Curious Inquire Within:

Today I read up on Nancy Astor.  Interesting.

 I am currently obsessed with Sam Adam’s Winter Lager.  So, I’m spending some time wandering around the Sam Adam’s Website.  It’s been very courteous to me, spending much time answering my sundry questions about beer and even telling me how to enjoy my beer! Delightful.

http://www.samueladams.com/world_of_beer.aspx

I drank far too much coffee this morning; I wonder if this is what speed feels like.   I’d hope it’s easier on the stomach, however, this is awful.

I’d really like to make a gingerbread house this year. I wish I could find a good how-to.  Last time my technique failed pretty miserably.  Thanks alot, Betty Crocker.  No harm done, though.  I did consult an outdated version of your book. Sorry.

My Dad just yells from the living room…

“Eh, Eh, Hey Rosanne! You seen this BAYWOLF came out? You know this movie?  

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, yeah! You mean, BEOWULF? Yeah. I saw it.”

“Oh, really? How was it?”

“Good!”

“Oh, good. Your professor in on it?”

 ”Nah. He saw it though.”

“Oh, good.”

I love it.  Also, Neil Gaiman was correct — as stated in Smoke and Mirrors, people certainly do mishear Beowulf for the… BAYWOLF? (Caps vital in this case to mimic my father’s extremely loud voice and boisterous German accent)

I’ve heard alot of Beowulf talk these days.  Between usual reference, the movie, and Wil’s thesis, Beowulf is a fond conversation topic.  Maybe not so fond for Wil.  I think he’s about to poke his eyes out. 

Not so much proof of the paranormal, but interesting pagan (or just boredom) bits:

http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/worldnews.html?in_article_id=495538&in_page_id=1811

I’d wish the former isn’t a fake.  But according to some qualified guy quoted on wikipedia, “pissing” on the metal and then burying it in the ground a few days produces the same effects.  Might be just for fun.

The second is just admirable, in a way. 

Guys, I’m going to this lecture next week.  It’s going to be crazy town.  I cannot wait.

Look, guys.  It was kickass.

I know it wasn’t “accurate.” I know it wasn’t “Heaney.” But that wasn’t the point, now, was it?  I imagine the combined efforts of Gaiman, Avery and Zemeckis would and should yield a very different sort of stew. 

 Perhaps a snarkish, brutal, delightful, and-odd-at-times-for-i-think-overdose-of-gimmick-and-conglomeration-of-visions-that-are-never-totally-and-smoothly-melded-in-completion-in-such-movies sort of stew.

 I’ve been drinking zee wine, so I think I’ll take the trouble to stay up and write a bit.  I’m feeling inspired, that’s all.

You know what I’ll do later? Write a short treatise on the Grendel Grinch connection.  Needs to be done.  It’s been done before, but needs to be done again.

Uh, or not.

Good night.

Thanksgiving! Hooray! It was a good day.  I feel satisfied and warm.

 Got to see my brother’s baby boy, Luke. He’s great… so laid back, and forgiving. Lots of smiles and wise looks, too. At only 4 months! So much happiness.  His daughters are wonderful as well, growing and getting curiouser and curiouser by the day. We watched Pinnochio together — I think I need to do a comparison check with the storybook version.  I’m not sure Monstro the whale is the real deal.

So here’s that picture of my hair:

Ta-da.  Okay, back to reading.

I do love gin very much, so I must post this article that mortalwombat731 was delicious enough to share:

Gin Blossoms: The life and death of gin—and its 21st-century resurgence
By Peter Meehan

So good.

Well, I’m finally back home after a harrowing run in with a gin and tonic.  And a very cordial cop.

I was shuttling me and Cal over to Lilly Logans post-drinks (gin and tonic drinks!)with Ed at The Artist’s Pallete in Poughkeespie, when the lights flare up red and white in my rear-view mirror and I pull over accordingly.

I was so convinced he was going to be a jerk and breathalyze me — I’d only had one drink, two hours prior, so logically I knew I was FINE, but I’m paranoid — however, he only needed to notify me that one of my front headlights was out. Then, he chuckled several times, gave Cal and me directions to Lilly Logan’s (a bar…) and we were on our way.  Fantastic guy.

By the way? That gin and tonic? Delicious.  Sure, it gave me a small aneurism during the few seconds I thought a trace of the juniper stuffs might show up on a DUI test, but the good fortune barometer seems to be reading quite well these days.   And that gin and tonic therefore remains heavenly in my memory. Ah.

I’ll now enjoy a beer, thank you very much.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Clean that plate! Mmm!

May it stuff you to the gills, immobilize you to the point of Many Naps, and pour you so many glasses of wine that you’ll be willing to toast to most nice things. Cheers!

Just a quick continuation of that last post — I’m wondering what happened to Narnia.  I gave Mikayla The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe for Christmas last year and it remains unread.  I think the bloody lion thing scared my sister off. 

 Back to the point.

