Revolution Between the Lines

12:55 am

Hello.
Here is a journal filled with this and that and lots that is not of any consequence.

Do say hello! I'll respond.

12:46 am

Half of you probably already know this, but I will say it again: Christian Bale was my first celebrity crush. I was eight, he was Laurie in Little Women, and I watched that film every other day for a year. (On the other days it was Hook.) I particularly remember playing this game where I'd dance to all the songs, back and forth across the room, until I finished eating a slice of bread. I'm not sure what it meant, but I enjoyed doing it. My sister said ooh la la concerning Gabriel Byrne, and I said go for it, stay away from Christian Bale. And that was that, one sisterly conflict avoided. When I saw Louisa May Alcott's house and trounced about Thoreau's Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, last August, it was as though I was to be damned if I didn't explore every bit of it with the utmost glee. I even forgot how desperately I needed to pee. I can quote the entire film, and hearing the soundtrack guarantees high spirits. I don't care a great deal for movies, I'm pretty boring when it comes to motion picture entertainment. I enjoy films and t.v. shows, but I don't give two hoots about quality so long as I have a good time. I don't enjoy analyzing and comparing, taking a film apart bit by bit until it means nothing. That's not entertainment. So, if pressed, I would say that my favorite movie ever is most likely Little Women.

Below the cut are dozens of screen caps with all the reasons why.

( Sixteen Reasons Why Little Women is One of the Greatest Films of All Time. )

07:54 pm

Hello, how do you do?

It looks as if we have made our way through the week and right into the weekend. While I have to work, I hope you do not. I hope this weekend sees you doing loads of post-worthy interesting things. I quite nearly hope that you're getting up to too many grand antics to offer this post anything more than a glance. In summation, I'm wishing you well.

My days haven't been riddled with too many abnormal activities. I've been doing lots of design work (speaking of, check out this fantastic pair of illustrators), as well as workworkwork, and seeing Batman. Holy heck, it utterly superseded my original ho-hum expectations. The cast was across-the-board phenomenal, and Christian Bale. . .woe, I have harbored a crush on him for fourteen years. He does interviews in an American accent, which just amuses me to no end. His New York accent for the Today Show interview was so grating, I nearly loved him less.

( More More More )

11:02 pm

I made a ring from a straw wrapper. People were mightily impressed, I do believe.

I feel like I'm posting too often.

11:30 pm

Dear all of you,

I hope this post finds you well. I am doing much the same. I am, however, discomforted by the odd sensation of having water in my right ear. It is all I can do to not sound as if I'm a boy going through puberty. This is to say, I can hear just dandy at length, and then suddenly, I can nothing in my right ear apart from the dull echo of my own voice. I fear that my voice rises an octave to balance out the sudden half-silence. That's what I'm trying to convey. Other than that, life is rather dull. I am attempting to get my Saturday shift covered so I can ride my bike and explore a Florida cracker house. I must do something about work, about a different job. Agencies are interested, and yet none are able to hire. It is a dreadful state of affairs and I'm beginning to feel hopeless. Maybe you have a job for me? No? Oh, alright.

I had a dream last night, so unfathomably real that there was a moment that I thought I might have to pop on LJ and announce that I was dating a certain someone. I had a dream this fellow was my bag boy, and he was very meticulous in putting the groceries in my trunk. He must've played a lot of Tetris in his youth. Then he tried to hand me a Yoo-Hoo, but he wasn't very careful with inserting the straw, and chocolate milk squirted all over the damned place, my face included. The reason I dreamed about this man, I reckon, is because he is in a show I watched last night, in which another of the characters is a bag boy. His character in this show is an unpretentious, yet intelligent, brooding sort of man, with a wry wit and a kind, adventurous heart. A nice sort of person to have in a dream, I'd say. Although he is married in real life. Oh, he's not all that handsome, anyway.

But now for the best news of all: Brenna - my best friend I've yet to meet - sent me a Scottish-themed package. She's been putting this sucker together for the several months  she's been staying in Edinburgh. I must say, not to demean some of the fine gifts I've received in the past, but this is one of the kindest and most thought-out packages I've ever received from a close relation or otherwise.

