This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone is an epistolary romance novel(la) between opposing time-travel agents. The premise is cute, a little dashed-off letter here, a twist in time there, and it builds to an entirely forseeable end, which was the most surprising thing about the book.
It had some nice turns of phrase --- "apophenic as a haruspex" is truly outstanding (p. 100) --- and plays out a budding relationship nicely, albeit with a flourish only available to truly ridiculous time-travel narratives. The summary "I love cities, To be alone in a crowd, apart and belonging, to have distance between what I see and what I am." (p. 87) resonated with how calm and happy I feel in some city-crowd situations. And the silly-serious "I have built a you within me, or you have. I wonder what of me there is in you." (p. 113) is definitely a feeling I've had, and shared with others, before; it's a nice summary of how it feels to think theory-of-mind thoughts.
Overall, though, the book was not nearly as twisty timey-wimey as I expected. There were certain conclusions that seemed pretty obvious to me, and were delivered as if revelatory. But it's a cute, brief read, and reading fictional characters assigning each other a beloved book and then discussing it has added that book to my list. Plus there were several literary references I appreciated, and others I was sent scurrying to reference material for. And I always appreciate a book that forces me to perform outside study.
This post's theme word is apophenic (adj), "perceiving or believing in connections and meaningful patterns among unrelated phenomena." "I am yours in other ways as well: yours as I watch the world for your signs, apophenic as a haruspex; yours as I debate methods, motives, chances of delivery..." (p. 100)
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Sunday, August 11, 2019
Friday, March 25, 2016
Courtship tokens
My desk already had fun math puzzles, as decoration and to occupy my hands and mind while I spin my brain-wheels on research problems.
To these I now add recently-received wooing tokens, these two octopuses.
As far as romancing goes, I cannot think of a more attractive feature than access to a 3D printer and willingness to print tiny, creepy cephalopods.
This post's theme word is cumshaw, "a gift or tip." This cumshaw octopus collects scrimshaw.
To these I now add recently-received wooing tokens, these two octopuses.
This post's theme word is cumshaw, "a gift or tip." This cumshaw octopus collects scrimshaw.
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Carol
Carol tells the story of a woman (the titular Carol) who meets another woman (Therese); they strike up a friendship and go on a car trip. This is the most boring possible plot summary, because I'm not sure how to convey the content of a film which was so deeply visual. Almost the entire plot was carried on in nonverbal facial cues. Carol and Therese chat, and converse, and sometimes just look at each other, and flirt; but the boundary between these things is extremely fluid. At times the camera itself felt like it was flirting, the particular way it framed part of someone's face to shape the way the audience was allowed to read their expression.
The film is a visual and emotional feast, leaving me sated and digesting (mentally).
The setting (1950s New York City) provides a delectable selection of high fashion: heels, crisp and luscious makeup, fur coats, gloves, strict and uniform social rules and roles which everyone ought to aspire to. And the story unfolds slowly, just as the protagonist is revealed slowly: Therese is quiet and reticent. The audience is shown how she moves through her day, but no voiceover frames our understanding. We must read her feelings and thoughts in how she moves, in how she dresses, in how she acts, in her expressions; we must squeeze every drop of substance from her infrequent utterances. Thisforced me enticed me to pay attention, and probably caused me to be more emotionally invested.
Which is the point of the film (IMHO).
The entire plot is carried on tiny glances, offhand gestures, the way one person walks or tilts her shoulders or touches her hair. It is a film which studies how people assemble themselves from a collection of tiny decisions, and responses, and unconscious tics. How and why are people attracted to each other? Why do they get along (when they do), and why do they clash (when they do)? How do personalities and attitudes change over time? It was fascinating to see characters behave differently in different settings. Carol makes a big impression as a decisive, in-charge, dominant figure, but later we get to see the range of her personality; she is sometimes emotionally weak, sometimes vulnerable, sometimes gives support and sometimes desperately needs it. Therese, when choosing to summarize herself, characterizes herself as "never able to say 'no'" and "I don't even know what I want to order for lunch", but elsewhere we see her repeatedly say no in the face of aggressive and relentless social pressure, and she definitely makes her own choices throughout the film, even if she chooses to hide them or frame them as part of someone else's story.
