June: "I'm SO Goth..."

Oh, I LOVE this!  Not that I'd actually want to DO it, you understand.




And kids, don't try this at home!  I know, most of you are too intelligent, but there's always one...

The Death Clock: How Long Will YOU Live?

While doing an online class on the biology of ageing, I came across a comment someone made about using the "Death Clock" to see how long they had to live.  Well, how intriguing!!  So I Googled it, and of course, I found it.



According to its calculations, I will die on December 18, 2053 at the age of 91 years, 8 months and 3 days.  Interestingly enough, it also mentioned that the average life expectancy of other females living in the U.S. with the same BMI who took the test is only 68.3 years.  HAH!!  And my maternal grandmother passed away in March last year at the ripe age of 97; she would have been 98 in October.  My great-aunt, her older sister, lived to be 99.  So I'll be in good company.  However, I'm not exactly thrilled at the thought of expiring on my ex-mother-in-law's birthday...  And it's right in the middle of the holidays, which will put a good many people out.  The good news is, at least it should be dreary, cold and rainy during my funeral!  :-)

To give yourself a date to look forward to, go here:  Death Clock

When are We "Too Old" to be Goth?

NEVER.  That's when.

Oh, please...  Did you REALLY think I'd agree with this?  I certainly hope not!  But WHY is it that so many people think that goth is just a "phase" some of us go through, like teen angst, menopause, or a midlife crisis, instead of seeing it as a lifestyle choice?  Maybe it's because so many of us seem to disappear as we get older, as we 'assimilate' into the boring mundane world because we feel that we have to choose between being ourselves and paying the rent.  It's an understandable reason, maybe, but it just should not have to be a choice between a rock and a hard place.

 In spite of that silly photo I posted in my March "I'm SO Goth...", I really do believe that one can be goth at any age.  But while most ElderGoths are only just starting the approach to that age at which we can no longer stave off the word "old", many of us are already nervous about it.  How should we dress? What style of makeup is best and won't make us look even older than we are?  And what about shoes?  Would somebody think of the shoes!!!

I've said before that once I reach 60, I plan to be dressing like a combination of Stevie Nicks and Morticia Addams.  Here are some pictures that I find extremely inspirational:

 I'd ditch the big bag she's holding (unless, of course, it's actually a suitcase!), and substitute a coffin bag instead.  (I wonder if those boots have orthopedic inserts???)



A bit too much jewelry for me, but I wouldn't wear that much NOW, either.  It's a great look, though!



50 shades of AWESOME!!!


  

50 shades of ELEGANT!!  (These ladies make Cruella DeVille's outfit look like a Goodwill castoff.)




Two goths contemplating the site of their eventual eternal rest...

The Tale of Custard the Dragon

This is one of those random types of posts one puts out every so often...

When I was very young, we had this really awesome book full of poems and stores for children that my mom used to read from, and this was one of my absolute favorites.  It's been almost 30 years since I read it last, but I still remember about half of it by heart.  I hope you enjoy it.

THE TALE OF CUSTARD THE DRAGON

By Ogden Nash, 1936

(Copyright Linnell Nash Smith and Isabel Nash Eberstadt)

Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.

Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.

Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.

Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week!, which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.

Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.

Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.

Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.

But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.

The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.

Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.

Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.

Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.

May: "I'm SO Goth..."

I WANT this...  Seriously.  If anyone would care to volunteer, I will leave you my real scythe in my will so you don't have to buy your own.

Noli Timere Messorem

"Don't fear the reaper."

Have you ever read any of the Discworld books written by Sir Terry Pratchett?  They are truly hilarious, and he created SO many memorable characters.  Of course, my favorite (other than the three witches) is Death: his feet click when he walks, he speaks in CAPITALS, and his favorite expression  when annoyed or upset is "OH BUGGER."  He also has a weakness for cats (live ones), and will feed and play with them whenever he can.  The thing he hates most is having to reap litters that have been drowned on purpose.  And did I mention that he loves good curry?  This is a Grim Reaper who seems almost human, although he is very much aware that he is NOT human.   Pratchett liked him so much that when he designed his coat-of-arms, he used the title of this post as his motto.  (I'm actually surprised that he didn't have crossed scythes on his coat-of-arms as well.)

I guess that's one of the reasons that I am so fond of pictures and jewelry that feature Death as a personage.  And I would be thrilled if he (or she, or it, or whatever) turned out to look that way when it's time for us to meet formally.  However, most people are not fond of him in any form, and would be far from delighted if he should come strolling in, even if it seems inevitable...

As I grow older, and watch my friends and loved ones grow older as well, it's almost always in the back of my mind that The End is actually coming, that it is inevitable, and that it is often much closer than it appears.  I watched my 97-year-old grandmother go from being "fine" living alone until she fell and fractured her hip (she really wasn't fine, but she was still able to function independently) to dying in a nursing center less than three months later because after she got there she just let go of living.  Yes, that is how it seems to me, because she wasn't ill or in pain, her body wasn't fighting her, she was just tired of going through the motions of living every day.  Most of her friends and family were dead or not close enough to visit so she was alone most of the time, and she was just... tired.  So she let go as soon as it was 'safe' to do so.  I have always felt that she was rather glad to see the Reaper arrive in her room, probably asked him why he kept her waiting.  And she really loved to travel, so I'll bet she was out the door ahead of him; I hope he was able to keep up...

Rest in peace, Grandma Clara and Sir Terry.  May you both have fun and wonderful adventures wherever you roam.

So, how do you feel about the Reaper?  Is there something you'd like to say to him when you meet him?

A Second Nomination!

And a delighted "thank you" to Franny at The Curious Professor Z for a second nomination for this award!





Since her questions are the same as those I answered in my previous post, I won't answer them again but will just direct you to it here.

And I just want to say that if Franny didn't already have over 200 followers, I would have nominated her for this award as well.  Please check out her blog if you haven't already done so!