"One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other."

Lights were too bright last week. And sounds. They were sharp, piercing, stabbing at my eardrums. A virus took my feet out from under me and forced me to stay still. Bedrest reminded me of before times, when ladies would lounge for days, lackluster and laudanum, fanning and staring. There is a certain elegance to resigning yourself to nothing; the days go in, they go out, buses go by, children come and go from school, but there you lie, separate.

And bored. I can confirm there is such a thing as too much television. I'm on hiatus. I don't know--time lying there doing nothing can't help but be reflective and I was forced to face the things I have let become dusty: the scientific manuscript I wanted to publish, my violin, even a half knit hat. A fever breaking and rejuvenation is euphoric.

One of my decisions? I need to go on a trip. And this may be a result of watching too many Jane Austen movies last week, or from my contemplation of laudanum, but I'd like to go to a cottage somewhere misty and chilly, requiring multiple layers and scarves, in a small town with two pubs and lots of trails for walking. I'm thinking Ireland, maybe the UK, maybe soon.

good thoughts sending

I walked for hours this morning, in and out of a creek, along paths, digging holes in blackberry patches, marking trails, measuring high water marks, and mapping wild strawberry patches. It wasn't until I gasped for joy at seeing this fellow that I realized I hadn't spoken all day.

You may not notice, but I'll take yo' pitcha.

Mid-August, when I was in San Diego, Crosby put on her fashion PR extraordinaire hat to cover the THREAD show for San Diego Fashion Calendar. I was able to tag along, score a VIP bag and free drinks, and put on my photographer hat, which was kinda rumpled for official occasions but fit quite nice. You can find Cros' write-up, and my photos, HERE. She didn't use the picture of her partaking of the special punch, but should have if you ask me. :)

Not to put a too fine a point on it

Free Shakespeare in the Park, originally uploaded by leslaz.

Free Shakespeare in the Park was lovely Sunday afternoon. They performed Pericles, with a western twang, and I must say it was the best performance I have seen by SFshakes. Loves were lost in shipwrecks, assassins were assassinated, children were fostered, attempted killed, abducted by pirates, expelled from brothels due to their insistent virtue, and everyone found each other in the end by the most realistic means. Couple that with wine and cheese and watermelon and Presidio sun...gluttonous relaxation.

This morning, I sat at a stop sign, waiting for it to change.

I will never wake up imbued with magical powers other than those I already have, suddenly a witch, suddenly interesting with a priestess pendant. I probably won't wake up with wings, barring some freak genetic mutation resultant from eating too much dark chocolate. I could go back to school and study something completely different than what I am doing right now. Moving in with someone does not equal getting engaged. The power in randomness is random repetition. I only like living on the top floor; I will not live in the basement. I love windows and the opening of them. Hummus with horseradish is served in Heaven. Berating yourself for doing what you are able is silly. It's better to commit to less and do more than to commit to everything and be a flake. Homemade egg noodles should be cut thin and short, otherwise they feel like bread in your belly. Everyone should have a Scan Toaster and eat poetry for breakfast.

So, I searched my name on Flickr, and this is what came up first...

happy hump day.

Flashback Friday: Christmas with 8th graders

Oh goodness. I do love me some Flashback Friday, an event both reminiscent and joyful because I get to wax nostalgic, and, well, it's Friday. Double doses of smiles all around.

What we have here is a Polaroid taken in the corner of the junior high gym during 8th grade. I'm going to go with the idea that it's a Christmas dance, given Monica's awesome red pants and Christmas tree sweatshirt. Also supporting this theory is that I KNOW what I am wearing here and I remember loving this outfit thoroughly: a green crushed velvet dress with an off-white lace bodysuit underneath. Did you catch that? BODYSUIT. Hellsyeah.

Eighth grade was such a pivotal, awkward year. I remember feeling a tad odd about this photo because I was only good friends with about half of the participants, and a couple of them I hardly knew. This was the year when people started doing crazy things; cutting (not school), drinking, dabbling in the drogas. I remember sitting in gym class and listening to a girl talk about losing her virginity, astounded and shocked. Shocked not because I thought it was wrong, but because having sex was pretty much the LAST thing on my mind. I was trying to cope with things like not really needing a bra but kinda wanting one because of the locker room situation. It was like getting shell-shocked out of playing with Nerfuls.

Change is change. The year after we left Harvest Park to enter the realms of high school, they built a new gym; an amazing structural phenomena with two basketball courts and shiny light fixtures. Class of 97 always seemed to be a year off on the new stuff. Alas, I bet they even had professional photographers the year after for school dances instead of 8th graders taking other 8th graders Polaroid pictures for $1 as a fundraiser. Whatever. I probably would have thrown the professional one away. This, I cherish.

if the kitchen had a frying pan, he'd be in the fire.

Human 1 (female): Hey [insert male coworker's name], you want some of my zucchini?

Human 2 (male): Uh, no but thank you.

Human 1: Well okay. Maybe next time, cuz' I brought a big one you know. (laughs)