grapes

Good morning. Actually, it’s 12:25 but this is summer so who’s keeping track of when morning ends?

Note: This post is kind of high-and-mighty in the beginning, until I realized I sounded like I had a stick up my ass. You are allowed to skip ahead for less stick-up-assedness.

Yesterday, my sister insisted on going to the San Diego Wild Animal Park, in spite of the heat wave weather and my not-quite-gone fever. I could go on about the holding pen-like line setup for the African tour, or the fact that a raven took me for carrion to eat as I napped in front of a gift store, but I won’t.

Phew, you think. I’ve escaped. No. No you haven’t, because instead I will share how repeatedly seeing a family at the Park yesterday made me think about birth order.

There were five children – three girls and one baby boy. The father was American and the mother was Asian. The oldest daughter, who I overheard was named Cheryl or some other spelling of it, reminded me of myself. Rather, her relationship with her father reminded me of my own with my dad. She told on her sisters to him, as if they were confidants. Later, as I watched them leave the Park, she walked ahead with her dad while her sisters trailed behind with her mother.

That’s when I developed a theory of sorts, regarding first-born daughters and their fathers. I don’t plan on taking the time to think about this anymore, but I just wanted to share what I have now. I think that first-borns, girls at least because I don’t know what boys go through with parents, end up the closest to their dads. Maybe it’s because when their younger siblings are born and occupy her mother’s attention and time, she turns to her dad.

That’s it, basically. A simple half-assed theory created in a delirious feverish state of mind. Feel free to counter it if you wish, but I’m not going to bother any more with it for now. I’ve got a few other things to do, like my stop-motion, for one. I’m excited.

This morning Billy Mays died. I wonder if they’ll eventually stop running his infomercials, which would be a shame because they brought much amusement to my life. Seriously though, it is a celebrity death boom. I hope no one else dies.

It’s difficult to believe that we are living in the beginning of a century. That when I’m 45 it’ll be the 30’s again. The 30’s are supposed to be the time right after the Roaring 20’s, flappers, and F. Scott Fitzgerald and right before WWII. Who knows what the 2030’s will be. I feel ancient already, because having lived at the end of a century, I know how end-of-centuryers view beginning-of-centuryers. How ironic then that we are both.

Enough with deepness. I’m dying of summer weather. Gahhh it’s way too hot. Maybe I’ll sing instead, except a minute ago I thought my dad wasn’t home and almost began to sing when BAM he appeared. Stealthy. One man acapella karaoke party hopes gone, just like that.

I haven’t been doing anything productive all summer. At least before I got a fever I studied a bit for SAT II Literature, and got up early every morning to read a bajillion vocabulary/Chinese/music theory books before my brain could wake up enough to protest. No more.

This could screw me over come SAT time.

Remember when I talked about reading On the Road? Alright, it’s finally got my attention. But again, lazy fatteh does not want to read anything except National Geography Traveler right now. Not even that, actually. I don’t know what I feel like doing. Watching “Public Enemies”, going somewhere with air-conditioning with friends, shopping. The latter’s not happening, because I will be financially conscious. I will. Stop looking at me that way.

Heck, if I’m sweating like a pig just sitting here, what makes you think I’m going to go out and walk where the sun will hit me right on the head. A little too graphic? Apologies, miss. It was not my place. Haha that reference always starts out as Barbossa and ends up as Estrella (Elizabeth’s ignorant maid).

What I hate is that I’m in the mood for hanging out outdoors, but the weather is like, “No, you will not go outdoors. You will not!!!! Look! I will become extremely hot and sunny so that you will not go outdoors! Stay a fatteh!”

Ah, yes. This is what blogging used to be like. Ridiculous and full of “fatteh” scattered everywhere.

Even with the windows open I’m sitting in an inferno. My dad says it’s because of where the house is placed, etc. Sounds a bit like feng shui, but it’s really just common sense.

1. Don’t buy a house facing a direction where the wind cannot run through it or you will die of heat.

2. Don’t pick the bedroom with a window facing a streetlamp, even if it is quite large. You will suffer come nighttime.

3. Don’t buy a house that refills itself with dust every five minutes.

4. Don’t buy a house with a nook in the roof conveniently placed for the pigeons to nest in.

5. Don’t let Grapes use your computer or it will be immediately infected by a virus through no fault of hers. And then she will be frustrated because while everyone on facebook is playing Typing Maniac, she cannot because the computer now does not have a sound card or flash. She also cannot edit any of her videos.

In other news, my birthday is exciting.

Yesterday a “wooden” statue of an elephant leading a baby elephant caught my dad’s eye. This Mexican woman who looked suspiciously like my mousy Syrian math teacher was hanging around as we discussed whether to buy it or not. She picked up various other statues, and eventually left. Little did we know that the second we left KABLAAAMMM she picked up the elephant statue and showed her husband. What a stealthy little lady.

It’s okay, Mexican lady. I do that too, at the DVD section in the library. The other day an old man was there, and he was moving slowly down the aisle. The librarian was putting back returned DVD’s, and that’s when you know the new, valuable movies are there. Everyone stealthily follows after him. But I couldn’t tell my sisters to do it without being unstealthy, and the old man was in my way. I trailed behind him, but every time he wanted to see the ones on the bottom shelf his butt would be sticking up in my face. If he had been just a little bit gassy, I may not be here today. Sometimes he would get all shaky and breath really hard. It was bizarre, so I eventually tried to avoid him. I know, he’s old and we all get like that eventually, but it’s still unsettling.

Who does voice acting for Barbie movies, especially the supporting characters…I’ll do it, if only to save the ears of the family of little girls who insist on watching Barbie movies over and over and over and over again. Like my own. Thanks, Jocelyn. You bring such joyful noises to my life. Like, “Aidan! Please, don’t go. I need  you…” Deaaaatth.

Barbie has such decisiveness when naming her pets. “Hmmm. I think I’ll name you Shiver.” and it’s done. I take at least ten minutes doubting myself when it comes to naming even fish. Whell. I applaud her on that.

I spent at least four hours yesterday listening to Andrea Bocelli and Celtic Woman, thanks to my family’s wonderful musical taste. Ah, it’s not that bad. Andrea Bocelli’s version of “Besame Mucho” made me smile because of “Arizona Dream”. Vincent Gallo was hilarious, and his Cary Grant impression was spot on. Paul Leger may surpass Axel as my favorite character in that movie. Okay, he has.

Sayonara, Japanese goodbye.