Sweet September

Finally, I can say it out loud: Summer is officially over. Which means the end of the unbearable heat and sunshine dust. I've always preferred cold and dark places. Once a teacher of mine suggested the cemetery as the ideal home for me. I felt a little offended then, but if I think about it, he really needed guts to say that to a pupil and I respect that.

I'm taking great risks as well. At this precise moment I should be studying for an exam, and yet not a single shiet is given. Instead, I turned off all the lights, opened the window and as I write I listen to the rain and other noises of the night. I live in a village, so there's not much of it. This is my way of celebrating the coming of my favorite season.

Autumn. Read it out loud: autumn. Even the sound of the word is beautiful. Autumn. The season that celebrates death with the promise of rebirth. If I die I'd like to do it with as much grace and beauty as the trees around me every year. (Note: Trees are perennial plants, they don't actually die, but rather hibernate during the winter.) If anything, autumn teaches me (personally, but there's always room for more students) that the end of a life is not something I should mourn, but celebrate. It all breaks down to this: it's not the finality of it that matters, but the fact that life happened. Maybe.

Now, as I reached the level of optimism my body and mind can handle for the day I leave you with George Elliot's words of wisdom:

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.

A speak out with your geek out moment

As part of something way bigger and much nobler cause than my attempt to entertain I am about to share an interesting story full of twists and unexpected turns.

I've never been called a geek. True story. Well, mostly because the word in my mother's tongue doesn't exist. Unfortunately, this doesn't mean that a few of my habits wasn't frowned upon with my parents leading the way.

My father and mother had a hard time accepting that their precious little daughter refuses to grow up by constantly watching animated movies of all sorts. They were convinced that as an older sister I set a bad example for my sister, Laura. Long story short, I got my fair share of criticism.

At this point I have to admit my scale was indeed wide. I could sit and watch everything from Two stupid dogs and Powerpuff girls to The Beauty and the Beast. But as I grew older and my taste sophisticated ever so slightly I discovered Hayao Miyazaki's work and realized nothing I did till that point was in vain. I won't go into details about the brilliance of the man and his animation studio (not to mention Madhouse). That's something everyone has to see for him/herself.

My point here is that one day Laputa: Castle in the Sky was airing on TV. By that time I was already familiar with Miyazaki's film and managed (using superhuman forces) to convince my parents to give it a chance. I mean it won an Oscar, for Pete's sake. They can't deny its worth.

Unsurprisingly neither of my parents was delighted with it and by mutual agreement we changed the channel. The moral of this two-sided disappointment (parents in the film, me in them) made me realize one thing: I'm not the weirdo here. On the contrary. My folks are nice people, but they are undeniably narrow minded. And for that they are missing out on many great things.

Since that day I embrace my geekiness. Calling someone a geek can only be interpreted as a compliment, because those are the people who understand the world to its fullest.

Which, in itself, is the single most adventurous journey one can dream to accomplish.

What do you think of my conclusion? Any pros or cons?

Were-ificated

In fantasy shapeshifters are like wearing a black cocktail dress. With suitable accessories and proper presentation things rarely go wrong. Not to mention that in the XXI. century one can hardly avoid knowing the true colors of a werewolf.

That said, I have to admit I've been foolishly ignorant thinking wolves seized all the blessings a 'were' prefix can provide. Apparently I was wrong. Being an ordinary human, I usually don't like it when I'm wrong. But this time I'm glad I made this little discovery for two reasons:

One: My open-minded-consumer-self learned yet another thing about mythology and folklore. But this I shall mention no more. Because, despite its benefits, it would be way too boring. Besides, who likes that unmistakable flavor of "Not sure if I'm being educated here". (A 'jk' might be due here. And yet, there's none.)

Two: My wooden-headed-critical-rascal-self laughs out loud every time I read werehyena or werecat. And this is not even the best part.

I let my imagination run wild, which led to a whole list of were-things.