( More Contents. )

Alright, alright, have I bored you extensively enough, yet? I could probably continuing typing like this for hours, but I won't. I hope all is well with everyone. If you feel like responding, tell me about one of the better gifts you've received. Or tell me what you would give to someone to represent where you live. (By the bye, I live in Orlando, so giving something Disney-themed is a given. Also included would have to be something to do with alligators and the scent of orange blossoms.)

Much love to you, the butter to my biscuit,
Elizabeth

11:29 am

I cannot claim to have much of interest going on. Betsy and I have half a mind to jump a train with my typewriters and head to Charleston to subsist on blackberries and sunflower seeds. However, you have to book tickets three days in advance, so spontaneity is not a possibility. And to add to this, the train drops off on the wrong side of the tracks. The train tracks going up to Gainesville have suspended their use, while Betsy happened upon abandoned train cars in the woods of Mount Dora. I'm getting a little weepy about the demise of the train! I've only ever been on ones in Europe and Australia, and those were modern affairs devoid of any sort of whistle. A train without a whistle is like mud without water. Dirt.

I worked a ridiculous schedule that did not allow for much sleep nor adventure at all. Sometimes we get customers who require an adventure of words, who trade the typical niceties of "good bye" for "You're perfect. Don't ever change."  My coworkers think I'm a riot and are just as confused as I am by some of the conversations I find myself in.

Yesterday, when I got home, my dad was watching Wimbledon, and wasn't being at all genteel in his language. So I took my Indian blanket to the porch for a nap. Every now and then, I enjoy a warm nap. It reminds me of going to the beach, getting horribly burnt, and then promptly falling asleep as soon as I find myself on a couch. Actually, that sounds awful. Let's just say that the long and short of it is that a warm nap reminds me of vacation. However, being Sunday, it wasn't fifteen minutes before there was a lawnmower, an edger, and then a danged weed wacker going all in unison. I woke from my nap with the notion that I would sew a felt typewriter. Oh, delirium. I felt as if I would go mad if I couldn't sleep, and the next best thing was to indulge myself in a mindless craft.

It's all whopper-jawed and abstract and I don't know why I make these things I have no room for.
I just spent this entire post talking about trains and typewriters. Shoot. Yes, I know, who could possibly be more interesting to sit down for a drink with than myself?

07:53 pm

I know, my god, I just posted! But I put this quality advertisement on my blog (plug: here's the syndicated account: locomotivehoot,not that I post much), and now feel like I cannot deprive you all of the entertainment.

I showed the ad to my mom, who then suggested I pay more attention to the copy, which I will un-blur for you. I think to fully appreciate the ridiculousness of this ad, you must give equal focus to both the art direction and copy. So, yes, here's the copy:

( CLICK! )

 

04:44 pm

I have returned from my trip. If there's one thing I learned, it's that I have no motivation to ever be called a photographer. I have enough irons in the fire of talent as it is. And shoot, if we're being honest, I'm mediocre at all of those and brilliant at none. Can you imagine if this became a blog of self-portraits? Horrendous. I do not have the features nor the personality to pull off anything beyond skewed facial expressions that look no more sultry than constipation. What I'm beating about the bush to say is that I didn't take a single photo of my trip!

You can flickr Charleston, Savannah, Mount Pleasant the Low Country and find hundreds of photos of much finer quality than my little point-and-shoot could ever hope for.

It was a fine trip, albeit rather sweaty. We stopped for lunch in Savannah (!), which I've wanted to visit for nearly five years. It's brimming with tourists, but it's all done in a genteel way. What I mean to say is, it isn't a perpetual stream of souvenir shop store fronts; rather, it's just lots of boutiques and resturants. My whole view on tourists in these sorts of towns is that if they bring in the money to preserve history and architecture, then welcome them in!

