After so many solitary hours wrapped up in books, fantasies start weaving themselves through the lines.
1. I throw open the latched windows to the day beaming upon my Italian country house garden. The sunflowers call out through the glinting air in bright yellow voices. The soundtrack is Bobby Darin’s “Beyond the Sea.”
or:
2. A butler shows up at my door with a one of those hotel room-service trays—
(When I was a kid, my family once stayed in the posh-o-riffic Hyatt in the Rocks during a Sydney vacation. There was a telescope in the room looking out onto the harbor, a bowl of massive blushing strawberries on the table, and a butler service where they’d bring you videos upon request. I forget which video we requested, but the butler, oh, he was all blond hair and sparkle eyes, and even then, in my prepubescent, pre-boys stage, I knew he was somethin’ special. But I, and I think by now you know this about me, digress. I also digest. I also dig dresses. Stop me, please. Wrench the Leiris from my hands and just stop me. Anyway)—
I would like that butler to show up at my door with one of those hotel room-service trays lined with a thick white napkin, and to lift the silver cover to reveal a club sandwich. Lightly toasted and crusts off, of course; a toothpick holding the layers of crispy bacon and sweet tomatoes and whatever else together, of course; cut into triangles, but of course.
or maybe:
3. In my left hand, I am holding a bunch of ranunculus in purple and red and pink. In my right hand, I am holding a keyring with a shiny enamel charm in the shape of a fairy, and I am unlocking the door to my Covent Garden flat. Maybe Jude Law is sauntering by and saying “Hello,” it doesn’t even matter, because it’s summer and my shoulders are brown and everything is good like a new Eva Franco halter dress.
1. I throw open the latched windows to the day beaming upon my Italian country house garden. The sunflowers call out through the glinting air in bright yellow voices. The soundtrack is Bobby Darin’s “Beyond the Sea.”
or:
2. A butler shows up at my door with a one of those hotel room-service trays—
(When I was a kid, my family once stayed in the posh-o-riffic Hyatt in the Rocks during a Sydney vacation. There was a telescope in the room looking out onto the harbor, a bowl of massive blushing strawberries on the table, and a butler service where they’d bring you videos upon request. I forget which video we requested, but the butler, oh, he was all blond hair and sparkle eyes, and even then, in my prepubescent, pre-boys stage, I knew he was somethin’ special. But I, and I think by now you know this about me, digress. I also digest. I also dig dresses. Stop me, please. Wrench the Leiris from my hands and just stop me. Anyway)—
I would like that butler to show up at my door with one of those hotel room-service trays lined with a thick white napkin, and to lift the silver cover to reveal a club sandwich. Lightly toasted and crusts off, of course; a toothpick holding the layers of crispy bacon and sweet tomatoes and whatever else together, of course; cut into triangles, but of course.
or maybe:
3. In my left hand, I am holding a bunch of ranunculus in purple and red and pink. In my right hand, I am holding a keyring with a shiny enamel charm in the shape of a fairy, and I am unlocking the door to my Covent Garden flat. Maybe Jude Law is sauntering by and saying “Hello,” it doesn’t even matter, because it’s summer and my shoulders are brown and everything is good like a new Eva Franco halter dress.
posted by stellou at 3:59 AM
11 Comments:
I am telling you this so that I will actually do what's on my To Do list:
Later today, after I get back from my office (grrr) and after I do some laundry, I am going to attempt to make some Interesting Cupcakes. They might be amazing, or they might be just odd; I'm not much of an experimenter, but I think I've got a good idea.
So. Although I am no longer blonde (nor, thankfully, apt to be mistaken for a boy), and although my eyes are generally more squinty than sparkly, and although I am hardly Jude Law, if things go as planned (which, of course, they will, now that I am stating my goals here for the world to see), I could perhaps show up at your door with a cupcake or three.
The cupcakes might be pink.
But I would inflict them on you only if you're interested, of course. Perhaps you don't like odd pink cupcakes . . .
from someone who lives in a hotel 3 nights out of the week every week (going on 6 months...),the whole concept of a club sandwich with a toothpick in it from room service is as appetizing as...well, i won't go there. i'd much rather one of those scrumptious yummyness you create in your oven!
Well, essentially this has nothing to do with your recent blogs, but more to do with the fact that looking at the site through Mozilla Firefox finally allowed me to get into the "I'm not a bunny" link. That is exciting in and of itself. But I have to say, after looking at Google Maps w/Brad yesterday, Maquest is soooo off my list of things for the traveling girl. Pan and Scan, here to there, it was awesome. And while this might be enough to say that we are geeks, well, there is plenty of other evidence out there as well.
As for dying from a thesis, most likely not to happen. And I wrote 70% of mine the day it was due. Although, as I have said before, my university does not at all compare to yours. Much luck, Kraj
The "I'm not a bunny" has puzzled me for a loooooong time, leaving me with only farfetched theories about the link between bunnies and you. So quiet my curiosity I decided that the official conclusion of my guesses was: there is no such thing as a bunny section. It's a scam.
I didn't want to ask you, because deep inside the core of my inner self I knew that one day, O yes, one day, I'd somehow have the right computer configuration for it.
Thanks to "anonymous" I dusted and used my Mozilla brower and here it was, the link finally active!!!
How exciting, uh? Maybe you should take a break here so you can catch your breath before reading the rest of this extraordinary adventure into Stellouland.
Actually, there's nothing much to add. I'm still shivering from sheer excitement at this premiere, I finally know what was hiding behind those pink letters, my curiosity may rest now.
Oh, and by the way, I still don't make the link between you and bunnies...
kk: hello, little miss grass-is-greener. :-) as someone who has to find her own food every night even if she's spent all day at the library and has just lugged home two canvas totes of books in the cold, i just want to say that the club sandwich in my mind that is brought to my door by that butler has, like, sage mayonnaise. mmm. come on!! maybe you are staying at the wrong hotels. :-D oh, wait, actually, maybe it's a turkey-cranberry club sandwich. MMMM. eh, no, really, maybe you need to check into a four seasons or something...
Kraj: Seventy percent!!! on the day it was due!!!! But you are MAD. I can't even...oh my god...I just...I'm panicking already, in case all of a sudden I need to write seventy percent of my thesis on the day it's due. AAAAAAAAA.
hé, yann: well, i hope your great adventure didn't disappoint. :-p no, but, really, hello, i think it's quite clear, no? i am not a bunny!
Hmm. I don't recall ever having any difficulty with the "I am not a bunny" link, but I certainly never saw what was on the other side of it until just now, thanks to all this clamor. I think I simply read it as a statement--for, indeed, you are clearly not a bunny. Is it possible that I am really just that lacking in curiosity?
The cupcakes are a bit odd, in the end, but good. And pink.
I had to go click on the link too, thanks to Cecyl's comment.
You are, most certainly, not a bunny.
about that butler... i'm guessing this was nearing twenty years ago. so was he all 80s-glammed out, gelled-up hair, or maybe a mullet, and a not-yet ironic mustache?
jtc: yeah, i guess it was nearing twenty years ago. crap, how is it possible there are things in my life that are nearing twenty years ago??
...neways... no, dammit, janet!, this was not the rocky horror picture hotel. i seem to remember mr. butler being clean cut, clean shaven, y'know, that kind of nonthreatening cute.
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