I’m home again, settled under my nice goose down quilt, and stationed next to that fire-trap lamp that my mother totally hates. It’s a papery thing, with roses around the shade, and a gold tassle trim on the bottom rim.  The base is a clear sort of glass, with a fake marble bottom. I adore the stupid thing; it looks Victorian, OK?!  But, my mother says I’m going to send the whole house up in flames — it’s like 80 years old, I left that part out — Let’s hope not.

 – I’m trying to elimate the word “so” from my writing vocabulary; I use it too much.  I already had to delete it three times.  Maybe this is a bad idea. A stupid one. –

 I drove lots tonight.  I went all the way up Rte. 52 in order to get to the salon.  This was a treat, the blackness had already settled in so I could pick out the passing glints of living room lights past the woods, off the road. I love that.  I feel like I’m driving through a residential forest when I can observe that firefly-like quality of house-lights flickering behind the trees, as I speed along.  

A couple of odd incidents did occur, aside from stumbling onto Fat Boy Slim’s “Praise You” on the radio dial.  The first incident was actually just really, really sad. Like, the saddest thing ever.  I came across this poor little possum lying on the road; it had clearly just been run over.  But, the half of his body that was stuck up towards the air was still waving and spastically jogging to get away from the scene.  Unfortuantely, he was obviously a dead goner and no amount of paddling and waving could save him.  This made me sad.  It was also a disturbing image.

Then, I drove by a large hedge bush which I could swear developed arms and shoulders and a head, in order to menace at me.  This was just strange.

***

 Haircuts!

I got a Massive Haircut.  It’s jaunty and shaplier than my formerly ridiculous mane.  This means I can spend less time looking like Miss Frizzle… or more, maybe, because this haircut might encourage me to cease using any kind of bobby pins or brushes.  Ever. 

The Massive Haircut is liberating, though.  I no longer am permanently school-marm. I can funk it up easily with wax, an iron,  or whatever else have you.   Perhaps I will post a picture later.

I really do dig the Victorian look, regardless of the change.  I’ll probably figure out a way to pin it up elaborately, despite the lack of length.   Just so I can keep on with that.

Apparently,  I seem like the type of woman that could potentially be wielding the universe in her handbag.  More on that later? I guess?

This blogging thing is getting less weird with each post.

Starbucks Tazo Chai tea is wonderful, by the way. Peppery and leafy.

Just got home for the short break. I was thinking in the car, on the way home. About, you know, Christmas gifts. Becuase it’s not even Thanksgiving and the lights are up all over town…

Anyway, here’s a thought.

My niece wants to read Twelfth Night. She tells her mother that she saw the book in the school library — its cover full of English folks, woodland creatures and flowers — and now is “dying to read it, mom!”  (She’s in a HUGE woodland-creatures-English-folks-flowers-and-unicorns stage.)

I think the cover she saw probably looked something like this:

Now, she’s 7 years old, mind you. She’s got not a clue as to who or what Shakespeare is. Or, what the significance of the tweltfth of however many nights might be.

Therefore, my sister, upon hearing this plea, was boggled.  She asked me, since I’m apparently the resident Shakespeare expert being an English major, my advice:  should she pick up one of those “modern versions” that are readable? 

My reply? No, please don’t! Shakespeare is totally readable, and modern! There’s no such thing as a “modern” version… it’s just as up to date as this blog entry in terms of the English language. Using, for example, No Fear Shakespeare,  if that’s what one considers a ”modern” version, would be like feeding her honey colored cardboard masquerading as a graham cracker.  An insult to intelligence and the stomach! No Fear? So Much Fear.

As long as you pick up a good version — Folger?– with adequate footnotes (to explain Shakes slang phrses along the lines of “Thou rump-fed ronyon!”) and sort of acquaint yourself with the story beforehand, I say you CAN read it.  You being you, reader, or my sister specifically. What I’m getting at, is why not read it TO her? 

And that’s what I said.  I said, Diane, read it TO her! This is a shot for you to spill the words of one of the ultimate story-tellers out of your mouth.  Talk about swiping credit. That is what it’s meant for when all is said and done: reading. Read it to each other. Read it in turns. Read it in scary voices, soft voices, funny voices, animal voices.  Whatever suits the words and your mind travels.

Plus, how much better could it get?  A chance to read your child Shakespeare because they begged you for it? Dude!

Anyway, I think I’m going to pick it up for her for Christmas.  I think my sister’s too intimidated to do it, you see. I’m going to expedite the process, then, that’s all.

And give her all the woodland wonders she wants.

It might be a nice diet modification — she needs to get her head out of  the Disney princess business for a bit. 

By the way, favorite Shakesperian insult of the moment:

 ”Thou art some fool, I am loath to beat thee. ” -Cymbeline

 Now that’s pretty harsh.  So dumb you don’t even want to waste the drop-kick. Ouch.  Thanks Google Homepage.

I just ate way too much pot roast.  Off to get a haircut and then coffee with Mr. O’Dea. Dad is distressing over the price of oil. Ah, to be home again, home again. Jiggity Jig. Jiggety Jog.

Hey, wait a second… should I worry about the cross-dressing involved in Twelfth Night? Hm. Eh. Nah.