Category: etc.

Wow. Sheesh. No pressure. But “ya better get on that, Crackie,” as we say at The Beanhouse.

Um, this is the name of a book I have. I really enjoy it. So inspiring, etc.

Or I really hate it. So depressing, etc.

But I’ve decided to try to make this a (somewhat) regular feature here. I mean, just think. Whenever I’m feeling all desperate and lazy, I will randomly flip open “1000 Places … You Die,” type up whatever it lands on, and feel I’m actually supplying content — even though I may be telling you something you give not one tiny rip about. And that will feel familiar and non-threatening because, let’s face it, that’s pretty much business as usual ’round here.

And — ooh! doing the math on my handy-dandy calculator here — if I do this once a week (HA) with 1,000 places total, I will have cool, lackadaisical content for exactly 19.230769 years.

The winner in all this? Well, I’m pretty sure it’s not you. Oh, well.

Anyway … here we go. Opening the book. Hold please.

Okay. Ready?

Today’s “Place to See Before You Crump It” is-ss-s:

THE KINGDOM OF THE MUSTANG
Mustang, Nepal

Surrounded by Tibet on three sides and governed by a Tibetan royal family, Mustang — a kingdom within a kingdom — survives as one of the last remnants of ancient Tibet. Although nominally integrated into the kingdom of Nepal in the early 1950s, it remains largely autonomous, and much of its medieval cultural fabric has survived. In fact, Mustang is said to be more like Tibet before the Chinese occupation than Tibet itself, filled with ancient walled fortress-villages and monasteries hewn from rock, displaying a muted natural palette of grays and variegated rusty reds. Like much of the Tibetan plateau, the landscape is rugged and austere, a dramatic high-desert terrain flanked by towering peaks, including the snow-capped Annapurnas to the south. Though Nepal opened to tourism in the 1950s, Mustang’s sensitive position along the Tibet border kept it off-limits until 1992, when the Nepali government began admitting a trickle of foreign tourists, Ironically, Mustang was well traveled in the past, its ancient trade routes dating back more than 1,000 years. Its treeless vistas must have appeared distant and extraordinary to European travelers returning from China with their precious cargo. They would have been as hard pressed as today’s trekkers to explain the otherworldliness of it all.

WHAT: Experience. WHERE: Northwest of Kathmandu and north of Pokhara. Treks depart from Jomsom. HOW: All travel to Mustang is restricted and must be made through a licensed trekking company; all treks are accompanied by a government liaison officer. COST: 17-day land package (with 12 days of trekking) departing Jomsom $2,600. Airfare from Kathmandu to Jomsom $298. WHEN: Mustang opens to visitors Mar-Dec. BEST TIMES: Spring trip coincides with Tigi, a Tibetan festival.

Hmm. Sorry. I thought there might be horsies.

Bon Voyage!!

Soooo ….. the Padres are the NL West Champs? And they’re in the playoffs, etc.??

No, no. No, NO. I gave up on them when I was 12.

I can’t do this. There’s only so much a girl can give.

I desperately need some suggestions for a good blog host. The Switch will be happening soon. There is only just so much n-a-k-e-d spam a girl can take, ya know?

(Don’t even want to spell out the word anymore! IT’S IN THE NAME, FOR PETE’S SAKE!! SHEESH. WHAT IS MY PROBLEM??)

Anyone have a host they’re particularly thrilled with? Please share. Please. I am a moron when it comes to this.

BLESS you!!

UPDATE: CHECK OUT ASM! Keep scrolling …..

(Oh, will someone please, PLEASE complete the Wonder Woman Trifecta?? Wordgirl?? Cullen?? Haha. I am now obsessed with this.)

Well, in case any of you STILL do, just look at this.

She sublimely answered the call for photos of all you underoo superkids.

I swear. That is the cutest thing. Just …. LOOK at her, peeps!! Priceless.

Thank you, sarahk!!

I’ve had such good luck with my recent random selection of “Over the Edge of the World,” and a few others that I thought I’d do it again — just read something based on gut reaction, instinct. Not based on anyone’s recommendation or burning personal desire. Just … because. Because the title strikes me — as it did with the Magellan book — or because I like the cover or because I say, “Hey, I don’t know anything about THIS. I’m going to read it.” It’s just my own peculiar, spontaneous experiment. Go with the gut. Even if my reason jumps in and says, “Uh, Tray, are ya SURE you want to read that one?” I mean, I thought that about Magellan and I literally cannot stop talking about it to anyone who will listen! I’ve gotten one of my dear old queens at The Beanhouse totally hooked on the book, too. We talk about it constantly. I see him and say: “Okay, Jack. Where are you now? What part are you at?” “Oh, they just had a mutiny! How can it get any worse?” “Oh. OH. You have NO idea! It’s about to get SO much worse and SO much better!” And then I have to stop myself from saying too much and giving it all away, so we just prattle on about the WONDER of the whole damn thing. That whole INSANE journey. (And I will write some more Magellan posts, but only a few more, because you really should go out and get the book yourself!!)

