in Travel

Remember that time we went to DC?


We had a good time there a few months ago, although it was gross muggy out most of the time. The best part of the trip was the night we rode our bikes around the national mall to see the memorials and monuments by moonlight. Without the oppressive heat and the crowds of loud, mangy tweens on school trips, it was unexpectedly moving — one of my favorite vacation memories ever.

I have all these books in my room. Mostly junk; but I realize I’m not going to finish them all, and all the other books I want to read, before I die. It’s an existential math problem.

Likewise, it’s odd that this blog still exists, and I still have the need to redo it every once in awhile. What is the purpose? My brain may be full and in need of emptying out, like an overflowing garbage compactor, sparks a-flying. Every so often. Sleepy.

 

in Garden Beasties

Bloggy Dogged

I had a nice summer garden this year; my very first. We grew pumpkins (well – just the one), blueberries, zucchini, onions, basil, marjoram, lemon balm, parsley, catnip, lemon thyme and thai basil. For the winter garden, we’re growing broccoli, purple carrots, purple cabbage, cauliflower and either ground cherries or amethyst basil (I forget which is growing where).

We’ve finished the extant episodes of Doc Martin and I find myself coveting Louisa’s exciting collection of flirty cardigans.

in Life of Giang, Movies, Music, Travel

It’s-a hot, hot, hot!


It’s King Curt to you!

Last weekend, we hiked up Kelso Dunes in the Mojave Desert. No booming sand, unfortunately, since it rained the day before we went.

Then, I turned 32!  Other than a marked uptick in my level of general annoyance with most other human beings, the passage of my 31st year of life was unremarkable. Nice dinner with the family, new plants in the garden.

And new birthday stuffs, including a set of Pre-Code Hollywood films. I’ve watched one out of the six movies, and was mildly entertained. The actual printed Hays Code, however, was good for some serious guffaws:

Pictures shall not infer that low forms of sex relationship are the accepted or common thing.

Adultery, sometimes necessary plot material, must not be explicitly treated, or justified, or presented attractively.

In general passion should so be treated that these scenes do not stimulate the lower and baser element.

[Seduction or Rape] are never the proper subject for comedy.

Sex hygiene and venereal diseases are not subjects for motion pictures.

Law, natural or human, shall not be ridiculed. By natural law is understood the law which is written in the hearts of all mankind, the great underlying principles of right and justice dictated by conscience. By human law is understood the law written by civilized nations.

Revenge in modern times shall not be justified. In lands and ages of less developed civilization and moral principles, revenge may be sometimes presented.

Because of its evil consequences, the drug traffic should not be presented in any form. The existence of the trade should not be brought to the attention of the audiences.

[Dances] with movement of the breasts, excessive body movements while the feet are stationary violate decency and are wrong.

Pretty awesome.  :)

in Writing

Return

I am an adult. That is strange to say. I’m 32 (well, practically), and I have memories of a past me, also an adult. It is odd to think this. People say things like, “If I could tell my teenage self to do …insert RESPONSIBLE ACT HERE…, I would!” But what of my adult self? She bristles at the thought of revisionist history, and I bristle on her behalf. Still, 32. Changed.

Thinking aloud. Read through my writing posted here. I haven’t written for pleasure in such awhile, and I remember it being fun. So, I shall resume, in whatever small way I can, under the radar, so that Future Giang does not see fit to interfere with me and tell me there are more productive ways I can spend my time.

I sat as still as possible while she paced, wringing her hands, a doppleganger of Lady MacBeth contemplating her damned soul roiling in The Pit.

The phone sat on the desk, ponderous with its lack of motion. It was red, the same color as her fingernails as they flashed in and out of sight, buried, then exhumed from her fists.

“Why hasn’t he called?” she demanded suddenly. Her hands flew up to frame her face, a sudden rictus of gruesome frenzy. “WHY?!”

She receded swiftly back to her side of the room, and began her pacing anew. Loudly, now, her heels scraped along the wooden floor, keeping a broken time with her irregular, jerky steps. Without seeing, without understanding, they trampled into the pool collecting by the door, and as she walked, she left large, dark streaks in her wake, and the streaks were red also, but darker than her fingernails, darker than the phone.

Mary began to tremble violently on the couch. I wanted to turn to her, to tell her not to move, not to dare move, but too late. Her nerve buckled, and she began sobbing wildly. “Please, please…”

The jerky steps stopped. Then, heavy and monstrous, they pounded against the shrieking floorboards towards the couch where Mary sat.

“PLEASE!?” she rasped mockingly in Mary’s face, “PLEASE!?”

