Bathroom walls beware.

Two for flinching.

Head in the waves.

When at a loss, remember that mermaid silhouettes are always in abundance.

Compass.

I want to see this.

Castle onslaught.

There's been a recent trend dealing in the debunking of fairy tales. I'd go so far as to say that the modern writer considers it his duty to participate in the demystification of myth. And while there are a few commendable reasons for doing so (historicism, humor, feminism), the market has been overrun with retellings--some with premises so superreal as to be mundane. Bookstore aisles are swirling with narcoleptic Sleeping Beauties, compulsive Cinderellas, and wicked witch chem majors. I read a version of "Tam Lin" set at a college where the beloved was captured by study, and a modern day "Red Riding Hood" where the wolf was merely a predatory man.

Many are clever, some are brilliant, most are filtered through a sharp, skeptical lens. Precise, but narrow.

"Just" a rose.

I could agonize a few days more over something to say, or I could just post the damn pic.

Every blue-eyed floozie.

Came across this fantastic blog which left me variously appalled/in stitches. And, of course, spurred into imitation. Good fun, despite the art world's unbudging stance on large women--and its subsequent refusal to represent them as anything less than ludicrous, bullish, generally pantless, and, in most cases, besotted with tiny men.

But I'll follow along. And who better to link her with than Hermes? If the Greek pantheon has a trickster god to offer, it's him. Fine fodder for a Lasso of Truth. And perfect cuddle material for any undersexed behemoth.

Where everyone's the same.

Was recently sent this findyourspot quiz. It offers up perfect-match cities and is longish but interesting.

Amongst a smattering of Washington, Texas and Georgia(eh?) locales, my number one came up Olympia, Washington. Predictable enough, considering a lifelong goal of moving back.

Perhaps even less suprising were Alex's top two results.

Thassalotta frequent flier miles.

Bookish.

Beware of a man of one book.: Never attempt to controvert the statement of anyone in his own special subject. A shepherd who cannot read will know more about sheep than the wisest bookworm. This caution is given by St. Thomas Aquinas.

Recently purchased a copy of Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable. $5.35 at Milwaukee's best used book store. Now, I'm not posing it as a Dictionary Game replacement, but perhaps as potential alternative...?

Fodder for the animals living on an animal farm.

A piggywig hamming it up.

Lear's representation is more traditional, but I like my swine in suits. There's something unsettling about a pig's bare ass. A phobia that probably owes it dark origins to the cartoon industry and its limited flesh palette.

And so he stands properly accoutred, just in case--

--because, there's the strong intimation that he is waiting for our protagonists to show. Angling his cane. Combing his whiskers. Making halfhearted attempts at the odd truffle to maintain appearances. But he rather prefers crisp linen, and white gloves, and the company of bees to more porkly pursuits. And when word floats down of two travellers in dusty wedding clothes entering the wood, he forgets that he's a pig at all. And so selects the most flattering of his poses and thrusts his snout high and sells the family ring for fame and a shilling.

Worth a watch.

Pretty cool.