Also, my body's "HEY I'M FULL!!" alert comes on quite suddenly when eating sushi, I've noticed. With normal food, I can eat and then my body says it's full and I can still take a few more bites without feeling grossed out. But sushi isn't normal, and when my body says it's full, it means "STOP. SERIOUSLY. RIGHT NOW." and I pretty much have to stop eating that minute or else my gag reflex gets flipped on, full blast. (Wow. That was an unfortunate pairing of phrases.)
#2. Cormac McCarthy. If you don't know who he is, shame on you, 'cause you should. He...... mmm. His writing.... just.... it's..... hmmm.... Well, as I remarked to my friend the other day, only he can make a murder seem like falling in love, and the whole time you're just saying "thank you, thank you for this, dear, lovely Mr. McCarthy," no matter if he's describing mountains or a cold morning or a decaying body lying face-up in a river. It's all golden. Here's proof.
Brogan and cane and cracked pad clatter and slide on the shelly rocks and stop where a snake lies curled belly-up to the silent fold and dip of a petal-burst of butterflies fanning his flat and deadwhite underside. Scout smells cautiously at the snake, the butterflies in slow riot over his head, flowery benediction of their veined and harlequin wings. With his cane the old man turns the snake, remarking the dusty carpet pattern of its dull skin, the black clot of blood where the rattles have been cut away.
They go on--steps soft now in the rank humus earth, or where carapaced with lichens the texture of old green velvet, or wet and spongy earth tenoned with roots, the lecherous ganglia of things growing--coming down, pursuing the shadowline into the smoking river valley.
Sounds like Christmas, doesn't it?
#3. THE LINE-UP. I can't even believe it, it's going to be so great this year. I'm really glad nobody was home this morning when I looked it up, because I just kept gasping loudly at the computer screen as I read each name. Explosions in the Sky. Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. Bright Eyes. The Decemberists. Together with Iron and Wine and Fleet Foxes, this summer will be made of seeing at least four bands I've been aching to see for years, all in one summer. *Sighs in feverish anticipation.*#4. Okay. I should say some words about California. (For a better account of it all, go here.) Watching the sun rise misty and tentative over those grey-green hills that morning, almost killing a cat, and then watching in horror as most of our luggage catapulted out of our topper and spilled across the busy freeway behind us... well. Couldn't have been a better beginning to a better trip.
For those interested, we traveled to a beach just north of Santa Barbara and camped there for two nights, and then drove down the coast (stopping for a while in Santa Monica) to Dana Point and camped there for two nights, and then drove home (stopping for a while in the L.A. temple.) And I don't care what ANY of you say, IT WAS SO MUCH FUN WITH MY BEST FRIENDS FOREVER!!!! LULZ!!!!
Except seriously, it was the best. There always seemed to be old people around us, for one. Which was awesome in and of itself. We had the most delicious Japanese food, and also the most delicious shrimp/mahi mahi tacos. We even watched the sunset over the ocean while eating said tacos. We saw ducks and pelicans and seagulls and those nasty little sand bugs and crabs and sea anemones and sea urchins and mussels and hermit crabs and DOLPHINS and sandpipers (100 points for Lindsey for identification!) and the cutest dogs (everywhere!!) and so much seaweed. We went on a hike and built sandcastles and read on the beach and swam in the--freezing and treacherous--waves. I got sunburned. Sunburnt. To a crisp. We played around Laguna Beach and fantasized about living there when we're old. We burned banana palm fronds and driftwood and watched the flames turn purple and tried to escape that acrid smoke as we told stories and listened to the frogs and waves and the passing trains. We drove for hours and hours and hours and determined the details of our family relationship and pretended we weren't sick of sitting. We had old men hit on us; or, at least, Ashley and I did. We waterbended (waterbent?) and earth(sand) bended(bent) and battled extremely persistent seagulls. We fell asleep on the sand. We took two showers. (Two and a half, if you count the temple.) We yelled at Gladys the GPS and Gladys the GPS yelled back at us. We yelled at each other but never with any sincerity. We sang hymns around the fire, but only because Ashley really wanted us to. Like, really. We ate hardly anything but bread and peanut butter and apples and pineapple and oatmeal and cup-o-noodles, and Evan brought us back two fallen lemons and a handful of flowers.
It was the best of times and the hobo-est of times.
Screaming in the front seat, crying in the back seat.
WE DUCT-TAPED OUR CAR-TOPPER CLOSED, FOR GOODNESS' SAKES!
Why We Fight -- The Decemberists
i loved everything about this post.
ReplyDeleteevery. thing.
especially #4 and how it made me want to jump back in my little car and repeat the trip all over again.