Inevitably, a story with so much framing involves a photographer. I think this sort of low-hanging metaphorical fruit is unavoidable to directors and writers. The metaphor was applied with a very light touch.
I really appreciated a chance to see women characters who are fully realized, who get to have many dimensions, strengths and weaknesses, who are not predictable, who make their own choices and live with their consequences and don't have to be wrapped up neatly at the end of the film. And I appreciated that for once --- for once! --- the male characters, even those with immense influence (as any realistic 1950s plot cannot avoid the fact that social structures give men power over women), are not allowed to elbow their way to the center of focus. The men were okay; some were despicable, some were sad, and as a nice boondoggle, all of them also got to be fully-dimensional characters.
Easily my favorite summary came from Q., who said, "Some male reviewers described the movie as 'Two women stare at each other for two hours.' But I realized: it's a movie for people who can read faces."
This post's theme word is polylemma, "a choice involving multiple undesirable options." The specter of divorce is a polylemma hanging ominously over Carol.
The film is a visual and emotional feast, leaving me sated and digesting (mentally).
The setting (1950s New York City) provides a delectable selection of high fashion: heels, crisp and luscious makeup, fur coats, gloves, strict and uniform social rules and roles which everyone ought to aspire to. And the story unfolds slowly, just as the protagonist is revealed slowly: Therese is quiet and reticent. The audience is shown how she moves through her day, but no voiceover frames our understanding. We must read her feelings and thoughts in how she moves, in how she dresses, in how she acts, in her expressions; we must squeeze every drop of substance from her infrequent utterances. This
Which is the point of the film (IMHO).
The entire plot is carried on tiny glances, offhand gestures, the way one person walks or tilts her shoulders or touches her hair. It is a film which studies how people assemble themselves from a collection of tiny decisions, and responses, and unconscious tics. How and why are people attracted to each other? Why do they get along (when they do), and why do they clash (when they do)? How do personalities and attitudes change over time? It was fascinating to see characters behave differently in different settings. Carol makes a big impression as a decisive, in-charge, dominant figure, but later we get to see the range of her personality; she is sometimes emotionally weak, sometimes vulnerable, sometimes gives support and sometimes desperately needs it. Therese, when choosing to summarize herself, characterizes herself as "never able to say 'no'" and "I don't even know what I want to order for lunch", but elsewhere we see her repeatedly say no in the face of aggressive and relentless social pressure, and she definitely makes her own choices throughout the film, even if she chooses to hide them or frame them as part of someone else's story.
Inevitably, a story with so much framing involves a photographer. I think this sort of low-hanging metaphorical fruit is unavoidable to directors and writers. The metaphor was applied with a very light touch.
I really appreciated a chance to see women characters who are fully realized, who get to have many dimensions, strengths and weaknesses, who are not predictable, who make their own choices and live with their consequences and don't have to be wrapped up neatly at the end of the film. And I appreciated that for once --- for once! --- the male characters, even those with immense influence (as any realistic 1950s plot cannot avoid the fact that social structures give men power over women), are not allowed to elbow their way to the center of focus. The men were okay; some were despicable, some were sad, and as a nice boondoggle, all of them also got to be fully-dimensional characters.
Easily my favorite summary came from Q., who said, "Some male reviewers described the movie as 'Two women stare at each other for two hours.' But I realized: it's a movie for people who can read faces."
This post's theme word is polylemma, "a choice involving multiple undesirable options." The specter of divorce is a polylemma hanging ominously over Carol.
Sunday, February 14, 2016
Valentine's Day words
A nice, depressing, abstracted rumination for Valentine's Day: "lovers cradling one another on the beach, murmuring the three words that are the highest expression of what they mean to each other".
It's not that I'm aromantic. It's just that I am romantically susceptible to cynicism, and intellectually vulnerable to torrents of well-punctuated words. I know my weaknesses.