The first item is Raspberry, my dog. Every time someone sets his/her foot in our yard she turns into a barking-yelping twister. For that, Raspberry deserves the title: werewoof.

The love of my life spends at least five nights a week in front of his computer. I've always been suspicious of that, now the mystery is finally solved. By day he's an ordinary geek, but by night he turns into a fearsome wereprogrammer.
Does that make the code he writes werecode? I wonder...

At last, but not least I give the title of weresloth to myself for the many days spent being a vast consumer of animes, mangas and Asian live action dramas. I should aware you. The weresloth's fate is similar to a creature named Gollum. It includes skipping meals, neglecting personal hygiene, sitting in front of a screen for hours and other hideous habits. Long term side effects may vary.

Advice corner: What to do if, after reading this, you start discovering new were-creatures on every corner?

Be a good girl/boy and introduce yourself nicely. And if, by chance, you survive the encounter, come back here and share your experience for the greater good of mankind.

Seeing someone actually heed my advices would be rather... well, rather surprising.

Treasure hunt

Before I tell you the story of an interesting August afternoon, there are two things you need to know.

Firstly, my in-laws are the nicest people I've ever met (no, seriously, they are), but my brother-in-law (hereinafter: B.) is downright crazy. Imagine middle-child syndrome meeting the selfish game-addict with no sense of responsibility whatsoever and you can't be far from the truth.

Secondly, his self-destructive lifestyle amazes the hell out of me. Which is why sometimes I just follow him around. It's a lot like seeing Jack Sparrow in action, only without the yummy Depp-like looks (sorry B.).

Much like vampires B. rarely leaves the house during the day. But when he does, something big is about to happen. Last week, for instance, he found a 200 years old sword in his grandmother's house. That was the day, when he decided a treasure hunt was due.

About two centuries ago there was a huge battle near to our village. Luckily, he found a few other dreamers and with the motto "Let's tear up the place!" we went on a life-threatening quest. The funny thing is that everyone had a different goal. B wanted to find another sword. A little boy searched for World of Warcraft items. There was also a guy who kept wandering how did B. manage to convince him to tag along. And I went out for a good story.

After two hours of digging the hard soil (excluding me, I just watched) next to an ancient looking poplar B. and the boys gave up. That day I was the only one who got what I wanted. But this is not the end of the story. B. purchased a metal detector and we are going back. As soon as the rain stops, that is.

Advice corner: What to do when you're bored out of your mind and/or are under a lot of pressure (reasons may vary)?

Find a dreamer and dream together. And if it doesn't work, if you can't laugh with such people, you can still laugh at them. The latter might seem mean, but all is far in a war to stay sane.

Needless to say pretending to be a cartoon hero by digging in someone's backyard is rather adventurous.

Fetch the (hair)ball!

Letting a Yorkshire terrier use your backyard as a hunting territory is not necessarily a bad idea. Although it might turn into one if the above mentioned yard is the Bristly foxtail's favorite place in the whole wide world.

The Bristly foxtail is a weed that grows faster than Asia's GDP. If that wouldn't be bothersome enough, its flower has that annoying nature of sticking into clothes and fur. Apparently my dog refuses to get disturbed by any of this. You can imagine the horror I felt when the other day Raspberry presented her new looks to me.

Advice corner: What to do with a dog that turned into something you are positive if E.T. had it he could probably phone home?

You are in need of three sharp items: scissors, sight and reflexes. It also won't hurt if you build up a little patience. And by little I mean a vast amount: almost as much as you need to suffer through a summer day without internet, cell phone, other people, any sort of food and liquids. If you reach a level where even Buddha would be jealous of the result, you can be sure that no blood will be shed on either side.

Did I mention that the two hours of life-and-death hairdressing were rather adventurous?


Have you ever had a life threatening encounter with a Bristly foxtail, a dog or both? This is the perfect place to let it all out.