**mutter**

At work, one of the ladies taking her break slid in the booth I commandeer every day beside me and piped up, cheerily saying, "Ooh, what good romance are you reading?" referring to the book in front of me.

"There's no romance in this book," I replied. "It's Hannibal."

I think she was fairly horrified. But so was I. Why is it that people assume a woman holding a book has to be reading a romance novel? I have to admit that I do find Hannibal to be kind of romantic. It's the closest thing to romance I can tolerate, I guess. That and Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles. My concept of romance is a little different from the conventional understanding and it irks me when it's just a "given" that, since I'm female, I have to be reading some brainless, gooey romantic potboiler. Blagh. Not for me. NOT.FOR.ME.

What bothers me even more is that this misconception wouldn't be thrust upon me if so many women in our society encouraged such a stereotype by placing themselves firmly in that category. There's more to life than romance. There's horror and tragedy, and dreams of conquest, and vast theories that reach beyond the prisons of the average human mind. There are languages yet to be born and philosophies long buried, desperate to be resurrected and committed to paper. Women are more than capable of reading and/or writing any number of these, yet we're relegated to the realm of romance and we allow ourselves to be, brainless bubbleheads that we seemingly are.

Feast of Lugh

Many blessings to everyone who celebrates or recognises Lughnasadh. Now that the Feast of Lugh is here, I'm heartened as the Wheel of the Year turns ever closer to Alban Elfed. Those of us in the Tropics are usually overjoyed to see the arrival of Autumn, knowing that a respite from the heat, albeit a brief one, is nigh.

I'm planning a simple ritual tonight to honour Lleu Llaw Gyffes, the bright lion with the skilled hand. While at the grocery this evening, I'm planning on getting a wee loaf of multi-grain bread to serve as my offering to the Mighty Ones. I've always preferred to offer up grains on this Sabbat.

I hope everyone has a festive Lughnasadh eve. May your celebrations and observations be festive and magical.

Friday Pictures

I have two pictures here. One is of what's left of that trailer that burned the other night. The other is of my new sunglasses. Now... about the sunglasses.... I've always had a deep affection for little round 60s Hippie glasses. I wore them pretty much exclusively from the late 80s through the 90s, until I couldn't find them anymore when I'd lose or break a pair. Yesterday, when I went to our local That's a Dollar Plus store to get a loaf of bread for cheap, I stopped to look at the sunglasses. They had about a dozen pairs of little round sunglasses for $1.00 apiece. I had to get a pair! Since I was already saving $2.50 on the bread, I figured a little luxury like these glasses could be something I could afford.

Some folks may think that I'm trying to emulate a certain musician who took to wearing similar sunglasses in the late 80s, but I'm not. It's truly just a coincidence that we have this in common and, to be honest, I find it a tad disturbing, but not so much that I won't wear my sunglasses with relish every chance I get. And I plan on going to get an extra pair if we do good at the flea market on Sunday. So, falkenna, feel free to cackle at me and get it out of your system, but I reiterate: coincidence. We were wearing these exclusively from each other years before we ever knew the other existed in this Vale of Tears. So, shut up.

( ruin and hippiesith )