"I made it sweet for you! ... sweet with chili beans."
"Why is your foot so far away from your body?"
"... I don't know."
"Look, you have all these ingredients, you have to use them all..."
"They made that noise, you know, like when someone chews with their mouth open the week before you get your period and you just want to smack them like aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."
A rederivation, on the fly and from first principles, of cold-smithing techniques for certain metals.
"I'm telling you, Mom, I'm not going to adopt a child this fiscal year."
"No, no, it's a theoretical machine that I carry around in my brain."
Regarding sourdough starter:
"You feed the baby, but first you discard half the baby and make sure the other half hasn't died."
"I think nurturing a baby and yeast are a little different."
There was a point in the evening when
Pedantry about "=":
"Ernie's mastery of breads and baking! ... it's unequalled in the Western hemisphere. But you don't know how many decimal places we're using to measure."
"That just looks like something you took out of a dumpster."
"Initially, yes, but..."
"It was so nice to see you --- I was so impressed that at one time I fell asleep." (Said without sarcasm.)
Just before the (brief) break for this USian holiday, the students on my course message board asked, "What is a Fontes Thanksgiving like"? These same industrious and forum-using students also posted a poll whose results revealed that several of the students read this blog. This post goes out to you, then, my students: you are almost done with me (this semester), but for now you remain in my pedagogical clutches and I remain tethered to your minds, trying to squeeze in more knowledge in the scant remaining weeks.
*I'm a possible confounding factor here, I acknowledge that.
This post's theme word is fissiparous (adj), "tending to break into parts" or "reproducing by biological fission." The Fissiparous Fonteses are feared far and near.