This week's post was delayed due to stuff I had to do, namely: upgrade my free blog to a paid blog with its own domain name of www.minalobo.com. So if any of y'all have bookmarked my blog w/the older URL (yeah, right), please update your bookmark (or re-bookmark) so you come to this shiny new URL. I made the switch for business purposes. What specific purposes? Well, if I told ya, I'd have to kill ya. J/K, it's just another step in my self-publishing process, 'cause, like, a URL with just your name and no pesky "blogspot" in it looks more professional and whatnot.
(Y'all, this self-publishing thing's becoming more and more real and, I have to say, it's kinda freakin' me out, a little.)
Right, so; onward with the Inspirational Liebster Blog Award!
Georgina Morales, blogger at Epitaphs and Headstones and author of Perpetual Night, has offered me the Inspirational Liebster Blog Award, which is mighty groovy of her. She's a super supportive gal and writes some scary-creepy stuff, y'all. Please share the love and check out le magique that she's got goin' on. Thanks, Georgina, for thinking of me!
As with many awards of this stripe, the nominees must complete a certain number of steps to claim it:
Display logo in your blog to show you've been nominated.
Thank and link back to your nominator.
Answer the questions asked by your nominator.
Share 7 things about yourself.
Nominate 7 other bloggers for the award.
Notify your nominees.
From Georgina's initial tag, I wasn't sure if I was meant to use the 11 questions she'd answered or what, so I decided to Frankenstein it and use some of those plus some that my sister, Star, and her love-slave came up with. Folks I've tagged, answer these questions, s'il vous plait:
1. What would you peg as an appropriate age of majority?
If we're talking about at what age folks should be permitted to drink, by law: well, kids can go and die in a war for their countries at 18, so they should be able to bloody well order beer at a bar before getting blown up. If we're talking about when I think most folks have completely shed their juvenile dumbassery, maybe 23 or 25. Maybe there should be a test, similar to the SATs or ACTs, in which stupidity levels and common sense are evaluated and those failing to meet the minimum required scores for either category can't get their "I'm an adult" cards. How's that?
2. What would win in a fight: math or science?
Er...science, 'cause numbers can go only forward or backward, whereas science can go wherever the hell it wants. (Probably?)
3. How do you feel about time travel as a narrative device?
I dig it but think it takes a tight mind to keep track of all the shifts and whatnot. Plus, what about that paradox of a character meeting up with her/his older/younger self? How's that even really possible, huh? OK, it's not, which, I guess, is the whole point.
4. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
Lust Red, lovers. Lust. Red. (This is a totally legit color, y'all. In fact, all links on my blog that you've not yet clicked are inLust Red.)
5. What's the last movie you saw in a theater?
Star Trek: Into Darkness. (Luuuuuuuuuurved it!)
6. The power goes out. It will be out for several hours. What do you do with yourself?
Er...that seems a bit of a personal question, non?
9. What one book do you think everyone should read?
The one I intend to release this coming September, of course. ;-)
10. What song are you listening to right now?
11. Where in the world would you like to be right now, and why?
Scotland. 'Cause it's bloody cooler than bloody New York, that's bloody why.
Seven Things About Me
Though I romanticize the Regency and Victorian eras in the UK, I'm grateful to live in a time in which air conditioning, asthma inhalers, sanitary napkins/baby diapers, Lindt chocolates, and flavored rums are readily accessible.
I haven't been on a proper vacation in nine years.
I flatter myself as being brilliant with words, however, I'm damned if I can make things pretty with my hands. (I'd make a teacher of Flower Arrangement weep, trust me.)
My fave color combo of late is red, white, and black. Like, I think that my collapsible zebra-striped umbrella sticking out of my red totebag's side pocket is fetching-as-hell.
Gawd, I hate putting that superfluous apostrophe in that second band's name. Blerch.
My Dear Friend Nikki and I smile for her infinitely superior phone camera.
Little did we know that within a half hour of the Go-Go's starting we'd
narrowly avoid a brawl with the drunken dudes dangerously
swaying into us. Tossers. We think Security may have escorted them
the hell out of Roseland Ballroom later. At least, we hope.
Douchebags.