This post's theme word is aleatory "depending on the throw of a die". Luck in romance is partially aleatory. (Of note: aléatoire means "at random", and is very useful for attending mathematical talks in French.)
It's not that I'm aromantic. It's just that I am romantically susceptible to cynicism, and intellectually vulnerable to torrents of well-punctuated words. I know my weaknesses.
This post's theme word is aleatory "depending on the throw of a die". Luck in romance is partially aleatory. (Of note: aléatoire means "at random", and is very useful for attending mathematical talks in French.)
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Seasons change, decades pass
Another couple months, another set of life experiences and retrospective thoughts about them, posted to the internet for all of noisy posterity to (send robots to read, process, glean, and) enjoy. The daylight is noticeably shorter now, we rolled our clocks back in the historically-inherited acknowledgement of centralized time-measuring standards, and tonight everyone dresses up as something else and begs strangers for carbohydrates.
Seems like a reasonable time to reflect on the past decade.
It involved me leaving a lot of things behind: several countries, my life as a student (never again!), relationships tried and broken, and between 10 and 20 pounds.* Oh! Also my original (birth) ACL, gone forever, consigned to history and oblivion (although its replacement's image is immortally online). Now I have a gauche unmatched pair of ACLs. Most of these changes require no special comment; I do reiterate, here as elsewhere, my strongly-held belief that knee injuries should be avoided and knee surgery is not a suitable pastime. (Exceptions possible for knee surgeons.)
Even my fellow crack-of-dawn gym women have commented on the kilograms, though ("Vous étiez ronde... vous avez maigri"). Two sides of the coin (as usual: ignore the metaphorically inconvenient edge). The nice: Of course it is always nice to receive compliments from humans. Robots, not so much. Second, the cool part about converting fat (voluminous) into muscle (dense) is that my skin nerves are closer to my muscles, so I can feel in my skin when I contract my muscles (as well as the normal nerve feedback from the muscles themselves). For some muscles in particular this sensation is novel and thrilling (intercostals!). The irritating: Buying all new clothes is a chore and so everything I've bought is stretchy, it'll fit me as long as I avoid supervillain shrink- or giganticize-rays. Also, now I am even less imposing, and so rush hour subway commutes are a continual struggle to evade crushing and obtain access to enough oxygen at my elevation. Maybe a subway snorkle? Then I could breathe, plus everyone would know there is definitely someone there in that spot-that-looks-like-it's-empty-space-between-tall-people.
I've retroblogged a little recently, but a lot is sliding because it is job-application season in academia.
This post's theme word is gloze, the transitive verb "to minimize or to explain away," the intransitive verb "to use flattery; to make an explanation; to shine brightly," or the noun "a comment; flattery; a pretense." His gloze glozes, but it is a gloze rather than glozing.
*As a theorist, I acknowledge that a factor-of-two approximation may dissatisfy others, but it depends if you measure from the maximum in the time interval or the average. High variance in the past decade, is my point. Yes, I have the data (much to my theorist shame).
Seems like a reasonable time to reflect on the past decade.
It involved me leaving a lot of things behind: several countries, my life as a student (never again!), relationships tried and broken, and between 10 and 20 pounds.* Oh! Also my original (birth) ACL, gone forever, consigned to history and oblivion (although its replacement's image is immortally online). Now I have a gauche unmatched pair of ACLs. Most of these changes require no special comment; I do reiterate, here as elsewhere, my strongly-held belief that knee injuries should be avoided and knee surgery is not a suitable pastime. (Exceptions possible for knee surgeons.)
Even my fellow crack-of-dawn gym women have commented on the kilograms, though ("Vous étiez ronde... vous avez maigri"). Two sides of the coin (as usual: ignore the metaphorically inconvenient edge). The nice: Of course it is always nice to receive compliments from humans. Robots, not so much. Second, the cool part about converting fat (voluminous) into muscle (dense) is that my skin nerves are closer to my muscles, so I can feel in my skin when I contract my muscles (as well as the normal nerve feedback from the muscles themselves). For some muscles in particular this sensation is novel and thrilling (intercostals!). The irritating: Buying all new clothes is a chore and so everything I've bought is stretchy, it'll fit me as long as I avoid supervillain shrink- or giganticize-rays. Also, now I am even less imposing, and so rush hour subway commutes are a continual struggle to evade crushing and obtain access to enough oxygen at my elevation. Maybe a subway snorkle? Then I could breathe, plus everyone would know there is definitely someone there in that spot-that-looks-like-it's-empty-space-between-tall-people.
