I finally decided that the time had probably come to retire my decade-old, much-taped, much-abused quiver, so I was browsing the internet for a suitable replacement. Holy cow, you guys. I’ve fallen in love. Behold, the perfect quiver. Just LOOK at that thing. Handmade, high-quality leather, sheep shearling to quiet arrow rattle, rave reviews from a host of happy archers, and it’s put out by Three Rivers Archery, the best in the business. I’m practically drooling. Alas, the price bloody ridiculous, but I guess that’s to be expected for the best quiver on the PLANET. At first I thought, “Oh, no way, that’s absurd,” but after drooling over it for several days, it’s becoming…less absurd. Which means I need to walk away NOW. Sigh.

“Take Me Out” by Atomic Tom, live on the NYC subway. Also the very first time I ever thought smartphones were cool.
Listen to “Love Astronaut” by Murder Mystery, and it will be stuck in your head for days.

Smell like a monster, already plastered all over the internet.
Intriguing article on male-female friendships, which I found rather interesting, as someone whose best friends have always included guys.
The Animal Print Shop. I would absolutely put that one of the baby porcupine on my wall.

The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy, or Tim Burton Has a Screw Loose, Possibly Two.
20 Awesomely Untranslatable Words. Lovely! Swiped from Danielle.

I read The Girl Aviators and the Phantom Airship by Margaret Burnham, which I found at the flea market a few weeks ago for a mere $1. It was a rather cute young adult novel, nothing special to write home about, except that it was written in 1911, just eight years after the Wright brothers made the first successful airplane flight. So in its way, the book is a trailblazer; a pack of kids build their own airplane and fly it around, in the process solving crimes and using all sorts of adorable pre-War slang. Pretty cool for a book based on brand-new technology.

I finally read The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope. There’s a story behind that one. From 3 to 10 years of age, I went to the same library almost every day. I knew the place better than my own bedroom, and I had all kinds of literary landmarks that I used to navigate. (Numbers on the spines? Pshaw. My way was a lot more fun.) The Prisoner of Zenda was one of my landmarks, but I never read it because…I don’t know why, actually. I think it looked boring. But I would pass it everyday, and it was familiar and rather comforting to always see it on the same place on the shelf. I remember Onion John by Joseph Krumgold was another of my landmarks, and I never checked that out out either because I thought it would be dull. But I bet I could still walk straight to it in the Bryan, Ohio, library. Anyway, I rather enjoyed Zenda after all these years, and it wasn’t a bit boring, so that just goes to show how ignorant I was as a child. 😛

Oh, and I did read The Iceberg Hermit, and while not quite as enthralling to me now as it was to my 8-year-old self, it was still pretty darned exciting. I didn’t remember that it was based on a true story, which makes it even more incredible. The kid killed two polar bears (after being mauled by one) and survived for seven years in the Arctic. Pretty nuts. At one point he falls in with some Eskimos (descendants of Vikings, the story claims, though that part is rather unsubstantiated), and the story casually mentions that one time while out on a hunting trip, the party had to eat all of their dogs, their sled (which was made of whalebone), and most of their (animal skin) clothes. I’ll have to keep that in mind, if I’m ever starving and have a leather jacket handy. Eesh.

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