August 07, 2005
Oh, dear friends,
The passage of time, in and of itself, is not all that remarkable; after all, it happens every day. (Saying that makes me feel like Yogi Berra, for some reason.) But there's something about being awake all night, and something else about being awake and writing all night, that makes the cycle of a day really, really neat. Our friends who went to bed hours ago are waking up and saying hi; our friends who kept company with us in our overnight hours are going to bed. Again, it's not particularly mystical, but somehow I find it so soothing, so comforting, that even the caterwauling of 1991-era Mariah Carey doesn't fill me with my regular murderous rage. In my placid new frame of mind, Mariah is free to caterwaul at will. 
45 posts down. 3 to go.
There is much to recommend in Blogathon. There is the doing of good works for charity. There is the meeting of new friends. There is the witty banter back and forth between old friends. There is the Hour 20 moment, when you can't begin to imagine how you're going to have eight more posts' worth of things to say. There are notes to compare on just how cold to make those showers. As my old sweetheart Ben Katz said, "These are good things."
So I hope that I'm not being too shallow when I say that as of 6:30 (edt) this morning, the most rewarding moment of Blogathon was discovering that there was still 3/4 of a freshly baked focaccia in the bread box, the last few spoonsful of Greek yogurt in the fridge, and a blood-red beefsteak tomato from the landlord's garden on the kitchen table.
I am officially fortified enough to get back into the shower, and I think the shower will be fortifying enought that I can put the rest of the Red Bull away. I am happier right now than I ever would have thought possible.
...there is pie. Nectarine pie, to be precise. As soon as I recover from this adventure, I'm baking one as fast as is humanly possible.
I am at the point where I am not only rapidly losing all powers of speech and coherent thought, but I would mug an orphan for a plate of scrambled eggs, country ham, grits and biscuits. The bad news is that we only have eggs and biscuit ingredients. The good news is that the biscuits are so easy, they can be made by someone who has been awake for 21 hours.
Buttermilk biscuits
yield depends on size of biscuit cutter
2 cups pastry or all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
2 oz. (1/2 stick butter)
1 1/2 cups buttermilk (you may not need it all, or you may need more)
Preheat oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit (Gas Mark 7). Combine flour, baking powder and salt in large bowl. Cut butter in with a pastry blender or two knives until the butter and flour have the consistency of cornmeal. Stir in the buttermilk until you have a dough that is soft but not sticky. Turn out onto a floured board, knead five times, roll to about 3/4" thick and cut with a biscuit cutter. Put on a sheet tray lined with parchment and brush with melted butter or an egg beaten with a little water. Bake for 10 minutes, then turn down the heat to 350 and bake until well-risen and golden brown on top. Eat while hot.
I think that Bunni and I are at the point where we are both so tired that we can see through time. Fortunately, I have a coping strategy (other than cold showers and Lush shower gels, of course): As I watch the sky lighten and the sun move in, I'm going to pretend that Lloyd and I are flying to Heathrow, and I am waking up from a groggy and uncomfortable sleep to see the sun in the distance, knowing that that means we're less than two hours away from landing.
Of course, to fulfill this whole fantasy, I'd have to drink a cup of bad coffee and eat one of those icky Otis Spunkmeyer blueberry muffins. I don't think we need to go that far.
Update: Blogathon has raised $54,780.97 in pledges. This will go a long way toward helping us all cross that threshhold.
