The last Yuletide fallout: what with all the gift-giving of a few days ago, we're adjusting to living with our new possessions. Stuff maketh not the man, of course, but there's no denying—it's a material world, and I am a material girl...
D's brand-new discs of Scandinavian neo-folk music are currently rocking the house. Ferocious shrieking ecstasy—makes me wonder what the bedrooms of Finland sound like on a Saturday night...
Some time ago, there was a discussion on the Barbelith Undergound that asked the musical question, "Is it okay for men to moisturize?" Apparently D thinks so: there was coffee-essence body butter in my stocking, along with a bergamot-scented cleanser. Bergamot's wot gives Earl Grey its distinctive bouquet—so the net effect is that I smell like a fucking Starbuck's.
Also scored much lovely clothing and the His Dark Materials novels, which is like Gnosticism For Kids. Great stuff: The Invisibles re-imagined as a pastoral fantasy.
I got Claire comic books—sorry, graphic novels—this year: she's four now, and reads pretty well, and, well, it's never too early to hook 'em on the artform I love so much. So she scored the Spiegleman/Mouly-edited anthology Little Lit, which is admirably rough around the edges—fairy tales are supposed to be scary, dammit!—and immaculately designed (and which is not to be confused with this outfit, which promises "Hours of Gospel Centered Fun for Your Favorite Little Ones"—yikes!).
Also Jill Thompson's weird and whimsical Scary Godmother—not a perfect book, I'm afraid (it can't decide if it's comics or prose, and doesn't quite succeed as either) but a fun read nonetheless—and Jay Hosler's Clan Apis, which is much too advanced for her but which she loves nonetheless: when she saw the crisp black-and-white pages, she cried, "It's a coloring comic book!"
We'd better be careful. At this rate, she might end up an artist or something.
She could do worse.
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