The red phone, silent until now, belted out a wild trill as it was yanked from the wall and into those red, red hands. Mary recoiled, raising her arms to protect herself, a gesture of dread and hopeless supplication. Then she screamed.

And screamed and screamed until she didn’t scream any longer. The phone receiver dangled in the air madly, then crashed to the floor as she slipped away from Mary’s body and returned to where she had stood before, breathing hard, tears streaking down her cheeks, mottled in red. She sucked breath through her teeth, her eyes rolling backwards in her head as she clutched the hair at her temples and yanked, tearing one way and the other.

“Why…hasn’t…he…CALLED!?”

Stumbling slightly, she turned, shambled towards the door and flung it open.

She began to giggle. It welled up in her slowly at first, then consumed her body until she was doubled over with it, bright eyes flashing with uncontrollable laughter.

“See?” she gasped finally, eyes grown dark again. Grotesquely, she slid aside with a flourish. “See what I did! See what I did BECAUSE HE DIDN’T CALL!?”

The body hung outside, rope wound tightly around the head, a white, purplish rotted stump barely still connected at the severed neck. Experimentally, coyly, she reached out to touch it, and giggled delightedly as it swung at her touch, rocking back and forward by the rope.

Then, she turned, eyes half-lidded, a smile teasing at her lips as her eyes locked with mine.

“You’ve been so good,” she cooed. “So good. So much better than he was. I know you’ll call. Won’t you?”

Eh…oops. That wrote itself. Too much Cthulhu Mythos lately? ;)

in Life of Giang

An offering to the muses (along with van Gogh’s ear)

What the hell is wrong with Henry James? I’ve started reading “The Golden Bowl”, and I am having a really hard time understanding what it is that he thinks he’s saying. I sense, between the lines, he is speaking some sort of clever American expatriate language that may be purposefully difficult for me to comprehend. Just the type of inaccessibility English doctoral candidates have naughty dreams about.

In a fit of pique, I googled “What the hell is wrong with Henry James?!” Number one result?

The Mystery of Henry James’s Testicles.

Sometimes the universe makes more sense than you think.

in Books, Poetry

Hector!

I think I’m actually the tiniest bit depressed about Hector dying. I thought about it at least three or four times today, and felt sad. WTH, Homer.  You suck.  And you suck, too, Brad Pitt!  /sad

in Books, Poetry, Movies, Music

Pop goes my heart

Watched “The King’s Speech” a couple nights ago. Colin Firth was great, Geoffrey Rush (as always) magnificent, but it felt just…done before. It didn’t help that they ended with the same Beethoven piece that closed “Immortal Beloved”.  Plus, Gary Oldman > Colin Firth, so that’s that.  It gets an A-.

I’ve taken to watching movies while I exercise. It helps me not be bored. I started with “Morning Glory” this weekend. I loved it. Patrick Wilson: YES, please!  Also, I think Rachel McAdams is adorable. It gets a B+.

“Music and Lyrics” finished tonight, and it was a largely mediocre romcom, and I don’t really care for Drew Barrymore. However, I find Hugh Grant time and again manages to push through my vague dislike for him and deliver a good performance. You know what they say: it’s hard to feel antipathy for a guy when he’s willing to put on tight ’80s pants and gyrate for you.  I cried at the end.  It gets a B.

I’m rounding the corner on the end of The Illiad.  Excited I’m going to be done with it; I keep seeing Brad Pitt everywhere. I’m no Homer purist, but really? My brain gets a fail.

 

 

in Life of Giang

Shhhhhss…

Things I can do when spending extra time at home working that I can’t do when I’m at the office:

1. Test the lame electrical output next to my desk and look up “Open Neutral“.
2. Daydream about fixing all the outlets in my house and saying, “TADA!” to Curt when he comes home.
3. Watch a Shiba Inu talk in his sleep.
4. Scold Margot for catching a lizard to use as a chew toy.
5. Pet my cats.
6. Do a load of laundry.
7. Make a list of what I’m going to reward myself with when this article is finished.
8. Look up what I’ve missed on the last season of Desperate Housewives.
9. Watch hummingbirds come to feed at my hummingbird feeder.
10. Make a list of things that I’ve been able to do while I’m writing my article.

AND IT’S ONLY 10:40 AM! Working at home FTW!!

in Garden Beasties, Life of Giang

The oriole has landed!

I’ve been putting out oranges and other oriole-luring items out on my bird tree, and today I see the oriole eating right out of the feeder! My bird book says they don’t do this, and I was like, “Huh! Bucked that trend of evolution, eh!”

And then after taking some photos of it through my window screen, I see that it’s in fact, not an oriole at all, but a Black-Headed Grosbeak, which readily eats seedy bits from feeders.

I = n00b.