Ize in ur Aprile, Maken Melodye with ur Foules

D has recently developed an inexplicable but really quite charming fascination with the phenomenon known as LOLCats, in which animals (often cats) are photographed in the midst of cute and/or bizarre behavior and then their thoughts are provided in oddly ungrammatical captions. Most famous among these internet oddities are a cat deeply satisfied by his possession of a "cheezeburger" and a walrus in continual search for his beloved but wandering bucket. I blame the Carolina basketball board for ensnaring D in this sticky web of endless cute wit.

But then I made the delightful discovery that Chaucer (for whom, in all his humorous complexity, I have long harbored a mild literary crush - although I am unsettled by the possibility that he was a rapist) has a blog, and that on that blog he admits that he too is quite obsessed with the LOLcat phenomenon. So fascinated, in fact, that he rushed to make LOLPilgrims, which are a marvelous satire on both the conventions of LOL and the intricacies of Canterbury Tales criticism. Take a look; the Middle English is a mite difficult at first, but it is definitely worth it. I swear that I am one step away from buying one of old Geoff's tee-shirts - perhaps the one that threatens "Don't make me unlock my word-hoard on you!"

In other news, D and I are watching a borrowed copy of the third season of "Slings and Arrows," the Canadian series about the people who run a (fictional) embattled theatre company. My parents got us and several of our friends completely addicted to this theatricalist dramedy, and the third season is proving to be every bit as brilliant as the previous two. In the first season, the Artistic Director of the New Burbage Festival unexpectedly dies, leaving his theatre company in the thrall of financial peril and artistic mediocrity. The board of directors takes a risks and invites the late AD's estranged protege to take over the company, despite the fact that he left the Festival years earlier amidst a massive nervous breakdown, which took hold of him while he was onstage, playing Hamlet. Is he still quite mad? Well, it's possible: he regularly sees the nagging ghost of his late mentor. Each season takes as its subject a single, central production that the company is mounting (Hamlet in the first season, Macbeth in the second - both, pointedly, ghost plays - and, in the third, King Lear), and in each season the characters' non-theatrical problems thematically echo the chosen play's. I highly recommend it to all of you - you can get it on Amazon (Slings & Arrows - Season 3) or Netflix (although Netflix bought too few copies, and is being a bit withholding as a result).

I am (I swear) about to sit down and watch the acclaimed but undoubtedly harrowing United 93 - I will let you know how it goes. I am almost done with Sleepless Nights, which continues to be dreamily excellent, but haven't really gotten any further with Watching the English or David Copperfield. I also need to attend to my 52 Plays/52 Weeks Project - I have been halfway through a Marivaux play for a couple of weeks now, and its plot is so intricate I may just have to start again at the beginning.

Hemingway's six-toed cats

Apparently there has been quite a furor over whether Hemingway's former home in Florida should be allowed to keep the clan of cats (50+) descended from the author's original six-toed feline companion, Snowball, without a special "animal exhibit" licence. This Guardian article explains it in more detail.

In other news, I am in the midst of the short but remarkably dense (in amount of poetic power per page, not mental acuity) Sleepless Nights by Elizabeth Hardwick, for the Slaves of Golconda (I swear I will actually get around to reviewing this one, unlike Lady Susan! That is why I am giving myself a huge head-start before the deadline.). I am also reading the lengthy but immensely entertaining - if somewhat unsettling in its ability to predict and stereotype human behavior - Watching the English, an anthropological approach to the oddities of English social interactions. The Heart is a Lonely Hunter has had to go on hold after a stunning first chapter until I am done with Sleepless Nights.

Filmwise, D and I just saw the immensely (off-puttingly) odd and diffuse Paprika this weekend, and I must get around to reviewing it one of these days, along with a few other films that have been stacking up. I am in the middle of High Society, which is proving quite grim by comparison to The Philadelphia Story, its original. It does, however, have the distinction (once I finish it, that is) of being the first movie I will have watched in purely digital form (via Netflix's "Watch Now" service). The Burmese Harp and (I brace myself) United 93 both sit in their little red envelopes on top of the TV, telling me they must be attended to.

