Five things phantoms_siren associates with me:

I'm not sure exactly how to address these, except to wonder, at least a little, why Phantoms associates them with me. Which is sort of the most interesting part, and I'd be interested in her thoughts on the subject.

Clear skies
I live in Seattle, which is known for its rain and overcast cloudscape. But what no one tells you (presumably for fear the city will be inundated by newbies like me) is that the summers are GLORIOUS. It's not hot enough (generally) to need air conditioning, and not humid enough either. So you open your windows and enjoy three months of temperate summer. The grass dies, but it always comes back. And the days are long, but not so long I can't sleep.

Even so, I find I miss the cloudy weather when we go a long time without it. I like how it feels to sit on the couch reading, or watching X-Files, with the light outside all diffused and dim.

Still, clear skies in Seattle is a far different thing than clear skies in Florida. Which spell sunburn and a sad absence of my favorite Florida feature, the 3 o'clock thunderstorm. I love being able to see the mountains in the distance, and Rainier looming over the city, and airplanes. I love seeing airplanes in the sky, because every time I do it reminds me how truly amazing they are. Big hunks of metal that fly.

Blue roses
I'm not sure I've ever seen a blue rose. I expect they're very unusual. I once knew someone who claimed she'd have blue roses at her wedding; for the life of me, I can't remember now who that was. According to Wikipedia, efforts to breed blue roses resulted in something like lilac until genetic engineering made all our dreams come true; though apparently not very well.

The other day I watched The Thief of Bagdad (1940) which included a "Blue Rose of Forgetfulness." I also recall one pinned to the lapel of Lil's red dress, in Fire Walk With Me, but I can't remember what it means. According to the Victorian Language of Flowers, a blue rose means "mystery, attaining the impossible."

I am nothing like a rose, much less the impossible blue one.

Peppermint
I have never been a huge fan of peppermint. Perhaps it is too strong; of the minty candy/gum flavors, I prefer wintergreen, and I do not enjoy hard peppermints of the sort you get at restaurants. Peppermint patties have far too great a peppermint-to-chocolate ratio.

I think peppermint works much better as an aspect of something, like fudge or ice cream or a chocolate mint Hershey bar. Yes, I am too weak for peppermint.

Brocade
There is a great discrepancy between things I like aesthetically and what I present to the world. Somehow I've decided that while I appreciate many fine things and enjoy dressing up if it is a costume, I am lying to the world unless I am wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Perhaps it is a matter of physical comfort, but I suspect it's largely mental.

That said, I think brocade would be a bit much, in any event, and hard to be subtle about. When I was younger, in the full throes of my 19th century literature/Phantom of the Opera phase, I wanted to decorate everything far too richly for my tastes now. I even bought a length of paisley fabric I was going to make curtains out of (or something--I can't imagine what I was thinking). But somewhere along the way my habits got simpler and simpler and now the most extravagant I get is painting each room a different color, with solid curtains on the windows.

But why? Why shouldn't I mix and match? I love rooms where nothing goes together--it's a matter of allowing that free reign in my own space. Which has very little to do with brocade, I suppose, but the only other thing brocade makes me think of is ValMalkovich.

Sea spray
Growing up, my father was mad about sailing. Finally, at some point during my teen years, he bought a boat. It was a 22' Catalina, and we kept it in Casco Bay in Maine. We lived in New Hampshire at the time, so weekends consisted of driving up to it and poking around the islands.

With sailing, it's all about the journey. Or so I'm told. I quickly got bored with it, because I nearly always want to get somewhere. It's not that I don't appreciate the journey, but when the journey is very much the same for hours and the sun is beating down on you, making you drowsy and a little sick, it's hard to keep that frame of mind. Later he bought a 33' Ranger for taking my grandfather (and me and my uncles) to Cuba, which he then sold, and sold the house, so he and my mother could move onto a much larger sailboat which they now live on. I guess that's his dream.

People often express an affinity for one element or another. I've never really known, except I don't think I'm Fire. Or Earth, really, though I may be fooling myself. But while I love the sea, I love watching it more than being on/in it. I love rocky coastlines, where the waves crash and little things get caught in tidepools and lighthouses warn off ships. The beach holds little interest for me at all. But every time I'm back in Rhode Island or Maine I go to Ocean Drive or Ogunquit and climb around on the rocks.

The story of Bluebeard exists in several variations, but usually goes like this: a poor girl gets married off to an ugly (though rich) brute who tells her he can go anywhere in his house/mansion/castle but this one room, and that she must keep this key/egg with her at all times. By the way, he says, I'm going on a trip. The wife, driven by her womanly curiosity, enters the forbidden room to find a bloody abattoir filled with former Mrs. Bluebeards. She drops the key/egg, and to her dismay finds the blood will not wash off, thus alerting Bluebeard upon his return that she has gone against his orders.

This happens a few times until lucky number three, usually a sister of the other two, devises a clever plan to avoid dropping the key/egg or alert some sort of lover or brother of her predicament. This wife is rescued, and sometimes rescues the other wives, who can be sewed back together or pulled out of hell or otherwise recovered. The story is a flip-side of "Beauty and the Beast," where the vicious new husband really is a monster who cannot be redeemed, and where the woman's main attribute, curiosity, gets her into trouble. I suppose the lesson is that marriage is scary for a young girl, and sometimes the vicious beast turns out to be all right—and sometimes he doesn’t. I’ve written a little about this before, in the context of The Phantom of the Opera.

This basic storyline is more or less absent from Bartok’s opera Bluebeard’s Castle and Michael Powell’s 1963 film for German television. This film is very rare, and a few weeks ago tkp, Mr. Daroga and myself got the opportunity to see the one print that’s available. According to Powell’s wishes, the German opera is presented without translation, and only a few descriptive subtitles cue you in to certain emotions or events. (You can see the first 9 minutes here)



( some spoilers for a movie you probably won't see )
That got a little rambly. I had this all written in my mind last week, and it fell out. I would encourage anyone interested in forming their own opinion to see this if they get the chance. Especially Stefanie—I think you’d love it.