Reading to fill the cracks in time.

Oh dearest readers, how I've neglected you!

My latest project (building an entire motel website in a month) has kept me away. Apologies. But I haven't been gallivanting about, worry not.

I just finished Snow by Orhan Pamuk, and while I enjoyed the character development that was the entirety of the book, I'm glad it's over. Pamuk covers three days in 400-plus pages, and the protagonist is a poet who struggles with religion, love, and politics. That's why it takes so many pages.

Don't let me deter you from reading it: I just felt like I was reading a book for a literature class again, which hasn't happened in a long while.

On to Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis, which, according to Becca is going to make me want to drink and do drugs in the hot, hot heat of summer. While I am enjoying this shorty (I read half of it last night), it is making me happy to no longer be in college, and even happier that I don't live is Los Angeles. I'm also considering a cleanse post-book. I suppose it's fortunate that I am not tempted to do drugs, since I have no money for drugs and have personally never seen cocaine, and happen to really like my nose. Phew. Narrow miss on that one.

Plus, the kids in this book are rendered completely lifeless due to their addictions - probably the point of the book - making them partially interesting, but mostly annoying. Clearly I have little patience for rich kids acting stupidly.



What are you all reading? Less Than Zero will be done ASAP and I'm dying for more somethings that aren't backlit.

Plant life

As wind devastates not only the damned hot tub cover, but also my inner peace, I sit here with hot lemon water because my throat hurts. I've been busy as always, and am pretty sick of looking at a computer and/or sounding somewhat interesting.

As a result, you get photos of my plants. Why? Because my plants represent children that I have yet to birth. I talk to them. I nurture them. I leave them at home all day while I work, and they don't care. Plus, they are pretty, and without my plants, winter would seem more of a wasteland here in crazy June Lake.

One more thing: Because I am plagued by sore throat and wind tension, I cared less about photo quality. You get iPhone photos. Suck it up and read the captions.

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Below we have a view of the ICU. Two meanings: Intensive Care Unit, and literally, "I see you." Morning sun and daily watering for these beauties. Some plants are lifers in the ICU, others move on to bigger and better pots and windowsills.

Panda plant. He's a guest at the ICU. Thriving, but still needs
those first rays of morning sun. Fuzzy Wuzzy.

Another wonderful succulent of the 'sill. This, like Pandy, was a Trader Joe's purchase,
that Clif let me buy so I would stop bugging him about getting a dog.
We all know how well that worked.

I don't like to say mean things about my plants, but this guy is a weed, not a plant.
If he didn't so valiantly guard my stack of Vogue magazines,
he would probably be a goner.

Next up we have a beautiful spider plant.
Spidey is sporting a thrift store basket with only three functional legs,
and a tree fungus accessory, found while hiking in June Lake.
She was a gift from my friend Rose.

CHEATER!
These two things aren't alive. But they used to be.
And I love them.
Shhh. Don't tell anyone I gather.

Although Fred here looks sickly, he gets to sit next to a piece of rock from a volcano on Mars.
Not a bad spot, minus the kryptonite poisoning. That's why parts of him are looking a little brown.
Fred was a gift from my friend Tara, right before I left Boulder, CO. He's grown, a little.

Orchids don't photograph well. But my collection must be represented.
Every Valentine's Day, Clif gets me another Orchid plant.
I then proceed to kill it.
Before the year is up.
Except for last year. Now I have two.
Let the slow death begin.

Here lies my favorite plant. I put it next to
Clif's side of the bed, so when I stare at it, Clif thinks I'm looking at him lovingly.
Philly has been with me since I got him from a disheveled lady
who answered my Craigslist ad for "plant rescue."
He has offspring in the ICU right now, with full visitation rights.
Doesn't really care. Forgets to pay sprout support.
Still, I love him.

Close-up of my BEST FRIEND, Philly
(also pictured above).

Yey Christmas Cactus!
Also adopted through Craigslist, Jesus Cristes (pronounced HEY-Zeus Cristes)
came from the MOST adorable man who lived across the highway from me.
He loved Jesus's mother, but there was no room in the new inn
(read: his retirement condo).
So I got him.
Jesus is sporting the base of our Christmas tree (fitting? yes) from last year
and a split stick antelope gifted to me by a raspy-voiced woman.
He blooms over Thanksgiving.

Last, and least, we have DeathBot.
DeathBot was an aloe that took up this entire pot.
And then he died.
And then I put him on the front porch all winter.
And then he survived.
Sort of.
He gets watered once every few months, because he likes to suffer.
And he has become a mini zen garden.
And then Hatchi steals the rocks from DeathBot's zen garden.
Which makes DeathBot just look scary with a pitchfork in him.

THE END.