You, who gave me my first name, you
Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
Other seekers –desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.  

You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot …
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream. 

Here, root yourselves beside me.  

I am the Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.  

I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours –your Passages have been paid.  

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you. 

History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.  

Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.  

Give birth again
To the dream. 

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands. 

Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.  

Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.  

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country. 

No less to Midas than the mendicant.  

No less to you now than the mastodon then. 

Here on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes, into
Your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.