Cleolinda everywhere

queenanthai

The whole concept cannot help but beg the question: What exactly does Tony Stark/Iron Man smell like? In our imagination, l'aroma de Stark involves the scent of crisp hundos, mixed with new car smell, motor oil, and Axe body spray. Which is to say masculine and slightly industrial, with just a splash of douchebag.

The original fragrance has been described as "leathery" and "woody" (tee hee) and the Diesel website calls it "a voluptuous and explosive cocktail that bears witness to a man with an identity as strong as it is present, almost magnetic," which sounds pretty much like what I just said.

*points to icon* Married to the Sea icon for the taking. Enjoy.

marciamarcia: "Hey Cleo, would you be willing to throw out a brief pimp for someone else's book? I'm writing a little tome for Mental Floss (the Birmingham-based magazine of trivia, random facts, and general awesomeness). It's called "How To" and it'll teach you how to capture a giant squid, run away and join the circus, colonize your very own nation---and about 196 other things. It won't be on store shelves untillate 2007, but starting Tuesday I'll be posting a sneak-peek entry every week on www.mentalfloss.com. I'd love it if you could pass the news on to the rest of the Cleoites. Thanks so much." Ahhh, Mental Floss. Good times.

foresthouse: "I'm looking for suggestions for quality short stories and/or novels from British or Canadian writers, such as her mother could use in teaching her British Literature high school seniors. Please post any suggestions here. My mother would really appreciate it, and also any suggestions you might have. :)"

Did I mention Marie Belloc Lowndes' story "The Lodger" the last time I posted Gothic lit? Because it's one of my favorites. But then, anything involving creepitude at wax museums tends to grab me.

Tonight's spotlighted (spotlit?) author: M.R. James. He has a tendency towards anticlimactic endings, but the imagery he does deliver--usually two or three paragraphs from that ending--is fantastic.

"Lost Hearts": When I was in my teens, I got a giant, oversized (but thin) illustrated book of classic (read: Edwardian) ghost stories called Mostly Ghostly. The stories were generally edited down--not to keep younger readers from the gore, because the gore in this story was front and center in the illustrations, but more so as not to tax their attention spans. And honestly, James does go on about with the antiquarian shop talk in his work as a general rule. I almost think the edited version of the story packs more punch, in part because it doesn't telegraph... well, you'll see.

"The Mezzotint": I can't remember the title of the Stephen King story for the life of me, but I think it has "Road Virus" somewhere in it. Anyway, "The Mezzotint" seems to be a great-great-grandfather to the Stephen King story, in the tradition of Paintings (or in this case, Engravings) That Change in Terrifying Ways. All the fun of the story is in the awful thrill of seeing what the engraving shows next; once you get to the last phase and you find out what it shows, the fun is pretty much over, and this is even before you find out the back story. But the awful thrill part? Fantastic.

"The Ash-Tree." Creepy witches!

"The Treasure of Abbot Thomas." Creepy treasure guardians!

"Count Magnus." Creepy Mini-Mes!

"Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad." Creepy bedsheet monsters!

I'm not sure who I'm going to do next--I have a ton of possibilities. Hmm. Maybe Bernard Capes. Ooo, or maybe Ambrose Bierce.





October: Domestic Violence Awareness Month

Lamictal, Day 7: It's weird--I don't feel like I'm "on drugs" at all, which is a sign that it's a good fit, but at the same time, I could definitely feel an effect earlier in the week that's fading now. So I have another week on 25 mg before we go up to 50 mg, at which point I'll probably feel it again. In the meantime, though, I keep forgetting that we didn't just add a medication--we also cut my Wellbutrin in half, which I finally realized explains why I can't concentrate at all. I mean, I can, but for someone who's used to marathon reading sessions, it's disconcerting to have difficulty staying on task with a simple Wikipedia article. I have more success if I curl up with a book, but reading news or articles on the computer is a lot harder at the moment. And all of this is because I was put on Wellbutrin because it's an antidepressant, yes, and because it affects a brain chemical (I forget which one) that Zoloft doesn't, but mostly to treat attention problems, since Adderall wasn't working (or rather, it was a blunter instrument than I needed).

(Which deserves a sidenote unto itself: I was the last person, literally the last person in the world, ever, that you would have suspected of being ADD, if your idea of ADD was "hyperactive." I was hypoactive. I spent my entire childhood in a book. It turns out, however, that a lot of girls manifest attention disorders as being very dreamy--not being hyper, per se. I rarely paid attention in class; I was usually writing, in a notebook half-hidden in my lap, or under the cover of taking "notes," but there were a lot of classes where I was listening to the lecture with one ear and composing bad poetry with the other. If that makes any sense, which it... kind of doesn't. Anyway. A class like government/econ [which was taught by two football coaches anyway], I could swing it. A class like math, well... I failed a semester exam one time, let's just put it that way.)

Suddenly my habit of parenthetical digressions makes a lot more sense, doesn't it?