Okay. Hm. So that was a full-on tangent. Whatever. All that to say I’m loving my “go with the gut” choices in books these days. And it’s brought me another good’un: “Five Sisters” by James Fox.

“Five Sisters” is a biography following the insanely influential Langhorne family of Virginia during the years after the Civil War. Well, following mostly the sisters, hence the title, haha-blah … bear with me here. I’m all over the map today. SOON we’ll get to the part where I WILL JUST QUOTE FROM THE DAMN BOOK, I SWEAR!!

I’m embarrassed to admit — but see if that stops me! — that I was drawn to this book by the pictures of the five sisters on the cover, all such beautiful women, but mostly because one of them was wearing a crown. I dunno. She struck some 5-year-old girl chord in me, that beautiful woman with the crown. I looked at her and wondered who the heck she was. A woman from Virginia wearing a crown? I had to know who she was. And now I know. And I will tell you momentarily. Or I might forget because, dammit, I may have to live in a box in the canyon and I cannot think straight!!

(Why am I yelling at you fine, lovely people?? Sorry.)

Okay.

These five sisters — Lizzie, Irene, Nancy, Phyllis, and Nora — were just ALL THAT during the Reconstruction years. Belles of the ball, all of them. In the most literal, old-fashioned sense — Belles. Men flocked from all over just to get a glance of one of these sisters, so legendary was their beauty, so desirable were their hands in marriage. But by far the most beautiful, most sought-after of these Sister Belles was the second sister, Irene.

Irene Langhorne.

Who married Charles Dana Gibson.

And was his model for The Gibson Girl.

And that is she in the picture above, Miss Irene Langhorne.

Sister of Nancy Langhorne, later Lady Nancy Astor, the woman with the crown.

But for now, Irene.

The author, whose grandmother was sister Phyllis, describes the Belle culture and Irene’s rise to Super Belle-dom:

Whatever the state of their finances, the Langhornes went each summer to White Sulphur Springs, the most fashionable of the hot water spas across the Blue Ridge in the Allegheny Mountains. The spas had been the center of southern glamour and the marriage market since 1830, particularly “The White,” which to the sisters was a place of outlandish fantasy. It was their only contact with the outside world: a gigantic doll’s house dedicated to beaux and Belles, to highly organized courtly activity.

Unlike May Handy, Irene had never been groomed for her part. She had simply emerged from Mr. Langhorne’s circus — no makeup, no attendant hairdresser — and was one day taken onto the dance floor at The White. She had been noticed by the New York papers while she was still a schoolgirl, to the annoyance of her father, who threatened to go to New York to shoot the editor. (ed.: Sorry! I’m laughing! Their father is hysterical to me.) “She is tall and fair,” wrote the New York Times in the offending passage, “and dances like a dream. Her carriage is queenly and her complexion perfect.” She was taller than her sisters, serene, upright, with a dimple on her chin and (fashionably) “violet” eyes. She had the rounded hips and the forward-weighted bosom of the classic Belle, the bosom that tapered to a twenty-inch waist, of which she would say, coyly, “The beaux were supposed to be able to put their hands around it. But my Father never let them.” She had a luminous quality. She “lit up” a room.

Next installment: Irene and Charles and what Father thinks of the whole derned thing. Hahahahahaha!!!!

…. goes to Liar-Cheater-Pig, who still isn’t responding to our request for payment.

My Beloved meets with our lawyer Wednesday at noon.

This post lives on! HOORAY!!

I’m telling you, peeps, that is now my favorite post on this blog — because of the comments that YOU all wrote. So funny and so precious. Sweet Lord. I just keep rereading all your answers.

But …. some of you have outted yourself as underoo-wearing superkids and NOW:

I WANT PICTURES!!!

Cullen. ASM. Other kiddie superheroes. Let the Kodak moments begin. Tell me in the comments if you’ve put them up on your blog.

Give it up. Come ON. You’re all adorable, I’m sure.

Why is this photo just so sweet and heart-tugging to me?

I’m having problems uploading new images to the site, but I found this lovely one sitting all by itself in my drafts, waiting for its moment in the footlights. It deserves a solo, don’t you think?