Distressing dream

I dreamed that Oscar Wilde and William Shakespeare were having a humongous fight in heaven. Oscar Wilde said that Shakespeare didn’t have the courage of his convictions (meaning he was Not Really Queer), and Shakespeare said that if anybody here didn’t have the courage of his convictions, it was Mr. Lied Himself Blue In The Face To Avoid Prison, and then Shakespeare said “How didst that work out for thee anyway?” and Oscar Wilde said that he considered it the height of tactlessness for Shakespeare to be making fun of the unfortunate incident that led to his never seeing his sons again, and he would have expected Shakespeare to be more sympathetic since he had lost a son of his own. And I thought that both of them were unkind to bring up these painful incidents, but I didn’t want to get in the middle of it. I was just about to tiptoe away when I woke up.

A regrettable quality to possess

is the inability to photograph well. I just take terrible photographs. Even my senior portraits look weird and unlike me. I think that in the history of time, there are maybe two pictures of myself I really like.

This is very unfortunate on days like today, when I looked really cute. I had on a white button-down shirt and a high-waisted black-and white skirt, and a black-and-white headband, and my hair was a little bit straightened but not completely, so my hair isn't frizzy but it doesn't look lank, and I was wearing some adorable black-and-white shoes that I got on sale at White House Black Market, and my purse was black, and I just looked really good.

But I can't prove it! If you don't see me today, you will never know how cute I look, because even if I took a photograph to document it, you would not be able to tell that I look pretty. I would look weird - my chin would look strange, and my smile would be all weird, and my cheeks would look like they were eating my eyes. It's like when I had my birthday hat, my piratey Ascotty hat, and I bought an outfit to go with it so that I could wear it back home on the plane (because I couldn't pack it so I had to wear it), and I bought all the pieces separately but nevertheless it all coordinated really well. And I looked pretty, and everyone was extremely helpful as I traveled, and they carried my bags for me, and they showed me where the secret lifts were, and they called me "Madam" - but still, when I took a picture, I still looked weird. It's extremely frustrating. Pray for photogenic children. For their sakes.

An equation I discovered when I was walking out of the store with a box of cards in my hand

Blackberry + Tarot Cards = Balance

The sea, the sea, the sea, the sea!

I missed the sea! Oh, I missed it so much! How have I been living my life for the past five or six years without the lovely ocean? The wonderful ocean! I am so glad I went on retreat with my work for the past couple of days because we went to the glorious and amazing ocean! I haven't seen it for so long and I missed it, the wonderful sea! I didn't do any body-surfing or look at seagulls, but there were a lot of brown pelicans, and I splashed around in the ocean. At night, which was fun, because I have not very often (if ever) gone swimming at night.

Here is a poem that I like a lot, and it is about the sea, and Robert Frost wrote it. It's called "Neither Out Far Nor In Deep", which isn't the best title ever, but it's very Robert Frosty, so I guess that's what you get.

The people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
They turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.

As long as it takes to pass
A ship keeps raising its hull;
The wetter ground like glass
Reflects a standing gull.

The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be—
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.

They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?

I like that poem a lot.

Kinda creepy

One of the electric sockets in the bathroom lights up. Which I think is so you won't stick your finger in the socket when you stumble into the bathroom at night, or so you will more easily be able to plug in your, I don't know, straightener or something when you stumble in at night. However, it's not completely lit up. It's just flickery. Flicker, flicker.

It looks exactly like the electric socket is just so charged full of electricity that it just can't help lighting up. It's like the electric socket is gloating: YOU CANNOT RESIST MY POWER.

...I find it unsettling.

Happy birthday, Oscar Wilde!

Happy, happy birthday! It’s his 154^th birthday today! 154 years ago today he was born to Sir William (noted oculist and aorist once accused of chloroforming and raping one of his lady patients, which was very scandalous) and Lady Jane Francesca (it was Frances really but she fancied herself descended from Dante, her maiden name Elgee supposedly being a corruption of Alighieri so she made her name sound more Italian) Wilde. I can’t help thinking he should have rejoiced more in his given name instead of abandoning it upon reaching adulthood: Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde. He said that eventually he was going to become so famous that he would be down to one name. (Like Dante.) Oscar Wilde charms me.

I have many, many facts about Oscar Wilde in my mind. At one point I was going to write a thesis on him, but then I decided I didn’t want to at all, so here I am, packed full of interesting facts about Oscar Wilde and his friends and relations, all dressed up and nowhere to go. I have strong feelings about his friends and relations, by the way. Very, very strong feelings. For instance I feel confident that Ada Leverson and I would have gotten on famously. If I had only been born a really long time ago, I could have encouraged her to ditch her worthless husband sooner, and we could have stayed in England and been BFF and talked about the good old days before England was such an ass to our good buddy Oscar. (Her birthday was 10 October. Libra.) Bosie’s was 22 October, but if ever I saw a totally-not-Libra completely-Scorpio, it’s Lord Horrible Bosie Alfred Horrible Douglas. One time I had this dream that he came over to my house in tears because he missed Oscar Wilde so much, and I pretended to comfort and console him when really all the time I was pumping him for information about Oscar Wilde. I told him he was a great poet, maybe even better than Shelley (He said this himself one time, that he was such an amazing poet he’d been compared favorably with Shelley. Bosie, you make me throw up.), and he sniffled and told me lots of interesting things Oscar Wilde said and did. It was an extremely satisfying dream.

I also dreamt once that I met Oscar Wilde, and I ran to fetch my voice recorder in order to record his reportedly beautiful voice, but it was out of batteries. That was less satisfying, and it’s the only time I’ve ever dreamt about meeting Oscar Wilde. Although I would like to.

So celebrate, everyone! Oscar Wilde was born today!