I've retroblogged a little recently, but a lot is sliding because it is job-application season in academia.
- I cleaned some photos off my phone and reminisced about snowy winters past. Oh, Canada.
- Shaun the sheep is a clever and adorable schemer, but my true love for inventive scientist Gromit is unmatched.
- Japan trip: not a crêpe, burned down/fell over/sank into swamp.
This post's theme word is gloze, the transitive verb "to minimize or to explain away," the intransitive verb "to use flattery; to make an explanation; to shine brightly," or the noun "a comment; flattery; a pretense." His gloze glozes, but it is a gloze rather than glozing.
*As a theorist, I acknowledge that a factor-of-two approximation may dissatisfy others, but it depends if you measure from the maximum in the time interval or the average. High variance in the past decade, is my point. Yes, I have the data (much to my theorist shame).
Sunday, August 23, 2015
On marriage and land ownership
Mawwiage... is what bwings us here togefah... today.
And it also permeates my social media of late, a symptom of the pleasantness of July and August weather in the northern hemisphere, where most of my acquaintances live. If only there were a social media filter that let me elide* "wedding photos and announcements". It is an inundation, and one that makes me feel like I am falling behind in some sort of absurd life-contest, even though it's not a contest and I'm quite happy with my life. Which is successful!
Part of the overwhelmed feeling is certainly the concentration: a huge spike in the graph for August weddings, a giant plunge in the graph for November, February, and all other months. Babies are similarly-celebrated Giant Life Milestones (GLMs), but they're more evenly spread across the year. A few years ago when my entire cohort seemed to simultaneously graduate from law/business school I had similar feelings of being left behind the GLM-race while everyone else forged ahead.
I found this article satisfying just because it asked any questions about the desirability of marriage: "How we end up marrying the wrong people". I understand, of course, that outward-facing social announcements will focus on the perfection, the love, the happily-forever-after, how lucky X is to spend the rest of zis life with Y, etc. It seems... performative.** And at this point in late August, repetitive.
I think I'd be pretty ok starting my list of criteria with "how much land do they have". A grain of salt: I remain unwed. #Spinsterlife forevah! Until the sufficiently-landed suitor comes along... and we are married in January (in our volcano supervillain lair) or November (by a Pastafarian minister on a hangglider over the Sahara) or March (witnessed by a pod of dolphins in international waters).
This post's theme word is vituperation, "bitter and abusive language." I intend no vituperation towards the happy couples; their joy is delightful, and should be duly celebrated.
*What would be much more satisfying would be a filter which restricted the feed of announcements to conform more closely to demographic trends, e.g., by showing one divorce announcement for every two wedding announcements.
**... like all social media. My own included. Cognitive dissonance acknowledged.
And it also permeates my social media of late, a symptom of the pleasantness of July and August weather in the northern hemisphere, where most of my acquaintances live. If only there were a social media filter that let me elide* "wedding photos and announcements". It is an inundation, and one that makes me feel like I am falling behind in some sort of absurd life-contest, even though it's not a contest and I'm quite happy with my life. Which is successful!
Part of the overwhelmed feeling is certainly the concentration: a huge spike in the graph for August weddings, a giant plunge in the graph for November, February, and all other months. Babies are similarly-celebrated Giant Life Milestones (GLMs), but they're more evenly spread across the year. A few years ago when my entire cohort seemed to simultaneously graduate from law/business school I had similar feelings of being left behind the GLM-race while everyone else forged ahead.
I found this article satisfying just because it asked any questions about the desirability of marriage: "How we end up marrying the wrong people". I understand, of course, that outward-facing social announcements will focus on the perfection, the love, the happily-forever-after, how lucky X is to spend the rest of zis life with Y, etc. It seems... performative.** And at this point in late August, repetitive.
