I will tell you what the news did to Lolo Daddy. Upon intense reflection and that crucial a-ha, it has come to me. The news is why Lolo Daddy was the most paranoid human being to ever walk the planet.
Oh, I’m sorry. Did you just think of someone you know, who is totally afraid of the thing with the thing, all the time, with the nervous tick, and the pills? Hm. Well then you’re right, that’s probably worse. But Lolo! The classic worrier! That pained, crippled expression he’d make (minimum thirty times a day)! My cousin Ryne and I weren’t even that naughty. But every time we asked him to play outside, he’d act as if we were asking him to saw off our hands like all the other cool grandparents do.
My mother has since kept this legacy. I always thought it was genetic – the supernaturally unreasonable concern that prevented me from rollerblading, sleepovers, talking on the phone or to boys, from watching PG-rated movies… But it has since clicked. She reads the newspaper, and all other scripts, cover-to-cover, Lolo Daddy-style. She’s the only one of her siblings that does. And, as I’ve filled my head over the past few weeks with harrowing stories of corruption, accidental or aggravated deaths, trauma, loss, I’m starting to wonder if I’ll mysteriously inherit these worrying traits as well.
But this is not why I’m here, today. The theme of today is not to dwell on how terrifying this world is, and supporting these findings with the tribune. No. The theme of today is to dwell on how interesting this world is, and to support this assertion with photographs.
I did something fun this week. Scratch that, I did several fun things. But this one thing in particular did not involve solitary confinement, and did warrant a camera…
I have a friend. A good friend, a co-worker, Katelyn. Every year her roommates and her attend ACen, an anime convention, and have since high school. Since I’ve known her, K attends the convention and proceeds to talk about it until the next year, when she attends it all over again. Anyone who has ever seen the sort of expression that animates her face when she describes it – the expression on anyone’s face, who genuinely loves something – would undoubtedly be moved to reflect it. And so, this year, this past weekend, I finally made the trek to visit her in her ultimate element.
I’ll admit, I almost lost heart. Getting ready to stand in line, to enter, I had to pass a group of killer-face clowns. Thanks, universe. It’s a miracle I didn’t choke on my heart. And then I saw her, my sweet, sweet friend come to take me inside. And it’s no wonder she was stopped every five feet, for a picture.
steampunk, is what she was thoroughly representing
And what more can I say? I walked down the stairs behind this:
There was a definite sweetness, a youthful excitement, joy
And somehow it organically coexisted with much seedier, scarier things.
It was sort of unbelievable. My senses were all over the place. Hyper-stimulated. But even more unreal was how familial it all was, how much of a unit everyone, from all walks of the earth, formed. Everyone was so kind and, unless their masks were set a certain way, smiling. They all seemed to be most at home there. Of course, my favorite part was my friend, whisking me around, showing me everything with many hand-flourishes. She was so happy. And, I was too.
I only spent an hour there. And, eventually my week went on. But the short breath of animated air has lent me several hours of deep as well as shallow thought. I’ve been thinking a lot about how we characterize ourselves, as individuals, humans… uh, mortals… and, how we might categorize each other. Categories have been a theme this week. Tomato plants have been another theme.
And in other news, in keeping with this blog theme of waste, and avoiding it like a plague, in case you think I’ve been a bad, bad girl for reading at the expense of dead trees, I do hear you. Information manifests itself in piles quite quickly:
It is clearly winning. But, I am trying my best to make up for it. Envelopes have been made. Paper lunch sacks:
I’ve even had a go at basket weaving:
Am trying my best, my friends. Will let you know when I’m making newspaper baklava, so you can come over.