proustbot: (asia at odd hours)
I saw The Wedding Plan yesterday with Zane and Betty and J. It was cute. I liked it. (Zane tells me that the fish-smearing scene is not normal practice.)

I also saw Wonder Woman with Bear et al. It was...okay? Decidedly less amazing than the euphoric reviews made it seem, though. I think movie reviewers are just really, really bummed out by the Batman/Superman movies, and they're so desperately relieved to see a fun, Disney-esque film that their critical apparatuses are not functioning at peak power. However, I am reminded -- once again -- how much I enjoy movies in which buff ladies beat up men.

Alias Grace, The Rivers of London, and A Writer in the Kitchen )
proustbot: (triumph)
I.


I went to see Richard III with Betty and Veronica last night. At the beginning of the intermission, Veronica went to the restroom and Betty went to enter her name in the raffle drawing for a bottle of wine.

"Do you want to come?" she asked.

"Nah," I said. "Feel free to enter my name if you want."

Five minutes later, they both came back to their seats.

"I entered our three names in the raffle drawing," Betty told Veronica.

Veronica went still. "What? But...I just entered my own name in the raffle drawing."

Betty shrugged. "Oh, okay, sorry."

"That means that my name was entered twice..."

"Yeah..."

Veronica stared at her. He was as angry as I've ever seen him. "Why did you do that? Why did you enter my name? Now that means... It won't be fair..."

"Shhh," she said. "Okay. It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does--" he started to say, and then the stage manager took the stage to make the raffle drawing.

"And the bottle of wine goes to...Veronica?"

Betty and I grinned feverishly as Veronica stiffened and straightened and -- finally, with every muscle in his jaw clenched -- stood up to accept the bottle of wine. It was clearly one of the worst moments of his life.

(I told this story at the bar tonight to Bear, and Veronica stared flatly ahead and said that, in order to make their redress to the universe, he and Betty would be skipping the raffle for their next play. "Maybe even our next two plays," he added.)

II.


At the bar tonight, Veronica and I argued about the definition of a "procedural," and an hour later, when we were leaving (and after I ran back into the bar to find my scarf), I found him waiting for me on the sidewalk with an air of deep melancholy.

"I was totally wrong about that procedural thing," he said immediately. "And then, when you corrected me, I just brought up a totally different genre and pretended like that false evidence supported my argument."

"Um," I said, because I was a little bit drunk and had already forgotten about this discussion. "...okay?"

"I was very wrong," he repeated, and it was clear that this rhetorical sin had been eating away at his puritan soul for an hour.

"Nah, it's cool," I said, a little sleepily, and then I told him about some dumb argument that Lockwood and I had, in order to reassure him that I have doubled down on errorneous arguments in the past as well, and he suddenly smiled in wide, helpless relief.

III.


I stumbled back to the workroom and, through the miracle of social networks, started watching the live feed of the university symphony performance featuring Ariel. I scanned the musicians looking for him, and when I finally found him, I felt the same base glee as a child successfully locating the striped scarf in Where's Waldo. He had one elbow resting along the rounded top of the bass drum, and the fingers of his hand wiggled in nervous energy as he waited for his cue, and I felt such a burst of warm, happy recognition at seeing someone I knew do something so characteristic of themselves.

IV.


It has been a good 24 hours, is what I'm saying, I guess.
proustbot: (The Last Girl)
On Friday, I did 1 pomodoro (in which I cleaned) -- but, in my defense, I did go into work for seven hours.

On Saturday, I did 9 pomodoros (in which I wrote my morning pages, reached inbox zero, did tax stuff, cleaned house, read more about sacraments, and collected all the fiddly bits for the reimbursement I need to submit Monday).

Current Tally: $16

I also bailed on going to a birthday party, for which I suspect the birthday boy will never forgive me -- but as I sat in my darkened bedroom, eating a cheddar-cheese-and-creamy-caesar-dressing sandwich, I thought, "Well, I could put on my coat and walk for half an hour to go to an unfun house party with a bunch of drunken bros and a deadly fire pit on the bottom of a steep incline...or I could go to bed."

Dear Reader, I went to bed.

Betty invited me over to a Superbowl party tonight, but that was easier to refuse (as I weighed the pros of eating chips and drinking beer and watching commercials with the cons of many, many hours of football).

This is going to be my semester of saying no to things!

In unrelated news, I beat Banner Saga for the third time.

oh right

Feb. 2nd, 2017 04:17 pm
proustbot: (the best hill driven by black wine)
Yesterday, Veronica forwarded me a message from Betty in which she asked, essentially: whither Groundhog Day?

Oh right, I thought. My annual viewing of Groundhog Day. That I'm usually so excited about. That I totally forgot about this year.

"We'll totally do Groundhog Day," I told them.

Belatedly, it occurs to me that my friends have been worried about me.
proustbot: (young and drinking in the park)
This morning is the morning that I am waking up in sleepy leisure in my childhood bed, rather than staggering awake in the dark and throwing all my shit in my backpack and running for the airport.

(That joy awaits next week.)

Let's do the year in review quiz, kids.

2016: Everyone bought champagne for mimosas, and no one brought orange juice, and there's a metaphor in there somewhere. )
proustbot: (liz)
I.


ME: "Oh, yeah. That dude. I met him at an anthropology workshop. The workshop kind of confirmed the awfulness of current anthropology as a discipline."

VERONICA: "Hmm."

[five minutes later]

ME: "What word can I use in this chapter that's like 'supernatural' but doesn't carry the extra Eurocentric garbage connotations of 'supernatural'?

VERONICA: "I feel like...there might be a whole discipline dedicated to solving this problem...it's on the tip of my tongue..."

ME: "If only I hadn't thrown that baby out with the bathwater!"

II.


The Dude circulated his dissertation to his committee on Monday, following the most manic spurt of writing I've ever witnessed. (He claims to have written his conclusion in two hours.) Following that, we've witnessed various stages of euphoria and depression from the Dude, and we haven't been a particularly reassuring crowd. (When the Dude tells people about writing the conclusion in two hours, I think he is expecting a different reaction from the one that he inevitably receives.) But we went out drinking with a motley crew Tuesday night, so that the Dude could alternate between venting about academia and gushing about high-school-era hip-hop.

I have experienced many, many hours of venting in the last week, so whenever the Dude began to vent again (usually about how his advisor hadn't been over-the-moon when the Dude began their meeting that morning by talking about writing his conclusion in two hours), I could feel myself entering a disassociative fugue state. As an added bonus, the Dude had invited an acquaintance who has now made good in a way that doesn't affect me (insofar as I like her a lot but I don't need to impress her with my CV), but in a way that really mattered to other people in the booth with us. (Which is to say: I gave Lockwood some shit about her overly correct pronunciation of LaTeX and Lockwood reacted in such a way that suggested that I was HUMILIATING her in front of her IDOL.)

What I'm saying is: I spent a lot of time at that bar looking for an opportune moment to leave.

But I stuck around, and I'm glad I did, because eventually people peeled off, and it was just me and the Dude and Veronica and Betty, and someone said "thorough," and I said, "He's a good man, and thorough," and the Dude clutched his hands to his chest and asked if we could watch The Big Lebowski.

So we bought some Kahlua and take-out Korean food and tromped back to Veronica and Betty's house, and we watched The Big Lebowski. And at the end, as the credits rolled, Veronica and Betty and the Dude all sang along Townes Van Zandt's cover of "Dead Flowers."

And I thought, This is nice.

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