I think I'd be pretty ok starting my list of criteria with "how much land do they have". A grain of salt: I remain unwed. #Spinsterlife forevah! Until the sufficiently-landed suitor comes along... and we are married in January (in our volcano supervillain lair) or November (by a Pastafarian minister on a hangglider over the Sahara) or March (witnessed by a pod of dolphins in international waters).
This post's theme word is vituperation, "bitter and abusive language." I intend no vituperation towards the happy couples; their joy is delightful, and should be duly celebrated.
*What would be much more satisfying would be a filter which restricted the feed of announcements to conform more closely to demographic trends, e.g., by showing one divorce announcement for every two wedding announcements.
**... like all social media. My own included. Cognitive dissonance acknowledged.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Valentine's day gingerbread
Happy Valentine's Day.
Octopus! Fish!
This post's theme word: mawkish, "excessively sentimental, especially in a false or childish manner," or "having a nauseating taste or smell." Sorry.
Octopus! Fish!This post's theme word: mawkish, "excessively sentimental, especially in a false or childish manner," or "having a nauseating taste or smell." Sorry.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Very comfortable
For my birthday, my very affectionate boyfriend R. kidnapped my bicycle (I was out-of-the-country) and repainted it green. I really appreciated it. Soon thereafter, my bike was hit by a car while locked on the sidewalk outside my apartment.
Boo to cars.
So R. and I went today to fix or replace the squashed rear wheel. After maybe an hour of working on it together, the friendly BikeChain helper T. asked, "Are you siblings?"
We both paused. He said, "... or boyfriend and girlfriend?"
"The latter," I said.
He was flustered and tried to backpedal with, "You just seem so comfortable around each other!" And then he acted like he had something else to do and wandered off for awhile to wear off his embarrassment.
I thought this was very cute.
This post's theme word: absquatulate, "to leave in a hurry; to flee."
Boo to cars.
So R. and I went today to fix or replace the squashed rear wheel. After maybe an hour of working on it together, the friendly BikeChain helper T. asked, "Are you siblings?"
We both paused. He said, "... or boyfriend and girlfriend?"
"The latter," I said.
He was flustered and tried to backpedal with, "You just seem so comfortable around each other!" And then he acted like he had something else to do and wandered off for awhile to wear off his embarrassment.
I thought this was very cute.
This post's theme word: absquatulate, "to leave in a hurry; to flee."
Monday, July 13, 2009
Weddings
I've been to two weddings in as many weekends. It never rains but it pours, and apparently my peer group has just broached the marriageable age. (Facebook tells me that other friends got married this month without inviting me, and still others are getting engaged.)Both weddings were large, including all relatives and friends, and both were decorated with Christmas lights in white gauzy curtains. (When I described this to her, M. replied, "I encourage you to elope!" Much cheaper.) They were interesting amalgams of stereotypical wedding traditions with ethnic ones (Bengali and Portugese, respectively).
The actual wedding ceremonies whipped past, a blur of recited passages and vows, but the receptions were lengthy socializing affairs, full of food and music and good feelings. They were beautiful, memorable events, worthy of the thousands of professional and amateur photographs that they generated. The wine was homemade, the rehearsal dinner for a hundred people was homemade!, the gifts were thematically appropriate, the groomsmen were forced to wear Bengali clothing and pink-accented tuxedos (respectively), the processional music was a classical-piano treatment of Star Wars, and the dresses were lovely confections of lace and fabric, piled high and wide around the brides like a slow-moving, formal game of human bumper cars.Based on the speeches I heard, I'd recommend winging the speech instead of reading a prepared statement -- it comes from the heart, and the audience can tell. I'd also recommend getting a sibling or friend to plan your wedding, so that you can enjoy it. And an open bar, so your friends enjoy it, too.
This post's theme word, "tope," has three meanings:
- (verb tr., intr.) to drink (liquor) habitually and copiously.
- (noun) a small shark with a long snout (Galeorhinus galeus).
