Thursday, March 31, 2011

In the midst of kafuffle.

1. I like the sound and sight of seagulls flying across a grey and dripping sky. It makes me think of salty sea captains and ocean waves crashing over ships and ocean shores. It speaks to romance and adventure.

2. My professor of the Sociology of Everyday Life brought her granddaughter in to tell us about her everyday life. So we learned about horses. They don't throw up. Ever. She was adorable, and had to stand on a stool to reach the microphone, and kept whispering questions to our Prof.

3. Someone was handing out free novels outside my class building. It's a story of two six year olds with rich imaginations exploring the woods behind their remote Alaskan homes one summer. It looks interesting; I might like it.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

After-bedtime stories

I had two wonderful dreams last night.
The first was a fairy tale. It had hints of Lord of the Rings, The Fifth Elephant, and Hogwarts in it.
It started out on a riverbank. Four of us were trying to arrange stones in a contrastive way to spell "Joel" so we could take a picture of it for our friend who was far away travelling. In our hunt for stones we found a blue and white pottery jug - about the size of milk jug in a tea set. It was undamaged but with subtle cracks in the glaze from age. We left it there and returned to the village where we were staying.
In the morning we heard that last night someone had been found dead at the river bank where we'd been hanging out. The village was awash with rumours of who might have done it and why. That evening we went to the pub for dinner, and our server was a ragged and grubby looking tramp of a man - although his hands and his face were clean. As he was serving us, he began pouring milk from a blue and white pottery jug. We exclaimed in recognition - it was the same jug we'd seen at the river. Where did you get it? We wanted to know. We thought he might have seen something to do with the murder - or been the murderer. The tramp turned white, dropped the jug and fled.
We left the pub and went to a games room, keeping our eyes open for the tramp. People were playing traditional games like checkers and pool, and other more elaborate games where the whole table was the board, and it used peons shaped like chess pieces. A green rat ran across a game table to me. I pet it, and it climbed into my arms and then onto my shoulder. We were told that underneath this building was stored the truth - a solid thing (and in my dream-like way the solid thing was also sometimes laughter) found by kind people hundreds of years ago, and stored here for protection. We were told that we could go see it if we liked. We thought that sounded interesting, so we started down a hallway out of the games room. Three men were walking down the hallway towards us. The little green rat suddenly sat up on my shoulder and screamed "Stop them! They're stealing the truth!"
I aimed a punch at one of the men. They were covered in a grey dirt like the tramp. Except for them, even their faces were grey and slightly transparent. My punch should have been a good one - it hit the lead man solidly in the gut, but he somehow absorbed all the force of the punch, and it felt as if I hit nothing at all. He laughed and kept walking. I punched another man in the back, but again it did nothing.
The rat and I raced down the stairs to see if they truly had stolen the truth, and all the way down there were paintings of people - painted as guards hundreds of years ago - and the paintings were singing about the loss of the truth.

The second dream was short and yummy. It was about making chocolate clay. I made white chocolate raspberry clay (raspberry pink!), and Bird made chocolate marble clay.
Now I want to make both of those in real life.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Well, I do feel happy

I find this story funny because of how mixed up language and homophobia and people can be:

One incident that I remember particularly well: I was out as gay to my whole fifth-period class, though not to much anybody else at the time, and everyone in the class thought I was a lesbian except one kid, who thought I was a guy. And one day in my hearing he said, sort of jesting-like, 'You fag!' to a classmate who had just done or said something a little stupid, and then hastily added 'Not you,' when I shot him a disapproving look. And that just seemed completely backwards to me - I'd rather be jokingly called a fag for being gay than see someone else being jokingly called a fag for acting stupid.

Nothing ever makes too much sense, and people are so often nice and confused and rude all at the same time. What better reaction than to laugh?

Friday, March 4, 2011

Dueto dos Gatos de Rossini

This made me extraordinarily happy.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Summertime...and the livin's easy...

بي رجل bellows in the shower. He often sings my name. It makes me grin every morning:)