The botany project revision continues apace. I’m not into plants – Figaro’s the one who fantasizes about keeping a garden, I just fantasize about eating it – and it’s a fucking hard slog but I’m finding out pretty French words I didn’t know before: la myrte, le lierre, le laurier-rose, les platanes orientales, le porcelet, les muguets Madonne, and little expressions – un bon zigue, chat dans la gorge, qui parle aux tripes (that one’s for you, Lady!) Such a fucking beautiful language. Not Italian but it still makes me want a cigarette.
Nothing else to tell you this morning – I took a break from ‘helping’ and playing with the proposal to watch the Devil’s Playground, a documentary about the Amish rumspringa when the kids are allowed to go all crazy for a couple of years before deciding whether or not they want to be Amish. I wasn’t crazy about it. Too many long evocative silences that didn’t evoke shit, kinda boring test kids chosen – I would have liked to hear about something more substantive, like what happens if a chick gets pregnant during her rumspringa. I can imagine, and it’s horrible, which makes me think the documentary makers punked out a little.