We were in Savannah for just about two hours before hopping back onto the road to get to Charleston. It's similar to Savannah, only larger and more livable. Charleston is stunningly gorgeous and a true study of a varying array of architecture. It is a city that is marked by three wars (Revolutionary, War of 1812 and Civil), plague, multiple fires, hurricanes, massive earthquakes, unmatchable wealth, economic turmoil, pirates, slavery, so on and so forth. It's one of the most fascinating cities when you start getting into all the history of it. The heat makes people do odd things, which I must agree that being cooked by the sun makes a cheap drunk of anyone.The plantation homes continue production, providing the best black berries I've ever had. The market had sunflowers the size of skillets and flowers shaped like brain coral. The city's most famed creek unloads all the freshest seafood, while dolphins bob about and pelicans look foolish, which is the only description their awkward build can grant them. I even heard a story told in the Gullah language!

The market had some of the largest okra I've ever seen. It was nearly a foot in length! And I just stood right by these batches and said, "These are much too big. They shouldn't be more than three inches!" A lady came up and agreed with me, and I felt like a fine farmer right then. I was in a sun dress and straw hat, but I was no wilting rose, I knew the rules of growing things. Here is a photo of the okra in my garden before I cut it off!

10:34 pm

Not to suggest that anyone will notice, but I am, as it goes, giving notice that I will be in Charleston, South Carolina, until well into Sunday. I am so thrilled. As far as American cities go, it is the most dutifully preserved, as it is the first city to have established an historical preservation society. It is also, allegedly, the most haunted city in America, likely due to its former reign as the primary gateway for slaves entering the southern U.S.. With that said, I'm going on a ghost tour, like a true tourist! Those suckers are so grand because they give you the background on places that you'd otherwise just stroll by. In line with my fascination of architectural history and preservation, we will visit the following two homes and their magnificent trees:

10:11 pm

12:52 pm

It is Friday, so I won't write too much. I do not suppose too many people want their weekends spent unwittingly reading my rambling nonsense, so. Let me just tell you that today was one of the proudest days of my life. Look at my tomatoes! The little suckers are ripening.

( More photos of foliage. )

I mentioned that I've been reading all of Capote's short stories, and that is all well and good and not of much interest to you. But in analyzing the book's cover, I realized that he was quite the dashing fella in his youth. Even my father agrees, which is a high sign of handsomeness.

And in closing, I read an article in the newspaper about a polar bear killed in Iceland. The article I read suggest he was killed by guns, directly, and indirectly killed by global warming. As I was reading this while on break at work, I tried not to cry, but lord, did my eyes swell. Then I came up with a terrible pun and a cutout.

I draw these backwards, and messed up on the "a".

11:50 pm

Saturday was a glorious day, although it resulted in burnt shoulders and an incorrigible piece of dirt in my eye. I used half a bottle of saline solution trying to get it out. But in the end, like with most things, sleep was the only true solution. Betsy and I rode our bikes over and yonder and there and back again. "There" being Leu Gardens, which is a stupendous little estate dating from 1888. I know all about the history, as we took a tour, but I won't bore you with tales of pioneering white settlers, cradle robbers and silent film stars. The home did have a mechanical phonograph, which caused us to get a little giddy, and was situated next to a sewing basket fashioned from an armadillo. The grounds have all sorts of interesting foliage, from live oaks bearing resurrection fern and Spanish moss, to camellias and roses, to trees with elephant-sized "sausage" pods, to what, as far as we were concerned, were dinosaur eggs, to a huge albino-looking palm. There was a vegetable garden with the biggest heads of collards I've ever seen alongside little baby eggplants. And this was right abutting a butterfly garden with a small wooden contraption housing chrysalises. We sat in that garden fanning ourselves and saying things like, "I do declare, it is warm!" or, "I must say that I am plumb tuckered out!" Betsy is coming along quite the natural at these southern-isms that it is hard to believe that not six months ago, she rarely uttered "shoot". At one point, we were laying on the ground attempting to take a photograph of an intertwining magnolia tree and live oak (my mom's first and second favorite trees, not respectively), which I suspect is where I picked up the piece of dirt that eventually migrated itself to my eye. We were a right state, dripping with sweat and dirtied on the elbows and knees. Nope, I can't say anybody would have looked at us and thought, "Those two gals are as sweet as the bee's knees," but that is alright. When you find yourself under a live oak, with the scent of roses blowing easterly while the sound of a train calls from the west, there's hardly a finer situation to find yourself in.