Linky-link:

Armitage says he was source in CIA leak.

Ellen DeGeneres Tapped to Host Oscars.

A sneak peek of "Simpsons" online Friday.

Jackie Chan wants to be respected like De Niro.

Panda accidentally crushes cub in China.

stardustshine: "I'd like to ask you to post a link to petfinder so that we can Help Petie. I came across his story the other day at yorkierescueme.com and it just broke my heart. The rescue is trying to raise money by the end of October to give him surgery to fix a bone deformity. Of course there is not an animal rescue in the country that does not need need donations of time and money, so even if your readers can't donate at this time, I hope everyone will keep in mind that there are hundreds of hard cases like Petie that need support any time you can give it."

Poor Dooce: "The only way I can possibly begin to describe this man and his office is to compare it to a graphic science fiction/horror comic book, it was that unsettling. He began by telling me that the incision that my doctor had made on my arm could have made the problem much worse, because by cutting into the cancer like she did she could have deposited diseased cells into the deeper layers of skin. When I reminded him that he was the one who had told her to just go ahead and cut it out herself, he said, 'Really? That was pretty stupid of me, wasn’t it?' EXCUSE ME FOR A MOMENT WHILE I PICK OUT AN EXPENSIVE FABRIC FOR MY CASKET."

Wandering around Flickr last night, I ended up at Madame Talbot's (she has an account.) Fantastic. I want the vampire poster so bad. Not only that, but Madame Talbot's links page is outstanding. On that page alone, I found headless historical dolls (actually, they do come with heads; the heads just aren't... attached); "Chateau Bizarre, Small Business at Its Strangest," or, "Weird Shit You Might Enjoy Buying" (and how!); Art of Adornment; Prodigies: Drawings of Anomalous Humans; old and rare books from A Grave Affair; and the cutest Edward Gorey necklace ever. Not to mention this fantastic blog. Which is why I haven't elaborated much on the primary linkspam, because I'm off reading deathndementia.com (see title of entry).

I think I need to come to grips with the fact that autumn really is my favorite season of the year. I thought it was late spring, with the cool weather and the pretty, pretty flowers, but I was so very, very wrong.

Turns out my poor dog has arthritis and/or bursitis in his shoulder... and a bit of gravel wedged between the pads of his paw. The doctor's advice for the aches brought on by cold weather? "Get him a sweater." I am totally going to ask the Lovely Emily to knit him a giant muffler that I can wrap all around his neck and front legs (because God knows I'd never get sleeves on the boy).

Those messages from yesterday? Farsi.

More seasonal reading!

"The Dionaea House," from last year. (Note: "An online Halloween story was based on the 'dionaea' concept. It was called the "Dionaea House", and the writer has reported the concept has been optioned for a movie.")

If you want more (and are prepared for an extremely intellectual, multimedia/print book approach), check out Mark Danielewski's House of Leaves, which seemed to inspire the Dionaea story, and his sister Poe's (Ann Danielewski) album Haunted. (The Idiot's Guide to House of Leaves. Be prepared to spoiler-swipe the entire page, because the white text blocks aren't marked very clearly, and you may miss a lot.)

Algernon Blackwood: "The Man Whom the Trees Loved," "The Willows," and "The Empty House."

F. Marion Crawford: "The Screaming Skull." I seem to remember another story of his, "The Upper Berth," that was in an oversized picture-book anthology called Mostly Ghostly. Mostly a showcase for the illustrations, but fun nonetheless.

E.F. Benson: "The Room in the Tower." I really like this one for some reason.

Louisa May Alcott: "Behind a Mask." I love the stuff she wrote for adults--neither "Gothic" nor "thriller" really cover it. Maybe "scheming and intrigue" is the best way to put it, although some of the stories do have a supernatural bent. Not this one, though--the Jean Muir character just completely pwns, is all.

From the site where I got the Alcott story: Gothic Tales from the Past. and Some Weird & Horror Tales. Seriously, I'm just bookmarking this here because if I start reading I'll be here all week.

The works of H.P. Lovecraft. I promised to post links to a few of his, ahem, less-tentacled works, so... well, okay, there are some tentacles. But I wanted to put up stories that didn't depend on the Cthulhu Mythos per se--a scary story about a wax museum is, at the end of the day, just that.

"The Picture in the House." " I thought of the rain and of a leaky roof, but rain is not red."

"The Rats in the Walls." Try to ignore the cat's name if you can. It bothered me like hell, but it was published in 1924. Sigh.

"The Strange High House in the Mist." It makes me think a little of a Lovecraftian Tom Bombadil.

"The Thing on the Doorstep." One of my favorites.

"The Shunned House." This is one of the stories that reminds me of Bierce--only a lot wordier, a lot more baroque, and with more ooze.

"Herbert West: Reanimator." Yes, that Reanimator.

"The Whisperer in Darkness." BPAL fans will get a kick out of this one--to say why would give the twist away, but you'll know it when you see it.