- (noun) a usually dome-shaped monument built by Buddhists. Also known as a stupa.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Rehearsal dinner
Impressions of the rehearsal dinner from the J. & N. wedding: the food was delicious, and all home cooked, which is both impressive and delicious. Everyone was dressed beautifully, though I didn't take the pictures that M. implored me to take -- there was a full staff of photographers and video-recorders deployed throughout the crowd, capturing every moment for all digital eternity. Cousins performed dances. Sisters performed a violin/piano arrangement of the WoW theme. In accordance with tradition, cousins stole the groom's shoes from off his feet and ransomed them back to him (repeatedly). I don't know how they made the desserts so sweet.
Highlight: a crowd of people in saaris (sp?) dancing in a circle to loud LOUD pop-dance-hiphop music.
This post's theme quote comes from MM.: "Tomorrow's ceremony will be much more... Anglican."
Highlight: a crowd of people in saaris (sp?) dancing in a circle to loud LOUD pop-dance-hiphop music.
This post's theme quote comes from MM.: "Tomorrow's ceremony will be much more... Anglican."
Monday, April 20, 2009
Tye-dyed flowers
The boy bought me some cute flowers that were brightly colored by feeding them food coloring. This had an interesting effect on the water. As the dye leached out, it left behind white flowers. The yellow ones were naturally yellow, and the rest seem to have been white flowers dyed orange, pink, purple, and blue.This post's theme word: pleach, "to interlace branches or vines to make a hedge, decorative shape, arbor, etc."
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Valentine's Day
Happy Valentine's Day!
This week I blew off steam at the archery range. I shot this cute, chubby little cupid right through his adorable abdomen from the end of the range. Those are both my arrows. I also shot some paper hearts, and a lot of nothing. (See that shot just off of this cupid's head? That was my first try for him.)
Take that, commercialized holiday of romance!
This post's theme word: ecchymosis, "black-and-blue" or "bruise." It's just a flesh wound!
This week I blew off steam at the archery range. I shot this cute, chubby little cupid right through his adorable abdomen from the end of the range. Those are both my arrows. I also shot some paper hearts, and a lot of nothing. (See that shot just off of this cupid's head? That was my first try for him.)Take that, commercialized holiday of romance!
This post's theme word: ecchymosis, "black-and-blue" or "bruise." It's just a flesh wound!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Flowers
The boy brought me flowers when I came back from California.
He also brought me flowers when he came by to pick me up to go to the symphony. Black-and-white to match his black suit, white shirt, black tie. He cleaned up very nicely.
He's very sweet, or at least getting good advice on how to be very sweet. Keep it up, boy (who I know reads this) and advice givers (same)!
This post's theme word: espalier, "a tree trained to grow flat against a wall" or "to train a tree in this way."
He also brought me flowers when he came by to pick me up to go to the symphony. Black-and-white to match his black suit, white shirt, black tie. He cleaned up very nicely.
He's very sweet, or at least getting good advice on how to be very sweet. Keep it up, boy (who I know reads this) and advice givers (same)!This post's theme word: espalier, "a tree trained to grow flat against a wall" or "to train a tree in this way."
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Vacation highlights
Vacation is a few days over, and I've been back to work. My last post of the year will be how my brain works: all the referential highlights, with none of the downtime buffer between. I love my family. Today, the last day of 2008, is one second longer than a normal day! (It has a leap second added.) So go enjoy your extra second of new year's eve party!
My vacation, montage-style:
Exchanging the lock on a bag of M&Ms, since it was too narrow for both of us to fit our hands in at once.
A simulated depth-first search with some interesting vertices. Kingsly.
Death by chocolate. Semi-literally. So much chocolate, ice cream, candy, and souffle that I felt a little sick. More than once.
"In order to understand recursion, you must first understand recursion."
"Mennonite ankle porn" and learning Japanese from anime. "Take anything you want! Leave me my life!" あぶない！にんじゃです。Thereafter, nearly everything was declared あぶない.
Delighted by ducklings.
"Safari action adventure Lila"
Pandora (which I've now set up to work from Canada). Listen to this song, it's amazing.
It's so hard to find a really snootily-educated man these days.
