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ERMAHGERD

WHURRTS ERRP ERNTERNERTS

The last few posts have all been FAR TOO SERIOUS.  This next post would be PERFECTLY IN LINE WITH THAT if it wasn’t for the fact that I believe consistency is EVIL and should always be dispensed with as quickly as possible.

The only completely consistent people, it is said, are those who are DECEASED.  And I am many things, but currently dead is not among them.  THEREFORE, I reject and abhor consistency as the MARK OF ABSOLUTE EVIL.

I embrace chaos, at least for this post.  AND THIS SEEMS LIKE A GOOD PLACE TO QUOTE MONTAIGNE.

“Not only does the wind of accident move me at will, but, besides, I am moved and disturbed as a result merely of my own unstable posture; and anyone who observes carefully can hardly find himself twice in the same state.  I give my soul now one face, now another, according to which direction I turn it.  If I speak of myself in different ways, that is because I look in different ways.  All contradictions may be found in me by some twist and in some fashion…I have nothing to say about myself absolutely, simply and solidly, without confusion and without mixture, or in one word.”

My musical taste reflects this.  Someone who has seen my playlists knows that while some lists show a general organizing theme, the ones I listen to frequently leap from genre to genre.  I move from ‘Nine Million Bicycles’ to ‘Moonlight Sonata’ to ‘Comfort Eagle’ to ‘Everlasting’ to ‘Paralyzer’ without any stay or contradiction.  Bach, Hatsune Miku, the Corrs, and Muse play shoulder-to-shoulder across my ipod.

BUT NOW I’M BEING SERIOUS AGAIN.

Have you ever read a word and just decided it’s silly? I have.  Stomach, for example.  Stooooooooohhhhhh maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh ch.  It ends so abruptly.

It’s like the sound made by someone (presumably a botanist) rollerblading down a steep hill at top speed yelling “STOMAAAAAAAAA” before slamming into a brick wall.  Or perhaps a stand of trees.

Not a very inspiring battle-cry, stoma.  Neither is chlorophyll, really.  Actually, come to think of it, not many scientific terms really make a good battle-cry.  When was the last time you heard someone shout in praise of xylem or phloem before lunging into single combat?  And no one’s charged into battle screaming about fruit for at least thirty years.

Now, nova, there’s a cool word. Makes a great warcry.  And it means EXPLODING STAR. How awesome is that?  It even sounds like something that would make things explode (and that includes but is not limited to the last two-thirds of a Shout).

Now, I will concede that it may not be a good name for a car.  No one really, deep down, wants to pilot a vehicle named for an immensely destructive extraterrestrial phenomenon.  ‘Black Hole,’ ‘Singularity,’ and ‘Cell Death’ are also poor choices for a car name.

A lot of car names seem to be made up.  Prius, for example.  The only thing I can think of that sounds close is prion, and of course this tiny car has nothing at all in common with strands of semi-living protein that bore holes into the brains of cows and sheep.  BMW has just given up at this point; their cars are distinguished by long, indecipherable numeric codes that hint at their magical accelerative properties.  I suspect they have long since given over control of their assembly lines to the crab people and their alien geometrical systems.

And then there’s the Sienna.  A car named after a color. Seriously.  What is this I don’t even.  This means of course now that you can have a black sienna, which is an abomination against color-based nomenclature that should not be allowed to exist.

You know who has cool car names? Italian car companies.  Fiat.  That’s LATIN.  You can buy a car without telling anyone and present it to your parents as a FIAT ACCOMPLI.  HOW BADASS WOULD THAT BE?

And don’t even get me STARTED on Lamborghini.  They have a car called the MURCIELAGO.  You know what that means? THAT MEANS BAT.  That is the car that BATMAN should drive.  I think it IS the car that Batman drives, in fact, thinking back to The Dark Knight.  I really should find a citation for that, but this is my blog so you know what, we’re just going to go ahead and say MYTH CONFIRMED.

I liked Dark Knight better than Batman Begins.  Although, to be honest, it’s hard to beat a movie where Qui-Gon fights Batman.  Which reminds me of the recent Ocean’s Eleven series.  I especially like the one where George Clooney, Achilles, and Jason Bourne team up to pull off the heist of the century.

I enjoy reading Montaigne.  He really rather reminds me of a blogger.  He goes ALL OVER THE PLACE.  It’s ridiculous.  He’s so easily distracted, and YET NOT.  Everything serves a purpose.  Not everything here serves a purpose, except for chaos.  As said, I embrace chaos, sometimes with far too much enthusiasm.  I feel sometimes that it cannot be quite healthy.  But that’s why I like the ocean.

Oh, the ocean.  Don’t get me started on the ocean.  Too late.  It’s FAN-TASTIC.  The California sea, the Pacific, Oceanus, whatever.  The biggest body of water on the planet.  To look at it at the edge, and realize that you are seeing the razor point where the planet’s bones jut up from its lifeblood—for that is what water is, on this world.  It is lifeblood and it is the air and it is the earth.  There is no point on the planet that was not once embraced by the sea.  We ourselves, mankind, have not yet escaped it, not wholly, for it still holds immense fascination.

I draw so much from the ocean.  Every time I return home from college, I walk down to the beach and wet my hands in it, a little ritual that always brings with it a feeling of great calm and purity.  I make more references than I should to ‘the color of sunlight inside a wave,’ which can actually vary depending on the ocean—depending on the beach, in fact.  In California, at my beaches, it’s the most glassy, radiant green, a warm, jade color that glows from within. It’s an amazing color, and I have seen few still-life pictures that can capture it, for part of the color is its motion.

That’s a quarrel I’ve always had with the idea of a ‘favorite color.’  I don’t have a favorite single color.  I can’t isolate my favorite color in computer code.  But I can point to a curling wave on the shore of the Pacific, or to the summer sky in Southern California, or to the glittering heart of a ruby, or the sleek edge of a piece of hematite, and I can say ‘there is my favorite color.’  Because my favorite colors aren’t just colors. It’s the whole experience.  The rich, deep green that I love is not just green to me, it is the silence and majesty of a redwood forest, ferns and moss sprouting everywhere, the forest primeval.  The glassy jade radiance that captures my imagination is not just a light green, it is the thunder and fury of a Pacific wave, graceful and incredibly powerful, irresistibly strong and at the same time soft and fluid as a stroking hand.  And the scarlet that catches my eye is not just red.  It is the crack and rumble of magma, the roar of an undying star in the endless void…

So I don’t have really a favorite color, but I can give you some ideas.

I like the ocean.  And everything that lives in it.  I sometimes wish that I could live in it, but not always, because fish don’t go to a school as nice as the one I go to.

My school has two mascots.  Because while most of the school was perfectly content with the turtle, apparently our more athletic students didn’t want to associate themselves with such a solid, durable creature. Eschewing the more attractive option of remaining on the side of the terrapin, they instead voted into place the ‘buccaneer,’ a vaguely foppish individual of some Latin persuasion with an inordinately feathery cap perched on his Hiddleston hair.

I’ve lately become obsessed with Loki’s hair, and I fear that this is becoming an unhealthy and quite literal obsession.  I suspect it’s a wig.  And I hope it’s a wig.  Because if so I can steal it.  Because Loki is one of the few people whose hair I want to steal.  Another such individual is the protagonist of White Collar.  Oh, and I also want a copy of EVERY ARTICLE OF CLOTHING HE HAS EVER WORN ON THAT SHOW.  ER

MAH

GERD

Fangirl moment over.  I think that’s quite enough rambling to be getting on with, don’t you? Coming eventually: another post.  I promise this next one will have a point.

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