Somewhere Quiet

"Alone- it is wonderful how little a man can do alone!"

He dreams of a reign of terror! A reign of terror, I tell you. You must set a watch on trains and roads and shipping. The garrison must help. You must wire for help.

 I've had a love for reading as long as I can remember. I loved it and was good at it, and as a result I sometimes read books that were not meant for children. Curiously, while I remember reading content that I could recognize as inappropriate, I don't remember ever being frightened by a book in the same way movies could frighten me.

Until I read The Invisible Man.

Of all things, this slim little novel published in 1898 (almost exactly 100 years before I read it!) scared the pants off of me. I think I had a nightmare or two, and I was jumpy when walking around the house alone. And let's not even mention the feelings I had if I had to get out of bed during the night!

I reread this little book in high school, trying to discover what about it had been so terrifying. It wasn't aggressively gory; there wasn't any sort of intense atmosphere; there weren't ghosts or reanimated corpses or anything like that.

What there is is a lot of psychological terror. The titular man, Griffin, is a selfish egomaniac even before his transformation, and afterwards he is quite, quite mad. So what you get as the reader is a sense of terror on two fronts. You have the fear of the villagers who are being robbed, murdered, and terrorized by a man they can't see. I have a vivd recollection of one terrified man begging to be locked in a police cell to be safe from the invisible madman.

And then there's the horror of the invisible man himself, hunted and hated.

"And you must prevent him from eating or sleeping; day and night the country must be astir for him. Food must be locked up and secured, all food, so that he will have to break his way to it. The houses everywhere must be barred against him. Heaven send us cold nights and rain! The whole countryside must begin hunting and keep hunting."

His invisibility can only be maintained when he is completely bare and empty. Food can be seen digesting, clothing shows, he can leave blood trails. The authorities know this, and they exploit it in their hunt for him.

“And on the roads,” said Kemp, and hesitated.

“Yes?” said Adye.

“Powdered glass,” said Kemp.

Brr.

Happy Birthday

"Of all outdoor sports, few are more stimulating than watching middle-aged Frenchmen bathe. Drama, action, suspense, all are here."

"As a rule, you see, I'm not lugged into Family Rows. On the occasions when Aunt is calling Aunt like mastodons bellowing across premieval swamps and Uncle James's letter about Cousin Mabel's peculiar behaviour is being shot round the familty circle ("Please read this carefully and send it on Jane'') the clan has a tendency to ignore me. It's one of the advantages I get from being a bachelor--and, according to my nearest and dearest, practically a half-witter bachelor at that."

Today is the birthday of  Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse, possibly the greatest comic writer to set word to paper. That's what some knowlegable people say, anyway. All I know is that he is a writer who never fails to make me laugh and lightens my soul a little. Some of his writing makes me literally laugh out loud, an admirable feat, and some of his turns of phrase make me feel like someone was giving my insides a hug.

So thank you and happy birthday, Mr. Wodehouse. (May I call you Plum?) I hope you're regaling everyone with stories in that Drones Club in the Sky.

*Quotes from The Adventures of Sally and the truly magnificent Random Wodehouse Quote Generator.

Welcome to Somewhere Quiet

Welcome to Somewhere Quiet, where residents and guests come to watch the seasons change around them and watch the world outside run through their days.

Around here we all live in little stone houses.
Some are under a hill, others on open ground. Some souls prefer their little homes to have their stone sides softened by creeping ivy, while others like the clean lines to remain uncluttered and tidy.

We don’t need gardens to beautify our spacious yard when we are given little flowers in the spring and summer, and leaves more orange than any dye in the fall.

While some of our residents prefer to remain out of sight, you’ll never be far from company. And those folk you meet in the open air are wonderful company.
We pride ourselves on having a very thoughtful and contemplative group of residents. 
  


Not everyone is as philosophical, of course. Some souls here prefer to relax or just dance under the trees. 
 
 
Everyone is welcome here, from those who just want to turn their face to the sun

 

 to tired children in need of rest.

So come, make yourself at home, and walk among the leaves with us.

The Haserot Angel

Today I went to Cleveland's famous Lakeview Cemetery. There are quite a few notable people buried there, like President Garfield and John D. Rockefeller, but possibly the most famous monument there is one called the Haserot Angel. I had seen several pictures of the Haserot grave, and the forbidding angel that sits atop it. The pictures all looked deliciously creepy and I was excited to see if the reality matched up to those pictures.

 The Haserot Angel is a thing of real personality. He’s huge, and looks just as strange in person as he does in photographs. His gaze is direct and he appears to be smiling a little through the grimness of his streaked face, despite the setting and his world-weary eyes. Maybe he’s smiling because of it. It may sound silly, but I felt quite drawn to him. I try to be very respectful in cemeteries. I don’t stand on graves and I try to remember that these people are somebody’s family. When I saw this strange fellow I wanted to sit down next to him and watch the world pass by. Not to sound morbid or fanciful, but this statue has a very real presence, like he was looking at me and didn’t mind that I found him so interesting.