"E., Mom's worried about something in particular. But I'm just worried. About curtains, about the bed, about gravity..." (Note: his room has increased gravity. For training purposes.)
A stray lawn dart killed my only bunny. Twice.
While giving a back massage, E.: "It's like your shoulders are reinforced!"
This island.
Benjamin Button? Not as good as watching Atonement for the third time in 24 hours.
My vacation, montage-style:
Exchanging the lock on a bag of M&Ms, since it was too narrow for both of us to fit our hands in at once.
A simulated depth-first search with some interesting vertices. Kingsly.
Death by chocolate. Semi-literally. So much chocolate, ice cream, candy, and souffle that I felt a little sick. More than once.
"In order to understand recursion, you must first understand recursion."
"Mennonite ankle porn" and learning Japanese from anime. "Take anything you want! Leave me my life!" あぶない！にんじゃです。Thereafter, nearly everything was declared あぶない.
Delighted by ducklings.
"Safari action adventure Lila"
Pandora (which I've now set up to work from Canada). Listen to this song, it's amazing.
It's so hard to find a really snootily-educated man these days.
"E., Mom's worried about something in particular. But I'm just worried. About curtains, about the bed, about gravity..." (Note: his room has increased gravity. For training purposes.)
A stray lawn dart killed my only bunny. Twice.
While giving a back massage, E.: "It's like your shoulders are reinforced!"
This island.
Benjamin Button? Not as good as watching Atonement for the third time in 24 hours.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Woohoo!
It's Saturday, it's snowing, and I am happy.
Yesterday was 4 hours of office hours, and board games, and finding the Madison, and three sets of quite enthusiastic guitar-playing. Today is laundry and swim practice and finishing the write-up of the formal theory we're calling VMod2L. And then some more socializing.
This post's theme word: bawd, "prostitute." No one playing Scrabble yesterday knew it, but by the time it was my turn, that place on the board had been taken. When I go home I intend to play Dictionary, and revel in the expansive collective family vocabulary.
Yesterday was 4 hours of office hours, and board games, and finding the Madison, and three sets of quite enthusiastic guitar-playing. Today is laundry and swim practice and finishing the write-up of the formal theory we're calling VMod2L. And then some more socializing.
This post's theme word: bawd, "prostitute." No one playing Scrabble yesterday knew it, but by the time it was my turn, that place on the board had been taken. When I go home I intend to play Dictionary, and revel in the expansive collective family vocabulary.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Celebrity crush sampling
These are, of course, crushes from afar. Probably in real life, these actors do not manifest any characteristics I find attractive. I invite you to add your own celebrity crushes in the comments.
Ever since I saw Fight Club, I've liked Edward Norton. He's so thin, and pale, and helpless. So trapped in his own mind. And Fight Club was fantastic. So was The Painted Veil, which starred him in a completely different but still fantastic role. Despite its bad reviews, I intend to see The Incredible Hulk sometime. He turns green.
Then there's always the Doctor, David Tennant. Also very thin and pale, but smarter than everyone else, confident, and in control of every situation. Good sense of humor, excellent at flirting. Plus, whether on-screen or off-, he has a lovely accent.
I had initially disliked John Barrowman in his role as Captain Jack Harkness (also on Doctor Who), simply because he flirted with everyone and was such an obvious crush. But then I watched Torchwood, which was just as formulaic and delightful as Doctor Who, but darker. Also, I recently discovered that he's also a singer. There are lots of youtube videos of his serious Broadway performances, against which this totally silly rendition of "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic" plays delightfully. Sadly for me, he's almost twice my age. And gay.
I dedicate this post to the bakers at my favorite nearby bakery, who always ride the fine line between friendly service and flirtation. Today I went in twenty minutes before closing, and they gave me my loaf of bread for free. (Apparently, when they close, they have to throw out any leftovers.)
This post's theme word is: fanacle, "a small temple or shrine." Not a term for a manacle worn by a fan. Sigh. Anyone for a game of dictionary?
