Initially I was going to make a post about my uniform, but then it immediately became a rant about how I can never find the correct elements, at least not to my fussy standards. So here, instead, is a miniature “Hchom line” with just the basics.
Now I need to post a shiny that was actually brought back from the field. My friend Sachi found this in Iceland, and as far as I understand it she took herself right to a glacier bed and systematically cracked open every rock until one of them yielded treasure. The most amazing thing, though, is that she gave it to me! Because (unlike some of us, I’m not naming names) she’s a superior human being, capable of parting with her finest shiny for the sake of friendship.
When we were really young, my sister invented a snack which we called the “toaster sandwich”. It was pretty much what you’d expect a kid to come up with: toasted bread sandwiching a messy combination of peanut butter and jam and honey.
Now listen, I was total balls as older siblings go. I don’t expect to surprise a single human being when I tell you that I was a weird broody child, and I wanted everyone to leave me alone so I could draw animals and read about Narnia. Spending time with my bouncy, affectionate sister was not on the itinerary. This toaster sandwich thing, however, was an exception. It was our bonding ritual. I would play videogames – Secret of Mana or Zelda or whatever – and my sister would watch, and sometimes she’d make us a snack, and even in my infant broodiness, I had to admit, those toaster sandwiches were mighty fine indeed.
A few people have suggested that I do recipe posts, and I’m still not sure if that would be wise, but you can count this as a beginning if you like. It might not appeal to anybody over the age of eleven, but it’s tried and true.
I meant to write a longer post today, but the week has been busy, so have this Vancouver page update for now. I’m adding Sweet Obsession. It’s been around since I was in high school (near my parents’ neighbourhood), and the big packs of assorted biscotti have seen me through a lot of shit.
I’ve had a lot of requests, over the years, to list all my shinies. The only problem is, I’m a monster, and my shiny collection has spread so far beyond my control that I’m not even sure where it ends and I begin. So to save us from these grave existential questions, I’m going to try something more modest, and regularly highlight some of the best ones, starting with this giant wodge of smoky quartz.
I have a story that I like to tell myself, about how I’m going to be this woodsy, butch old hermit living with a vast hoard of treasure. And a sub section of that hoard (I think I mentioned it back in another post) will include spangled gowns, and elaborate, largely unwearable jewellery, and all the shiny lady things that you (by which I mean I) would never expect me to care about.
It feels like the right time to dredge up some more art from the old tumblr account, which, as you might recall, mainly functioned as my Dragon Age fanart gallery.
So this one is just ridiculous. Why do I want a tea tray? My apartment is small, and it takes me all of three seconds to carry any article of food from one side of it to the other. But look, as soon as you put something on a tray – especially any sort of tea or breakfast or, let’s say, biscuit snack – its appeal suddenly doubles. Am I wrong? I don’t think I’m wrong. I just want to take advantage of the math, you know; I can’t be blamed for that.
Today I’m adding Butter bakery, which is the first place I’ve found in Vancouver that really nails their pie. There’s a lot of so-so pie out there, you know? I wouldn’t kick it out of bed for eating crackers, but you seldom encounter the real thing outside of somebody’s kitchen, so any exception is a big deal.
I picked up Stardew Valley a few days ago, and the ACME anvil of obsession has come down upon my head. All I want to do is plant crops, and mine ore in the (so far) bottomless dungeon, and save up for my future orchard. I’ve barely even started befriending the villagers, because listen, I’m a god damn farmer/geologist and I don’t have time to chat with people, or learn why the Fabio-looking guy practically spat in my face when I tried to give him a perfectly innocuous quartz crystal; but mark my words, someday he will love me, and so will everyone else.
Every so often, I decide that I’m going to start buying all my clothes at vintage stores. In my head, it’s that easy; it’s like shopping for new things, only cheaper and better: the men’s clothing will magically fit me, and various weird brocade jackets (that I’m too cowardly to wear in real life) will be arrayed before me in all their splendour.
But that’s not how it goes, of course, so I want to know how people make this work. Is it a matter of sticking with it? Knowing how to alter things to your size? I’m not much good at either one; but still, I’d like to have a victory, so I’ll take advice from anyone who can offer it.
I’m incapable of feeling satisfied with my hair. If it’s long, then I fret over how it looks and I can’t wait to cut it short, and if it’s short, I know that everything would be perfect and I’d magically wake up a superior person if only it would grow twelve inches overnight. As a result, I spend most of my time in a purgatory of awkward middle-growth; occasionally – so briefly! – reaching the desired length only to hack it all off again, like I’m harvesting a ripe crop.
I’ve decided that I want a robe. It seems like a reasonable thing to want, when bathing is one of your major pastimes and also your chief source of warmth. However, I’m too much of a cheapskate to buy a new one, so instead I’ll take my maternal granddad’s old brown robe as a model, and start looking through vintage stores for something similar.