And then, of course, there is work....

Oh, and I almost forgot! D and I threw a wee dinner party (on our Ikea folding bamboo chairs - instruments of torture disguised as patio furniture, and being used as dining room accoutrements) last night, and it was pride-inducingly tasty! I made my a dish which has recently entered my repertoire (we call it Carol's Summer Soup, after the family friend who gave it to us - it is a cold, gazpachoesque tomato soup with avocado, shrimp, cilantro, cucumber and jalapeno), an old favorite (goat cheese lasagne), and a venture into completely new territory (red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting). The latter was my first attempt at making an entire cake (frosting included) from scratch, and it was fantastically time consuming and fantastically delicious. The recipe came from a cookbook which is winging its way from Amazon to me as we speak - the Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook, winner of this year James Beard award for best cookbook. I can't wait (and how often do I feel this kind of enthusiasm for cooking, really?) to try something else from it.

At the Aquarium

Now, part three (part the last) of my photo travelogue:

After the family reunion in Berkeley (our trip was - alas - far too short to do any serious poking around the Bay area), D and I parted ways with my parents. They headed north, and we headed south along the coast to Monterey before cutting inland to take the desert highway into LA. (Incidentally, the drive over the mountains into LA from this highway was one of the more extraordinary road trip experiences I have ever had - so steep that you are legally advised to turn your air conditioning off to keep the car from overheating on the narrow roads, and 100 degrees after the sun has gone down.)

We were eager to get back to Monterey because (what with our elephant seal addiction, and our eagerness to see otters in the wild at Point Lobos - which we did) we had run out of time on the trip northwards, and were forced to skip the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Now, the Aquarium is egregiously expensive to visit, and particularly remiss in not offering more substantial discounts to seniors and students (the discount is $2 off of a $25 admissions fee; if we had gone with my parents it would have cost nearly $100), but I haven't been in at least fifteen years, and I had named it as my most anticipated activity of the trip while we were in the planning stages. It did not disappoint.

While we were in Berkeley, I had worked myself up into a positive frenzy of anticipation for the Aquarium's otter exhibits, a veritable otter fever, but once in Monterey I discovered that some of the most extraordinary creatures were (I can't believe I am saying this) plankton and jellyfish

The tanks are perfectly designed to show off the otherworldliness of these creatures. My favorite in the picture above is the giant sunfish attempting to hide its massiveness in the bottom left corner.

And, then, the otter madness descended, courtesy of these lively wee freshwater otters.  It was incredibly difficult, with my caliber of camera, to get a picture of these sprightly creatures that was actually in focus. Usually, by the time my shutter had clicked, the otters were nowhere in sight. Bah.

There was something incredibly peaceful, even about the more terrifying of the creatures on display, like this stunning leopard shark:

In the penguin area, this lady was trying doggedly to clean the habitat, but some of her be-suited charges were as recalcitrant as congressmen. She finally had to pick this fellow up, to move him out of the way of the hose, but he struggled so mightily in her hands that he ended up falling flat. It was quite the piece of slapstick, but he was fine in the end.

I wish I could have these sand dollars printed out on a large scale, so that I could use them as wrapping paper.

Another example of my fascination with the tinier, more edible looking creatures of Monterey.

And another.

Of course, what the Aquarium is most famous for are its (rescued) California sea otters, surprisingly large and personable creatures, who genuinely love (as the penguins did too, actually) to come right up to the glass and spend a little while gazing back at the lanky creatures who seem so fascinated by them. You can see my reflection in the glass of the tank, but you can also see the otter gripping the yellow glove he had been playing with between his tiny paws.

And finally, a psychedelic note to end on. Isn't this the most marvelously tactile picture?

Well, the travels are well and truly done, and it is time to get down to some pretty intensive dissertation work. Not that this will put me off of my pleasure reading, of course. Much of which is fairly work related anyway. I have recently joined an academic group dealing with Theatre and Film, so that legitimizes my 1001 Films project, right? I had better get right to work on that...