Some graves look like they were forced into a resisting landscape, but this angel looks as though he was always there and always will be.
 
 

 

What inspires you in life? What makes you want to reach for the stars and do something truly extraordinary?

I'm trying out this "Q" thing. And bummer, it's mostly corporate shilling. Ah well. TypePad's gotta pay the bills somehow.

Would it be wrong of me to use this question to talk about how nauseating I sometimes find the Disney mystique? Like, I enjoy a good Disney movie and I've enjoyed my vacations to Disneyworld, but I watched this show on people getting married at Disney with frickin' Mickey ears in their wedding cakes and Cinderella dresses and I kind of wanted to vomit. To each his own, I guess, but it seems so infantalizing and stifling personal expression.

TypePad Conversations » Answer this question!

Ladies in Black and White

I saw this lady in white at the Smithsonian, and she was glorious. Not only a beautiful picture, it's also huge! Standing in front of it was awe-inspiring.

Standing in front of this lady in black would be the same, I imagine.

Let's Get Ready To Rumble!

Readers, I present to you two venerable science-fiction and television institutions: Star Trek and Doctor Who. Both are beloved the world over and have showcased some of the most creative minds of their eras.

And both have had some spectacularly awful fight sequences.

Exhibit 1: Kirk and the Gorn 

 

It's hard to be threatening when you can't move your arms or twist your torso. The Shat gives it his best, but sometimes your best ain't good enough. Halfway through it stops even resembling a fight and starts looking like necking between fans at a Star Trek convention. Those styrofoam rocks at the end only complete the humiliation.

Exhibit 2: The Myrka

 

There's not much to say about this, really, except to question how they manage to pack in so much awfulness in a mere 18 seconds. Sketchy monster costume? Check. Scary 80s makeup on the guest star? Check. Horrible "martial arts" "moves" ending in electrocution? Check and check. At least it's brief.

I was going to make this a "which is worse?" post, but there can be no winners here unless you're the viewer. Or at least a viewer with a drink in your hand and a good sense of humor.

Seriously, this is a self-indulgent post.

My dilemma (well, a dilemma) today was how to vent without bugging or burdening the people around me. On the other hand, I kind of wanted people to hear what I had to say. So, I'm blogging about it. And it's rambly and probably self-pitying but it's not in an intrusive space and people can feel free to ignore it, so I don't feel guilty. Whatever, it's been a long frickin' day.

So my sister has problems. We've known this, for a long time. Her whole life has been a struggle, really, but the last six years have been this roller coaster of psychological and substance abuse problems. Everytime we think she's doing better...she's not. Surprise surprise. Today was one of those lovely moments of discovery. Specifially discovery of drug paraphanalia, weed, and the fact that she's been sneaking out of the house at night to meet a neighborhood kid. An over-18 kid. Is it touching or just painfully naive that we still get surprised by this shit? I mean, let's be real. She's been using drugs off and on since seventh grade.

So she gets home, sees that my parents went through her room, and completely loses her mind. "Rage" is the only appropriate word to describe it. Thankfully it was just words and screaming, but it got to the point where I was standing in the kitchen to make sure she didn't get a knife and cut herself or something. Either the neighbors miraculously could hear none of this, or they weren't overly concerned by the screams of, "I fucking hate you!!"

So on the advice of her psychiatrist, my parents took her to the hospital to be evaluated. Now she's home. I don't know what happened, or what the results of her drug test were, but she's here and I have no idea what we're going to do now.

All I know is that the stress and the shock of the thing is abating and now I'm just angry. I'm angry at her for being so fucking stupid and for hurting all of us with her bullshit. I'm angry that she can't just get it together. I'm angry that nobody can do anything to help her or to help us. I'm angry that there's a person she's talking to on the phone who's trying to comfort her.

And I know that that's not fair, and I'll probably feel differently in a day, but that's where I am right now. I'll be able to let her know my feelings in a healthy and productive way in a day, or a week, or a month from now, but right now I can't even look at her. So sorry, blog, and readers. You get that honor tonight.

A picture from the cemetery

 

Short post

So I'm trying to start blogging again. Man, I've been out of practice.

Really, though, it's not the time spent not blogging that's been holding me back, it's the lack of anything to say. Since graduation I've felt slightly in limbo. I feel like there are a lot of big decisions I need to make (moving out, getting a career instead of a job, graduate school) but I don't know where to start. Should I move out before I know where and when I want to go to graduate school? Should I get a job as an ABA therapist with a family if there's a chance I'll be moving downstate in a few months? Will it be possible to get practical experience in my field before getting a higher degree?

So I haven't been blogging because I haven't been fully engaging with life and the people around me. I've been marking time and trying to figure out where my life is going. So maybe soon there will be more blogging to help clarify what I want and how my life is going.