I didn't mean to get so carried away with writing about the place. We also went for BBQ and made raspberry iced tea, and damned if it wasn't the quintessential, and somewhat forgotten, summer afternoon. I spent a portion of today reading on the back porch, being overcome by the sort of absurd Floridian warmth that lulls you into the most fantastic catnaps. After work, while driving home, the sky was ablaze with heat lightening. This is when you realize summer is really settling in.

Crazy recycled wood sculpture. It fetches $650!

And

All of these:

Did everyone have a fulfilling weekend? I'll optimistically assume, yes, unless I hear otherwise.

11:50 pm

My parents have returned home with marvelous photos from their trip. My dad has attempted to regale me with stories, but no matter how impressive rocks may be, they don't make for riveting non-visual entertainment. There was, however, a story in which he became so excited about a sudden snowstorm that he jumped from the car to run about in it. Meanwhile, the car began rolling down the road with my mom in the passenger seat because in his euphoria, he forgot to put the car in park. He also embarrassed a hotel lobby-full of people when while watching a news piece on the pig farm hit by a tornado, he yelled, "Who said pigs can't fly?!" Goons.

Betsy and I did some gardening this weekend. I added basil and cilantro to my own. They both smell so fragrant and inspiring. I put a bit of mint in my tea, today, and made a turkey sandwich with basil for lunch. But by far the most impressive sight of the weekend (apart from the handsomeness of Henry Cavill in I Capture the Castle) was a massive live oak that sat in the middle of a neighborhood street. It must be the oldest thing in Orlando and is covered in fern and moss. I know I'm not illustrating my excitement very well, but I really do enjoy trees. Nearly as much as my mother, who has taken to buying me membership to the Sierra Club. They gave me a super-awesome nerd backpack with their emblem on it and I receive monthly updates on the current state of American ecology.

Melissa stayed a couple nights last week, and took better pictures of my garden. I know you really aren't too fussed about the thing, but I'm proud!

( So damned cute. )

Good weekend! And tomorrow for Memorial Day we will cookout and enjoy the outdoors (before I have to return miserably to work to mop floors and be told I laugh like a video game character).

05:02 pm

Hello, all.

Today, March 19, 2008, I bought 400 stickers and a package of multi-colored pencils.  I have a darling lunch bag that fits into a big ole bag that holds things like 400 stickers and a package of multi-colored pencils. In short, I am prepared to substitute teach any age child. I have rewards for the little kids and tact&patience for the big kids. I have accepted the absolute necessity of being called Miss Cason. (Although it will sound ridiculous for at least a month.) So, yes. The final bit of organization is to appear invincible on the Internet. This is to say, from here on out, this is a friends-only journal. How exclusive!

Are you on my f-list?
Aw, yes, you're wonderful. No need to comment unless you feel compelled to do so.

Are you on my friend-of list, but have not been added by me?
You may be wonderful, in fact, you're probably superb! Say hello! I will most certainly add you back. (Although I will warn that I may make a filter of my favorite LJs, and thusly, I may not comment on your journal. Which may sound brash, but try being a working adult with 200-some-odd journals to read plus communities. It's hard! I thought technology was supposed to make things easier, but alas, I think I'm appearing evermore impolite.)

Are you a lurker?
How interesting! I don't think I have any lurkers, so I'm probably talking to a non-entity. But supposing I do, your alternatives are to either say hello, and realize that I'm not intimidating in the least, or read my blog here or subscribe at locomotivehoot, or forget about me entirely.

Love, magic, exercised minds and happy feet,
Elizabeth

Writer of This Blog and of Ridiculous Endings to Letters