A few days after my most previous entry I was innocently munching on my daily apple unaware that the smooth yet discoloured patch on the skin was indicative of horror within. I bit right into this apple on that patch and retrieved a mouthful of mushy, brown rotteness which pervaded the apple to its very core. The irony was not delicious. In anguish I discarded it. Needless to say my passion for apples has lessened in intensity.
In other news I do not have one specific thing to muse on, only bits and pieces of my week. I've decided to return home in October after visiting my human brother and parents in Dublin-it'll be an 80% family reunion! So I've mostly been busy having a grand stressful time with trying to fit one suitcase into another and getting luggage within the strict limits of RyanAir's carry on policy. And, in the year and a bit that I've been abroad I've put off purchasing souvenirs for everyone, so that's a definite order of business.
I did however find time to visit Rosslyn Chapel in the town of Roslin with some friends. Since its use as the supposed ultimate resting place of the bones of Mary Magdelene in the Davinci Code Rosslyn Chapel has gone from receiving around 30 thousand visitors to 170 thousand a year. It was crowded enough yesterday that rather than being led around the room everyone had to sit on the pews and the tour made less sense-Damn. However, I got to sit next to a sleeping kitty cat-Yes! But I wasn't allowed to pet it-Damn. I don't know why this lady brought her cat with her to a church, but she is most definitely my new role model.
The Chapel isn't as steeped in Priory of Sion symbolism as Dan Brown made it seem. It is decorated all around by faces of the Green Man, a pagan myth representative of man's relationship with nature and aging. There are hundreds of faces all together connected by a vine, all done in 14th century mason work. Apparently though, the Green Man was a popular figure at the time and is featured in many churches across Europe. In any case the Chapel was full of fascinating stories and depictions, some mysterious and eerie. It was well worth it and afterwards we went to check out the local castle which turned out to be a wall. Still we had fun exploring the surrounding forest and getting a glimpse of the Scottish countryside.
Earlier today a friend and I ascended the magnificent Sir Walter Scott monument, which has around 287 spiral steps. I've climbed higher heights but never in such narrow or disorganized passages. Frequently while going up we would nearly collide with other visitors going down and we'd have to budge up against the wall while they squeezed past us being careful to not to miss the edge of the narrowed steps. On the highest flight of stairs a girl went balistic and for a few minutes could go neither up or down; her boyfriend had to lead her down step by step. The view at the top was glorious and from there we listened to a guy on the street play "Thunderstruck" on bagpipes. I will miss Scotland.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
This is how I like dem apples:
It occurred to me the other day that as of late I've been having a lot of conversations about apples. It's hard to say where this preoccupation of mind stemmed from but now that I've acknowledged it I can no longer refrain from disclosing the truth to everyone possible: I love apples; infact I dare say that of all fruits there is none more noble than the glorious Malus Domestica.
Bananas may be cheaper, but only delicious on the chance that they are the right amount of ripe, and then all too soon their zing subsides to mushy flavourlessness. Peaches are juicier but at the price that the juices dribble down the chin making the enjoyment of them an embarrasing ordeal. Apples don't bruise as easily, they have the right amount of juice, plus they can be enjoyed anywhere at anytime making them ideal for picnics, lunches or bribes to teachers. But above all what makes apples so amazing is their availibility to me at a reasonable price despite their great taste, unlike snobby grapes and strawberries of disdain. Truly the apple is the Robin Hood of fruit.
I could go on forever about the infinite qualities of apples which make them ideal. Actually that last paragraph was initially five paragraphs which had much more expostulation and passion. Who needs expostulation though? We all know in our heart or hearts how great apples are, even if we don't admit it. What is of more concern is how we go about professing our love for apples. In the expression of their greatness words may go too far and carry dangerous connotations which warp an otherwise healthy appreciation.
For example, I was talking to my human sister Braleigh the other day on facebook chat and I broached the topic of my love for apples. Her immediate response was "what are your favourite kinds of apple?" I felt that something was wrong with this question and it's immediacy, but having never been exposed to her ideas before I responded "granny smith or golden delicious". Truthfully I do not, as I feel I should not, have a favourite kind, these are simply the first two that popped into my head in answer to a perverse question.
Yes, perverse I say, and given her reply it's not hard to understand my discomfort. She said " Wow. You're so basic". Now her question may be interpreted fairly but coupled with that response I cannot but declare it to be the exact definiton of Apple Racism! (apple racism: a belief or doctrine that inherent differences amongst various apple races determine superiority) What's worse is she went on in unatural zeal to describe her loyalty to pink lady, jazz, and cameo apples as though the appeal of these kinds could not be acheived by variations. Sickening. Even through the medium of the internet my skin was crawling.
