This is what I originally wrote on Saturday night:
If only I could fake a sense of humor about life when I don't feel much of one. :)
Last Sunday, Alex and I did manage to get our bedroom put together finally (for the most part, I still have some clothing to put away). My mom sent me a flower arrangement that matched the decor (purple and green). I know it sounds over done, and it might be in way, but I think it still works and looks simple enough. It could be simplified further if we wished. I will have to take pictures when we finish, as I have promised for the entire apartment. It honestly just hasn't happened yet. I'll have to put in some work here soon, though, since I want it looking its best when my mom and sister come up.
I do believe that's all the peppiness I have in me for one entry. Next week I will have a Thanksgiving entry that should be more lively!
Cheers! and Happy Holidays!
My new additions for Sunday Morning:
Alex and I have the bedroom looking far more perfect, and I have some other things I realized I could write about. Well, just one topic, but the topic is plural, so that makes it things... I think.
Books.
Books, books, books. I love books. I love many kinds of books. And I find myself spending a considerable amount of money on them lately. I am not sure what day it was last week, it must have been Tuesday, but I went to take my usual midday break from work, and while I was headed towards Target, I saw a Barnes and Noble on the way. I may have skidded the tires in a sudden change of direction. Sure, I could have turned around and come back, but books. I was too excited about the books!
I walked through all my favorite parts, though I could not find the graphic novels (probably for the best). I spotted the sign for the magazines and trotted my buns in that direction. I've had an irrational love affair with magazines lately. I've found them intriguing, delightful, and usually feel like their a guilty pleasure since I've been focusing on those domestic ones. "Real Simple", "Family Circle", "Dwell" (some would say its more artsy than domestic, but its about living spaces... you don't get more domestic than that, no matter how artsy you claim to be), and sometimes I'll even read "Ladies Home Journal". Maybe I could blame these magazines for the culprit of my apartment displeasure. Who knows?
The problem with heading toward the magazines, however, was that there was a small shelf set up, like a infinite mote between myself and those shiny racks of glossed, cardstock covered indulgences. On this small shelf was what Barnes and Noble called "Barnes and Noble Series Classics". Ooooooh. Claaaaaassiiiiiiiics.
If there's one other kind of reading material besides graphic novels and magazines that I have an unhealthy obsession with, its classics. Barnes and Noble is a sly mistress, for not only were these classics, but because they were "store brand" as it were, they were cheap. Very cheap. Too cheap.
I bought four.
"The Wonderful Wizard of Oz" by L. Frank Baum
"A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" by James Joyce
"The Jungle Books" by Rudyard Kipling
and
"Lord Jim" by Joseph Conrad (whose writing I fell in love with in "Heart of Darkness")
My book escapade continued on Friday. You would think that taking in your car to have the oil changed (because I really don't want to do it in the middle of the street in the rain) is innocent enough. But no. Drew the conniving clerk from Firestone, managed to see in my face my addictions (or the book sticking out of my purse), and said slyly, as if just in passing "Powell's books is just two short blocks up, if you'd like to go read there. Not that our waiting room isn't nice, but Powell's has more character." Oh does it now, Drew! You fiend!
So, my car being man handled by strangers, I took my leave of Drew and Firestone and trotted my ever trotting buns up to Powell's. The dangerous thing about Powell's is that they have an impeccable selection of graphic novels. Not always well organized, but that's part of the fun of a new/used bookstore; searching in the musty isles for some lost treasure that no one else has perchanced upon. The only problem with my theory of musty isles, is that the graphic novel section in Powell's is in the same room as their crowded coffee shop. And Everyone knows where it is.
That's okay. It didn't stop me from buying three graphic novels, a scone, and a matte latte (a tea based latte). And maybe a few stocking stuffers.
The three graphic novels, you ask?
"Flight: Volume Four" by multiple artists/authors
"Persepolis 2: The Story of a Return" by Marjane Satrapi (I read the first one after a friend/student of mine gave me her copy from her literature class)
and
"Sandman Volume One: Preludes and Nocturnes" by Neil Gaiman
The last is a series that I have heard about for years now. It's original copyright is from 1988, with a few additional copyrights for different covers, introductions, etc. Most people rave about
this series and this artist/author. Its about time I got into a new artist, I think, as Michel Gagne has slowed down his productions lately (though he always has a piece for the "Flight" volumes).
If anyone wants to buy me further volumes of "Sandman" feel free. Here's a link, though you could always ask your friendly enabler at Borders or B&N to help you find this series (actually, Amazing Comics by Target would be far more helpful in this area and for more enabling, too, though I think I'm the only one that needs enabling in this area)
But enough about books. Here are some pictures of our bedroom:
Happy Holiday again! I'll see you soon!
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