the weblog of robin camille davis

• “and stuff”
• “type thing”
• “_______-wise”

There are more. Suggestions?

N.B. “Like” (as a filler word) is too easy a target to nominate for this list, particularly because the author utilizes it often.

we are driven to distraction, cursing contrition
contradicting convictions, criss-crossing losses
we are fostering affection
afflicting ticking time bombs
kissing lips, hips, skipping steps to better forget or get
what is you &
what is not possible,
we make possible
cross-crossing possibilities, we
undo, we
untie, we
uncover belated lovers’ letters’ rougher bluffing
scrubbing clean our crazy ailing all our
cheap thrills will sink, bottom heavy
levy love on me, we’re never
cursing convictions or contradicting correction
we fix a slick unmixing,
a thick untwisting, we
stand up
bow out
out run ourselves.

When Meredith & I were in South Dakota on our Epic Road Trip, we camped in Custer State Park, near Mt. Rushmore. On a whim, we veered off the highway to visit Wind Cave, the fourth-longest cave in the world. And they’re still exploring it! We went on a tour with an adorably enthusiastic park ranger who told us about the history of Wind Cave. She mentioned a certain Alvin McDonald, who, at 18 years of age, was one of the cave’s first serious explorers. He was obsessed with the cave and would explore it with his friends for many hours at a time. He often took visitors down with him to earn a living, and he also sold bits of quartz and agate that he hacked out of the cave. He kept a diary, which has been digitized at the Wind Cave National Park website. It’s fun to read through the journal of a true explorer — how they used string so they wouldn’t get lost, how they measured their trips by how many candles they burned through, how they were discovering new rooms daily. Such a dude.

Excerpt from March 20th, 1892 — “Coliseum Route”

I had thought of leading the party to explore to the North East of the entrance but saw a passage leading to the West and I told the party to wait until I saw if it would pay to explore it.

I then went in the passage and found that it soon turned to the North West and kept getting larger until I concluded that it would pay to explore and then I returned to the remainder of the party. We had got gone a little farther than I had got went when George H. Stabler noticed a large hole in the roof. We were all looking up the hole & wondering how we could get up there when I suggested that we could follow that long rock and climb up from the other end of it. I did not know that we could get up there at the time that I made the suggestion, but only said so to break the monotony.

The 1891-92 Diary of Alvin McDonald, Cave Explorer continued »

While sorting through city documents at the Carlsbad Dove Library, where I volunteer/intern, I came across the city multi-hazard basic emergency plan. It’s essentially a collection of checklists for city officials for when floods, fires, earthquakes, or nuclear disasters happen. What I found most interesting was the “Modified Mercalli Intensity Scale” (wiki), a less scientific approach to earthquakes than the Richter scale. It’s strangely poetic. There’s a narrative in its terse descriptions of disaster aftermath. Sample:

V
Felt outdoors; direction estimated. Sleepers waken. Liquids disturbed, some spilled. Small unstable objects displaced or upset. Doors swing, close, open. Shutters and pictures move. Pendulum clocks stop, start, change rate.

Read through the whole thing after the jump. Mercalli continued »

After looking over the most recent Nordstrom catalog, I have a few requests for people who design clothes for the hoi polloi. These are they.

• NO MORE rock ‘n’ roll-inspired clothing. This means no more studs, no more ripped pants, and a restricted use of silver zippers and black leather.
• NO MORE clogs.
• NO MORE tie-ins with Twilight. Barf.
• NO MORE satchels / hobo bags that are larger than the girls carrying them.
• NO MORE panties with things written on the butt.
• A SIGNIFICANT DECREASE in “embellished” vestments. No, I do not want a floppy flower stapled to my sweater or little rhinestones scattered across my bust or anything to do with glitter.

I’m so sick of the slouchy/grouchy/rocker look. Looking “edgy” is so, so tired. Can we please make a move to clothes that are more tailored?

This is the best color for wet paint to be (and so hip [via W is for]).

P.S. I thought up a great/terrible joke today as I was driving… —What is the most holy guitar chord? —Gsus! Hahahaha… Yeah.

My grandma studied for her PhD at USC. One of the professors in the education department, Charles M. Brown, gave a couple short stories he wrote (or rewrote) to my mom. He’s now a professor emeritus at USC. Who knows what he’s up to or if he’s still puttering around. But his funny stories recently unearthed themselves in my personal library (read: stacks of papers and books I haven’t seen in years), and I thought I would share one with you. It’s a few pages long, but read it to the end. —R

_______________

GLITTER-TRESSES AND THE URSINE TRIO

Transmogrified from an old manuscript

by Charles M. Brown

During an unspecified period of history, a familial triumvirate of ursine mammals inhabited a domicile in a compacted sylvan area. One of these ursals, Ursa Major, was of preposterous proportions. The second, Ursa Majora, was of mean magnitude, while the third, Ursa Minor, was of diminutive dimensions.

Each held dominion over three prized possessions: a concave hemispherical vessel (for accommodating sustenance), a quadri-legged sedentary support (for intermediate states of repose) and a horizontal raised rectangular platform (for nocturnal tranquility). Each possession was appropriate to the dimensional magnitude of the respective owner.

Early one forenoon, after they had concocted the gruel for the day’s initial repast and has deposited it for cooling purposes in their hemispherical concave vessels, they ambled into the dense sylvan area while the gruel cooled. This that they might not overheat their oral cavities by ingesting prematurely, for they had been reared with most conventional propriety.

During their brief absence, a smallish female, dubbed Glitter-Tresses, having been sent by her maternal parent on what proved to be an errant errand, perchanced to pass near the ursal domicile and scanned the interior thereof through an unshuttered fenestral opening.

“Glitter-Tresses and the Ursine Trio” by Charles M. Brown continued »

This should be a thing that exists in my life. Is it so much to ask, really?