Jane Wiedlin, rhythm guitarist for The Go-Go's (damn that apostrophe!),
being all adorbz in her Star Trek science officer uniform. Unfortunately,
I couldn't get even minimally decent pics of the rest of the gals.
Too, our enjoyment of the 1st half of the concert was greatly
diminished by the aforementioned altercation, as well as our mutual
realization that we didn't actually know a lot of their music!
We were in better spirits after a break and when The B-52s finally took the stage.
Poor Cindy Wilson was still getting over some illness which rendered
singing tricky and her voice periodically cut out, which was a shame.
But Fred Schneider and Kate Pierson more than made up for it, with
Fred cracking lines in between tunes like, "...when we weren't busy inventing
New Wave..." and "...here's one of our world-famous ballads!" and Kate
swingin' her arms & flashing her pearlies with true aerobic instructor
enthusiasm. Lah-lah-LOVED their set. They opened with Planet Claire and
the hits just kept on coming. They wrapped up with Wig and Love Shack,
during which Nikki and I had to bugger off, so as to get our 11:40 train back
into the 'burbs. Alas. Responsible adulthood sux.
My only complaint about The B-52s is that they didn't play Summer of Love which, with the first day of summer coming up, wouldn't have been amiss. Or, which would have been even more fun, one of Fred's solo efforts, as uploaded by some lovely fan on the Youtubes. (Not I, so you can't blame me.) (OK, I am posting it here, so you can blame me for that, if you must.)
Folks, at some point I plan on a posting some very basic information for you on what it is to be Goth, the origins of Goth, the reason Goths are called Goths, and how the modern Goth gets on in the 21st century, etc.
This is not that time.
Instead, I'd like to share with you this (delightfully tongue-in-cheek) video, "How To Dance Goth," which will, by itself, give you a taste of what today's Goth is like. Sort of.
...So many responses to my most recent post center around the essential "Holy fuck, not Putin?!" theme, yet no one commented on the fact that my Kid's due to go to Russia next week, for a month-long stay. Perhaps y'all were so tightly clutched in the grip of horror at my taste in man-candy that this salient fact escaped you. Never mind. I've nerves of steel and feel perfectly blasé about the fact that it'd take me 10 hours and over a thousand bucks to get to Balthazar in the event of an emergency, from June 12 to Bastille Day.
...I'm clearly lying about that last bit. I plan to tipple steadily throughout the day this coming Wednesday, the day the Kid embarks on his trip, so I can just not give a shit that he's flying an airline I've never heard of before and will be almost completely out of reach till mid-July.
...Balthazar's girlie and some of her fam were in Europe themselves recently and had a brief layover in Manhattan yesterday on their way home, so he and I went downtown to say howdy. When Balthy and his gal reunited, I was struck by how much love for him poured out of her eyes. My next thought, which haunted me for the rest of the day, was how painfully vulnerable we become when we love and how easily our beloveds can destroy us. (What the Kid's initial response was to her I can't quite tell you, as I deliberately turned away so they could suck face in relative privacy.)
...The Kid finished his first year of college! Holy shit! I'm happy to report that I'm over the devastation of Empty Nest Syndrome and have come to enjoy the freedom of not having to rush home from work every day to care for my not-so-little birdling. I'm enjoying the weird journey from Goth Mom to Goth Mom Lite and rediscovering myself as just a chick again.
...Balthy's got way more clothes than I do. Waaaaay moooooooore. And that pic doesn't show even half of his crap. Who the hell's got time for that much laundry, ain't nobody got time for that! (The Kid obviously doesn't, else his threads wouldn't be in a mound on the floor, awaiting the tender mercies of Tide.)
"...love is desire sustained by unfulfillment." ~ Angela Carter
“Love is a fiend, a fire, a heaven, a hell, where pleasure, pain, and sad repentance dwell.” ~ Richard Barnfield
"Love is a grave mental disease." ~ Plato
Baby, don't hurt me...
"Love isn't a battlefield, it's a genocide." ~ Balthzar, The Kid
"Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come." ~ Matt Groening
...don't hurt me...
"Love is so short, forgetting is so long." ~ Pablo Neruda
“A mighty pain to love it is, and 'tis a pain that pain to miss; but of all pains, the greatest pain, it is to love, but love in vain.” ~ Abraham Cowley
"...love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and *die*." ~ Ronny Cammareri, Moonstruck
