By Alice Fulton
It's just me throwing myself at you,
romance as usual, us times us,
not lust but moxibustion,
a substance burning close
to the body as possible
without risk of immolation.
Nearness without contact
causes numbness. Analgesia.
Pins and needles. As the snugness
of the surgeon's glove causes hand fatigue.
At least this procedure
requires no swag or goody bags,
stuff bestowed upon the stars
at their luxe functions.
There's no dress code,
though leg irons
are always appropriate.
And if anyone says what the hell
are you wearing in Esperanto—
Kion diable vi portas?—
tell them anguish
is the universal language.
Stars turn to train wrecks
and my heart goes out,
admirers gush. Ground to a velvet!
But never mind the downside,
mon semblable, mon crush.
Love is just the retaliation of light.
It is so profligate, you know,
so rich with rush.
From this week's New Yorker.
After having to cancel plans earlier in the week due to much of my region having no power, I finally got to see dementordelta! Who brought me souvenirs from Infinitus and lots of leftover convention food, for which I am not sure I am grateful but my kids are! We went to the mall to get crepes and samosas, though first we sent the kids to play in the Apple store and went to be girly in Claire's and Hot Topic (we may have purchased some very blingy bracelets and seahorse keychains). Then we brought the food home and watched the Clash of the Titans remake, which I must admit I found nearly as cheesy as the 1981 version, though I enjoyed it; the women's roles were still pathetic, the dialogue ranged from bad to Zeus-awful, and I swear Liam Neeson and Ralph Fiennes made a bet about who could be more over the top. I think it would have been more fun if they broke typecasting and had Aslan play the evil god and Voldemort the benevolent one. My kids watched too and were less than impressed, though I note that they stayed for the whole film (of course, the fact that there was a thunderstorm and they couldn't go to the pool may have had something to do with that).
We went looking for Sherlock on BBC America On Demand, but being unable to find it, we settled for the 2009 Sherlock Holmes film. I had found it a pleasant surprise in the theater after being warned that it was kind of silly and violent; I can't argue about the silliness, since the plot isn't precisely intellectual, but the violence doesn't seem excessive to me and I still love the performances, particularly Rachel McAdams as Irene (I also love her character's story arc). Plus it's fun to see the recreation of historic London, sepia-tone at all. Naturally we also had to watch some Due South. Adam (who made this, and said of Titans, "If the writers of "And The Children Shall Lead" and Ron Moore teamed up to write a movie about a bastardization of multiple Greek myths, and then they all fell into a woodchipper and were blended together, the monstrous amalgamation of failure that came out would write this GARBAGE") eventually went to the pool and Daniel to work on his summer project. Eventually my family had Indian food for dinner and watched Futurama, which had some hilarious parodies of both The Time Machine and Planet of the Apes. Speaking of apes, some Maryland Zoo photos from the Africa region last weekend:
Zebras unfazed by 100-degree heat.
A tiny deer called a dik-dik.
A stork marching through tall grass.
Tortoises enjoying their lunch.
A hornbill heading to the water to cool off.
The lioness settles down in the shade.
The Colobus monkey gets to live indoors with the rock hyrax, so it doesn't overheat quite so much.