She needs to be stopped. WE must put a stop to this poisonous apple racism and prevent these seeds of hatred from growing into indomitable trees of destruction. Cut the problem at it's core! This is a call to arms! Who's with me?!
( I think from here on in I will attempt to include the phrase "this is a call to arms!" in all of my posts)
Bananas may be cheaper, but only delicious on the chance that they are the right amount of ripe, and then all too soon their zing subsides to mushy flavourlessness. Peaches are juicier but at the price that the juices dribble down the chin making the enjoyment of them an embarrasing ordeal. Apples don't bruise as easily, they have the right amount of juice, plus they can be enjoyed anywhere at anytime making them ideal for picnics, lunches or bribes to teachers. But above all what makes apples so amazing is their availibility to me at a reasonable price despite their great taste, unlike snobby grapes and strawberries of disdain. Truly the apple is the Robin Hood of fruit.
I could go on forever about the infinite qualities of apples which make them ideal. Actually that last paragraph was initially five paragraphs which had much more expostulation and passion. Who needs expostulation though? We all know in our heart or hearts how great apples are, even if we don't admit it. What is of more concern is how we go about professing our love for apples. In the expression of their greatness words may go too far and carry dangerous connotations which warp an otherwise healthy appreciation.
For example, I was talking to my human sister Braleigh the other day on facebook chat and I broached the topic of my love for apples. Her immediate response was "what are your favourite kinds of apple?" I felt that something was wrong with this question and it's immediacy, but having never been exposed to her ideas before I responded "granny smith or golden delicious". Truthfully I do not, as I feel I should not, have a favourite kind, these are simply the first two that popped into my head in answer to a perverse question.
Yes, perverse I say, and given her reply it's not hard to understand my discomfort. She said " Wow. You're so basic". Now her question may be interpreted fairly but coupled with that response I cannot but declare it to be the exact definiton of Apple Racism! (apple racism: a belief or doctrine that inherent differences amongst various apple races determine superiority) What's worse is she went on in unatural zeal to describe her loyalty to pink lady, jazz, and cameo apples as though the appeal of these kinds could not be acheived by variations. Sickening. Even through the medium of the internet my skin was crawling.
She needs to be stopped. WE must put a stop to this poisonous apple racism and prevent these seeds of hatred from growing into indomitable trees of destruction. Cut the problem at it's core! This is a call to arms! Who's with me?!
( I think from here on in I will attempt to include the phrase "this is a call to arms!" in all of my posts)
Friday, September 2, 2011
starDUST, SANDman, what's next? POWDERpeople.....or something.
I am optimistic that as I progress in writing perhaps the title of my posts will improve? Here's hoping....
For a long while it had been my secret wish to someday glimpse or even to meet a celebrity. In London there were numerous opportunities. I could have seen Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act but I couldn't afford theater at the time. I could have gone to Buckingham Palace to see Will and Kate kiss on their wedding day but I really didn't feel like going out at the time. Friends would casually brag of who they saw in a restaurant or who they met at a concert. A friend once showed me video footage of Johnny Depp passing through a crowd of cameras and within two feet of him. At such times all I could do was stare wistfully out the nearest window, wondering when it would at last be my turn and what sort of personality this enigmatic character might have.
Well, that day has come and gone and I am happy to say that it was not a tabloid skank nor your average run of the mill, dime a dozen celebrity. It was none other than Neil Gaiman author of Stardust, Coraline, and writer of the brilliantly imaginative Sandman series. And, not only did I see him, I was in the same room as him for at least an hour! AND he made eye contact with me a few times! Oh, AND I heard him read, not his own material, but even so, it was amazing!
As apart of the International Book Festival, Amnesty International was hosting a free show every day in which different authors would read excerpts from the works of imprisoned writers around the world. I happened to attend the festival on the day in which Neil Gaiman was reading and decided to go.
Amongst the three other authors in attendance Gaiman was immediately distinguishable. He wore entirely black: baggy black pants tucked into black boots, and a black shirt covered by a black sports jacket. Also a black wristwatch worn on his right hand (Is he left handed? Possibly). All this combined with his black hair made for the same dark, moody effect that his characters are styled by.