Harry Potter's first Christmas

Well, okay, not his first. But his first nice one! Well, I guess his second nice one, since I’m sure his very first Christmas was a lot of fun as his parents were still alive, but he was only very, very tiny then. So his first remembered Christmas, the one at Hogwarts where he gets his Invisibility Cloak. I started reading that Christmas chapter this morning right before I went to work, and although I didn’t get to the bit where he gets all his presents, I still became super excited about Christmas’s imminent arrival. Plus, there has been weather that is somewhat cooler than incredibly hot; plus, it’s mid-October now, which is about the time my mind gets into the Christmas mindset, if all’s right with the world. Since I do not have midterms to worry about (ha!), and I will not have finals (ha!), I am free to focus on the joyous fact that Christmas is in two and a half months! 72 days remain! It is time to start considering Christmas gifts for those I love! I have already got plans for one, two, three, four people – my older sister, my old work people, one of my friends, and my darling aunty (one of my darling aunties; I have like twenty of them, but I only do Christmas presents for the ones in town). Oh, and I suppose I have something in mind for my grandmother too, because she – like me – is always happy to have new books.

Oh! Oh! And Christmas cards! I am a total grown-up now, and that means I’m going to send Christmas cards out! Oh, I’m so excited! Fabulous Christmas cards, I shall go shopping for them tomorrow! And I shall make a list of people to whom I wish to send Christmas cards! All my beloved family members will know that I am thinking of them with love in my heart in this most joyous Christmas season! I’m so glad that my aunt and uncle gave me some of their Christmas records, or else I wouldn’t have any Christmas music to play around my room. Oo, except that Roches CD. I’m going to play that Roches CD tonight before I go to bed. Wonderful Roches! Wonderful Christmas!

I am in a ridiculously good mood now. Not sure if it’s because I’ve just started reading Harry Potter over again, or because I thought of Christmas, and Christmas always puts me in a good mood. I love Christmas! Christmas is a wonderful holiday! I love presents! I love buying presents, and I love hiding presents in my closet, and wrapping presents up in shiny paper, and coming out to the living room on Christmas morning to behold the glorious heap of presents beneath the tree! Capitalist materialism is fun! If the dominant paradigm is wonderful Christmas, it does not need to be subverted but EMBRACED. Want “Deck the Halls” stuck in your head? Come to me! I am already singing it! Nobody can tell me it’s too early! I’m my own woman! Hurrah for Christmas carols!

I have not had a good Christmas since starting this blog. My 2006 Christmas was far from home and my family and came very shortly before a break-up; my 2007 Christmas was far from home and came very shortly after a death in the family. You would think that these things might have soured my love affair with Christmas, but no, they haven’t even approached damaging my transcendent love for the joyful Christmas season. When it is Christmas, my wonderful uncle Jim comes to visit, and we give him lots of hugs and affection because we know he has missed us in the months (or weeks, as it may be) since he has seen us last. We make delicious sugar cut-out cookies with each other. Sometimes we go camping and eat yummy brisket and red beans and rice and read Forever Amber with Bonnie. We play Christmas music and sing Christmas songs and hang Christmas lights and it’s just the most best time of year. Christmas! Christmas! Christmas!

(In the interests of full disclosure about holidays, Halloween and Thanksgiving are also coming up. Whatever. It’s all about Christmas.)

On my way to grab some food this evening, I stopped at the Dollar Tree and bought two things of wrapping paper, some sparkly red and green gift bags, white tissue paper, and two things of Christmassy to-from tags. It was joyful. Only one of the things of wrapping paper was Christmas-themed. The other one was just awesome. People with upcoming birthdays will see.

What my mother said to me yesterday

She said: "This book (Jodi Picoult's Vanishing Acts) was very absorbing. I stayed up all night reading it."

And I, knowing that my mother doesn't stay up past eight, said: "Really?"

And my mother said: "Yes. Till ten-thirty!"

In other news, I watched a really depressing football game today. I went straight home before it was over and I read that bit of the sixth Harry Potter book where Ron succeeds in turning the Gryffindor Quidditch season around, to cheer myself up (it didn't work). CBS had the meanest commentators ever and they loathed LSU obviously, and I now completely decline to ever watch CBS again. I mean, my God, CBS, WE GET IT ALREADY. YOU ARE FELLATING THE ENTIRE FLORIDA TEAM ON THE SIDE. QUIT REPLAYING THAT AWFUL PLAY.

However, my aunt and uncle, with whom I watched the football game until we all got too depressed to continue, learned that I had purchased a record player, and they gave me all their old records. Now, this includes some Barry Manilow ones, giving me the opportunity to mock my aunt for her previous musical tastes by singing "Copacabana" at every commercial break (now it's stuck in my head, so that'll teach me to make fun of the music people used to like before they wised up), but it also includes the Jesus Christ Superstar album that she got when she was twelve, the Jesus Christ Superstar album that I love like my life, the version of Jesus Christ Superstar that is my desert island record. Also Cat Stevens, Simon & Garfunkel, Diana Ross, Grease, and many other things.

You know what's MORE annoying than having an earworm that you don't recognize?

I WILL TELL YOU. Forgetting to look up the song on the internet when you finally get back near a computer after hours on your feet, then remembering again while you are in the middle of cooking a rather messy dinner, then forgetting again after everyone goes home, then the next day at work remembering that there was a song stuck in your head yesterday for six hours and you wanted to find out what it was but being unable to remember how the damn song went.

Grrrrr.

Life is weird.

Today I danced in my room. I had no alcohol in me at all. I. Danced. (Sober.)

...That is the magic of the New Pornographers on vinyl. It's true what everybody's been saying. Music just sounds better when it is coming off a record.