Lost in Translation, Maybe?

One of the books I am currently reading, off a friend's recommendation, is Hideyuki Kikuchi and Yoshitaka Amano's Vampire Hunter D. On the one hand, I'm intrigued by the story. On the other hand, the writing makes me want to bang my head against something.

For example:

From the farm he road hard north by northwest for two hours, until he came to a spot where a massive ashen citadel towering quietly atop a hillock loomed menacingly overhead.
- p. 57

Overkill, much?

Now, I'm going to mostly blame the translation. Whenever anything gets translated from the original language to something else, there is lots of room for error and massive failure. But I've still got to wonder what the original writing is like. I'm sure it doesn't help that I'm also reading Dickens at the moment.

I'm having other issues with it, too. Like the way in which information is presented. There could be some more subtlety involved.

I don't really want to speak ill of it though. Like I said, I am enjoying the storyline enough to keep reading. And I want to know what happens. But it's a little like finding a piece of fanfiction that has an excellent idea and fails on the execution.


Now I'm a little afraid I get too adjective-happy.

Ah, Crap

So some people have issues with spiders or with flying. Other people have issues with the dark or heights. Me? I have issues with frogs.

As in, I've gone from calm to hysterical in seconds just at my mother taunting me with the possibility.

She came home once, said, "Mary, look at what I found! It's such a pretty green color!" As soon as she entered the room with her hands cupped I kinda lost it. Turned out it was a gummi frog. In retrospect, the look on her face was hilarious as she realized she'd pushed me over some sort of edge. She made me a mocha frappacino type thing to make up for it.

So, yes, I have issues. Not to say I don't like frogs. I just...do not like tiny things that move erratically.

Also, there was that time I almost stepped on one after a shower.

Anyway, point being that last night I was checking the doors and found a frog in the house. I tried to herd it out the door with a broom, but it hopped the opposite direction. Which meant waking someone up to take care of it because I certainly can't do it. And I'm not going to leave it inside to die.

Tonight I realized that I can never leave the house again because every door now has the added possibility of frogs that will drop on my head. I don't have enough words to convey how much I do not want that to happen. I will also not be going barefoot for at least the next five months.

Dear froggies, can't you stay outside away from me and where you will not dry out?

Oh, I am so pathetic.