Resting months

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Image by Emily Chapman. Licensed under CC BY 2.0.

It is somewhat distressing to me that being happy has significantly reduced the amount of things I have to blog about. Working overnight is no longer making me hallucinate bugs on my wall. My remaining parent is in good health, except for a knee thing from him working out All the Time. Not a single child has recently pelted me with rocks while yelling slurs at me.

Y’all, it is difficult to make a narrative out of “this weekend I ate a lot of cheese toast and watched roller derby and read Holidays on Ice and Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist.” I did do those things! They were wonderful! I have a lot of feelings about the differences between the novel and the film version of N&N. One is of course the  Levithan-iest thing to ever Levithan, which—he seems really nice, and I enjoyed watching him speak at Decatur Book Festival last year, but many of his books read a little bit like fanfiction, in terms of the long, long sentences, and that’s not bad but it is jarring to read in published work. I enjoyed the book a very great deal. The film has my favorite sex scene ever, and a deeply charming turn by Michael Cera, and I made my sister watch it while I was in London with her because I am the sort of mildly-obnoxious human who will take advantage of international travel to work around her own country’s licensing restrictions. Continue reading

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Monsoons and Flowers in the Attic

Me holding Flowers in the Attic.

Delighted and horrified in equal measure.

It is July in Atlanta, and that means one thing: it is monsoon season. When I moved here as a 12-year-old, I didn’t realize that Atlanta is actually secretly the subtropics. But, after 10 summers here, I can safely confirm: the weather here is surprisingly similar to India’s.

Every afternoon at about 3pm–starting last week, and (according to the weather report) continuing until we all drown–the skies open up with the wrath of god. The streets flood, lightening strikes, and traffic comes to the standstill that happens every time that Atlanta has weather. Like clockwork, it clears up by dinnertime and leaves the streets steaming in a way normally reserved for black markets in dystopian science fiction films.

It’s driving me a little stir crazy, not to mention ruining my shoes. I am not a fan. (Looking on the bright side, I am learning a lot about how quickly leather dries.) I need to find some way to occupy my now-shoeless time, and I have found it: Flowers in the Attic.

Continue reading