For my sister

"The game gave him an inexplicable satisfaction, the same he felt when he lay on his back in bed hanging his head downward over the bed's edge, and by an act of will convinced his eyes that the floor was a dark dusty ceiling over his head, and the ceiling a white floor, with lamps sprouting upward from it: and a house different but the same, empty of furniture, extending outward room upon room over the tall thresholds of the open doors."

- John Crowley: Love & Sleep

You got a golden star in your book yesterday for telling me that she is "a real woman", even though I usually get jelaous when I'm not in the centre.

I remember an ex-boyfriend saying years ago "Wheew! I thought he sung he wanted to be like Grace Jones. Who wants to look like Grace Jones?!"
An odd thing to say, and should probably have been taken as a warning sign, but being the good non-confronting girlfriend I was once upon a time I simply shrugged my shoulders (at the most).

Probably, a lot of people want to look like Grace Jones. At least they should. If you google her you will have pictures of style and creativity filling your screen. Try it!

The Lawnmower Woman

I cut the grass in my mother's garden yesterday. Yesterday was a warm and sunny summer's day that, because of this, didn't allow blogging.
Since i'm not used to physical work, dragging this machine back and forth over the glass made me feel like he-man. Sweat, muscles, you know. My daughter and her father were picking berries in the meantime and all went well until the thing started shaking and I was unable to turn it off. E.F. helped me out while driving around a little (by doing this, the machine stopped shaking).
This was obviously a hard blow on my he-man ego.

How he managed to do this is a hard nut to crack.
That men by nature have a good hand with technical things sounds like hocus pocus to me, which gives us the inevitable answer:
His hormones had some affect on the thing.
It makes sense. Men have been the main-developers of lawnmowers and have probably also been testing them. Hence, lawnmowers are made for men. Unless it is a matter of hip-waist relations or absence/presence of breasts, the only explanation to why my mother's lawnmower listens to him and not to me ought to be due to hormones. Hormones, as we know, affect tons of things in our lives. This should be put on the list.

NOTE: Shortly afterwards, the lawnmower would not start. I turned it around, checked it in every way i was capable of and gave up. E.F. turned it upside down and took out the grass that made the blades stuck. Alright, his solution of the latter technical problem is explainable. He has been working with cutting grass and is used to these things.
But still..

Einstein on the Beach

Today I went to the library and bought a pile of books that were out of use. One of them (Experimentfälten by Torsten Ekbom) was about pioneers in different artforms, and in the discussion following the purchase of the book E.F. played Einstein on the Beach for me on Youtube (in the meantime he deconstructed a computer to make some art - I do like the variety of his fields of interest!). Music was not bad.

The chapter was partly about the opera, it did sound very interesting, and now I want to see it.