And that hair. Such black hair. While he was sitting, listening to the others read he would frequently run his fingers through those frizzy curls which had such ease in their disarray that this was never to any effect. Was he brooding or being haughty? Was it an indifferent force of habit, or did he perhaps have a slight itch on his scalp? Alas! We can only speculate.
He was last of all to read his bit which was originally written by an inmate on death row in California. And of all the writers he by far had the best voice and charisma for the task. His voice is strong and silky, but not excessively so ( i was expecting it to be like Alan Rickman's) His perfect pauses and pronunciation heightened the dramatic effect when appropriate. His eyes roamed equally over the crowd and equally between the crowd and his paper. It was narration at its finest.
As I mentioned before he seemed to make eye contact with me a few times, however, I did not approach him after the show. One reason is that lately if my voice is not in use it tends to issue itself in croaks that would presumably belong to an individual who is either dying or very manly. But besides from that I don't think much would have been accomplished by me meeting him on such unequal footing as a famous writer to a fan. I would hardly have been able to articulate on what levels I appreciate his creativity. I would hardly have been able to articulate anything through sputters, stutters and eyes overflowing with adoration. Had I approached him in this state I imagine that I would have swiftly abandoned hope of an average interview and attempted to detach some souvenir hair from his head before running gleefully from the room. So it was all for the best. I could not have been happier with the experience.
I found out later though that apparently the day before he had a Q&A show, 1 hour long, hosted by Audrey Niffenegger all about his work, and the tickets were only £4.50! Sigh...
For a long while it had been my secret wish to someday glimpse or even to meet a celebrity. In London there were numerous opportunities. I could have seen Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act but I couldn't afford theater at the time. I could have gone to Buckingham Palace to see Will and Kate kiss on their wedding day but I really didn't feel like going out at the time. Friends would casually brag of who they saw in a restaurant or who they met at a concert. A friend once showed me video footage of Johnny Depp passing through a crowd of cameras and within two feet of him. At such times all I could do was stare wistfully out the nearest window, wondering when it would at last be my turn and what sort of personality this enigmatic character might have.
Well, that day has come and gone and I am happy to say that it was not a tabloid skank nor your average run of the mill, dime a dozen celebrity. It was none other than Neil Gaiman author of Stardust, Coraline, and writer of the brilliantly imaginative Sandman series. And, not only did I see him, I was in the same room as him for at least an hour! AND he made eye contact with me a few times! Oh, AND I heard him read, not his own material, but even so, it was amazing!
As apart of the International Book Festival, Amnesty International was hosting a free show every day in which different authors would read excerpts from the works of imprisoned writers around the world. I happened to attend the festival on the day in which Neil Gaiman was reading and decided to go.
Amongst the three other authors in attendance Gaiman was immediately distinguishable. He wore entirely black: baggy black pants tucked into black boots, and a black shirt covered by a black sports jacket. Also a black wristwatch worn on his right hand (Is he left handed? Possibly). All this combined with his black hair made for the same dark, moody effect that his characters are styled by.
And that hair. Such black hair. While he was sitting, listening to the others read he would frequently run his fingers through those frizzy curls which had such ease in their disarray that this was never to any effect. Was he brooding or being haughty? Was it an indifferent force of habit, or did he perhaps have a slight itch on his scalp? Alas! We can only speculate.
He was last of all to read his bit which was originally written by an inmate on death row in California. And of all the writers he by far had the best voice and charisma for the task. His voice is strong and silky, but not excessively so ( i was expecting it to be like Alan Rickman's) His perfect pauses and pronunciation heightened the dramatic effect when appropriate. His eyes roamed equally over the crowd and equally between the crowd and his paper. It was narration at its finest.
As I mentioned before he seemed to make eye contact with me a few times, however, I did not approach him after the show. One reason is that lately if my voice is not in use it tends to issue itself in croaks that would presumably belong to an individual who is either dying or very manly. But besides from that I don't think much would have been accomplished by me meeting him on such unequal footing as a famous writer to a fan. I would hardly have been able to articulate on what levels I appreciate his creativity. I would hardly have been able to articulate anything through sputters, stutters and eyes overflowing with adoration. Had I approached him in this state I imagine that I would have swiftly abandoned hope of an average interview and attempted to detach some souvenir hair from his head before running gleefully from the room. So it was all for the best. I could not have been happier with the experience.
I found out later though that apparently the day before he had a Q&A show, 1 hour long, hosted by Audrey Niffenegger all about his work, and the tickets were only £4.50! Sigh...
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