Ever since I saw Fight Club, I've liked Edward Norton. He's so thin, and pale, and helpless. So trapped in his own mind. And Fight Club was fantastic. So was The Painted Veil, which starred him in a completely different but still fantastic role. Despite its bad reviews, I intend to see The Incredible Hulk sometime. He turns green.
Then there's always the Doctor, David Tennant. Also very thin and pale, but smarter than everyone else, confident, and in control of every situation. Good sense of humor, excellent at flirting. Plus, whether on-screen or off-, he has a lovely accent.
I had initially disliked John Barrowman in his role as Captain Jack Harkness (also on Doctor Who), simply because he flirted with everyone and was such an obvious crush. But then I watched Torchwood, which was just as formulaic and delightful as Doctor Who, but darker. Also, I recently discovered that he's also a singer. There are lots of youtube videos of his serious Broadway performances, against which this totally silly rendition of "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic" plays delightfully. Sadly for me, he's almost twice my age. And gay.
I dedicate this post to the bakers at my favorite nearby bakery, who always ride the fine line between friendly service and flirtation. Today I went in twenty minutes before closing, and they gave me my loaf of bread for free. (Apparently, when they close, they have to throw out any leftovers.)
This post's theme word is: fanacle, "a small temple or shrine." Not a term for a manacle worn by a fan. Sigh. Anyone for a game of dictionary?
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
I'm twisted (@ the gym)
A few times, guys have hit on me at the gym. I don't know why -- I'm all sweaty, I'm out of breath, I'm listening to music, I'm not exactly the picture of romantic attraction. Yet they do it anyway. Mostly I'm amused, sometimes I'm offended. Is the gym a good place to go trolling for dates? I've never seen a girl hit on a guy at the gym, so maybe the appeal of the gym as a romantic starting-block is one of the masculine mysteries forever unknowable to me.
I think of the gym is as an insular place. We're not participating in a group activity; each person is there for his own self-improvement. People who have conversations at the gym are a rare and unwelcome breed. And yet, we are all watching each other, gaging each others' relative fitness and strength levels. There's nothing else to look at, really.
So I do occasionally find myself noting particularly handsome boys at the gym, despite my asocial nature and my aversion to gym-spawned romance.
Today I noticed a boy who had strikingly blue eyes. They were pure blue, unspoiled by flecks of other colors. He kept moving back and forth across the gym to different machines, crossing my (better-planned) path through the machines. He was, in a word, "cute"... until he started to do push-ups next to the erg where I was rowing. Rowing is fairly monotonous, so out of the corner of my eye I counted his push-ups: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 (strain begins to show), 7, 8 (pause for breath), 9, 10 (collapse to the mat in exhaustion)!
Wow! Ten whole push-ups! His mysterious cuteness was instantly dissipated in a poof! of wimphood. I snickered out loud. I am twisted. But I'm far stronger than he is, that namby-pamby posturer. A cut-off t-shirt does not an athlete make.
This post's theme word: caducity. "Frailty, infirmity."
I think of the gym is as an insular place. We're not participating in a group activity; each person is there for his own self-improvement. People who have conversations at the gym are a rare and unwelcome breed. And yet, we are all watching each other, gaging each others' relative fitness and strength levels. There's nothing else to look at, really.
So I do occasionally find myself noting particularly handsome boys at the gym, despite my asocial nature and my aversion to gym-spawned romance.
Today I noticed a boy who had strikingly blue eyes. They were pure blue, unspoiled by flecks of other colors. He kept moving back and forth across the gym to different machines, crossing my (better-planned) path through the machines. He was, in a word, "cute"... until he started to do push-ups next to the erg where I was rowing. Rowing is fairly monotonous, so out of the corner of my eye I counted his push-ups: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 (strain begins to show), 7, 8 (pause for breath), 9, 10 (collapse to the mat in exhaustion)!
Wow! Ten whole push-ups! His mysterious cuteness was instantly dissipated in a poof! of wimphood. I snickered out loud. I am twisted. But I'm far stronger than he is, that namby-pamby posturer. A cut-off t-shirt does not an athlete make.
This post's theme word: caducity. "Frailty, infirmity."
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