Tuesday, October 13, 2009


after not so many sunday tipples, naomi shares all her secrets.
this is valuable information for the many weekends ahead that will not likely stray too far from the funblock.

what we learned this sunday past:

mount tumbledown lodge is not just a figment of your nightmarish twee imagination. it is a real place, unseen from the road, set a mile or two back on a precipitous drive. not hospitable to rollerblades or neighborhood friends, perhaps, but ideal for cultivating melancholy ingenues with a penchant for moody lyricism and l.j. smith's adolescent angstporn.

this is the name, see, of naomi's childhood home.

the site of the great vampire slash fiction burning of 1999, where if one wanted to be heard one had only to scream louder than everyone else. mount tumbledown lodge, nestled in the woods of the pacific northwest where there are no fewer than eight species of woodpecker haunting the grounds.

she is currently westward bound, for mount tumbledown lodge, with a man called coyote by her side and a heart full of memories. memories like that of rudolph the red-nosed reindeer: the sinister reprise, which according to a misinformed but creative 4 year old naomi begins:

you know dasher and dancer and prancer and autumn
comet and cupid and donner and victim
a precocious - if slightly creepy - child. of course.

i hope to see many photographs of the place. i like to learn about dear ones' childhoods because, as naomi's case so clearly demonstrates, a person can suddenly make miles more sense in ways totally unnecessary and endlessly endearing. mount tumbledown lodge figured significantly into whatever math makes a naomi and everybody knows - or ought to by now - how we do adore visuals around the office. i want a clear image in which to place my friend and neighbor, reimagined with ten to twelve years of smart ass shaved off her smirk and singing not wrong but differently, so differently and gosh just so damn hilarious/incredible/disturbing. hilaredbing. inturbious. appropriate.

what i would not sacrifice to spend some hours with each and every one of you so we can share our origin stories and make more sense of one another. we've long seasons here ahead and i find myself falling easy prey this autumn to nostalgia and to all things intangibly precious.

so keep on wearing me down, you darling assholes, the lot of you. your charms will be the death of me.

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