nunquam habebat multum prudentiae
Aug. 3rd, 2008 08:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
timerippleBought yet another butterfly-patterned shirt from H&M. This is my third. But, in my defense, it is strawberry milkshake pink, and was clearly the color they had in mind when originally designing the shirt. I feel very proud- haven’t bought a black v-neck in months.
Friday I engaged in much brain-killing creative algebra trying to find out nonexistent statistics. Then I had an extremely uneventful bus ride to Boston and fell into the arms of the famed futon once more.
Throughout the weekend, I read The Count of Monte Cristo. I only realized mine was an abridged edition when I was on page 200, so I thought I might as well finish it as not. But it did explain a lot of gaping plot and character jumps that were bothering me. Sigh. I should have made sure before I got it out of the library. But the cover matched my shirt so perfectly, I didn’t think to check.
Saturday I looked at a bunch of hideous apartments, ate burritos, walked around a lot, and happily marathoned R and S’s The Office DVDs. I do love that show, although sometimes I have to look away lest the facepalm overwhelm me. Poor, poor Jim! So adorable! I also have a strange and twisted love for Dwight. In the episode where he and Michael get into a fight (yes, the one where Jim proves his overwhelming awesome by snapping his fingers a la West Side Story), Dwight says “arigatou gozaimashita”, and I nearly died laughing- he had the worst Japanese accent I’ve ever heard. BWA-HAHAHAHA! Oh, Dwight. I understood your Darth Sidious costume.
Sunday I watched a few more episodes, bringing me up to halfway through the second season, then on a whim and a prayer I looked at a couple more apartments. One of them was perfect, so I started rental procedures. About which key parties are being kind of asses, btw, but I think it’s going to work out. I hope. PLEASE LET IT WORK OUT.
Sunday evening I headed back to NY. And you know a trip cannot happen without Peter Pan Bus shenanigans. Prepare yourselves...
The AC was initially broken, but the driver fixed it somewhere outside Worcester, and we continued on our merry way. Until we hit the Bronx. Then the driver got lost. More specifically, he did not take the turnoff that was clearly marked “Manhattan- Amsterdam Ave”. Instantly the bus was filled with consternation. “Do you know where you’re going?” cried a multitude of voices. He clearly did not, and was only further confused by the hand gestures of the girl across the aisle from me. We eventually got him on the right track via an impressive u-turn and a lot of collective “Turn right!”s and “Go straight. STRAIGHT!”s and “LEFT! LEFT! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GO LEFT!”s. We had to talk him through every turn- he obviously had no clue where he was or where he was going. Finally on Central Park West and 66th, another bus driver signaled him to pull over and informed him that one of the luggage doors was open. At that point there was a small mutiny, and a bunch of us bailed and headed for the subway. As a result, I got back about 45 minutes earlier than I would otherwise have.
It’s nice to know that Peter Pan Buses continues its commitment to quality driving and fine customer service, isn’t it?
If I thought Friday was bad, on Monday I wished fervently to return to that younger, innocent self. My creative algebra on Friday was apparently unsatisfactory. So I had to count some books on a list. A lot of books. On a really long list.
There were over 2,800 books, 60% of which were for 8 and under. And I counted every one of them.
...
Or, as I said later, I HAZ NO BRAIN. THE COUNTING ZOMBIES, THEY ATED IT.
And then we needed even more obscure and unlikely statistics. I went into the bathroom and cried.
E did take pity on me, and let me write the address label for an author's birthday present. That helped a little bit. And a bunch of us went to an advance screening of Brideshead Revisited after work. Initially I wasn’t going to, on account of needing to do laundry and buy groceries, but seeing a movie with a bunch of English majors and total literature dorks sounded like a lot more fun.
It was. We fangirled (and fanguyed) Gosford Park and talked about various books over dinner, and M and N had brought their copies of Brideshead Revisited, so we oohed over those. M was jealous that my copy has Jeremy Irons on it. Wish I had it here.
The movie itself was okay. I admit I’ve seen the miniseries twice and was totally enthralled by it, so that was constantly running through the back of my mind. Charles Ryder was quite good, and had a lovely deep Jeremy Irons-like voice. Emma Thompson’s Lady Marchmain was written as much more overt and verbally controlling than I was expecting. Julia was okay. Sebastian did a good job. He was tiny and dark and flighty and not in love with his childhood; a different sort of fey fromSir PercyAnthony Andrews’ blond and languid charm. It seemed like the filmmakers switched direction a few times, and I rather thought Charles’ entanglement with the house itself, and his guilt, rather got lost even though they were trying to make a point out of it. If you’re going to ask yourself, at the end, “Did I want too much?”, it needs to at least be a valid question. They lost or cut much of the languid, dreamy quality of the early part of the novel in favor of focusing on the relationship tensions. Which was probably a good decision, narrative-wise, but I missed that golden, idyllic, low-door-in-the-wall Oxford. Everything was very pretty, though, and the same estate as in the miniseries served as Brideshead Castle.
Heading to the subway, N and I agreed that we were disappointed at the reduction in Aloysius’s narrative role.
Also, I need a JE icon or two. For when I occasionally comment on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snowqueenofhoth’s journal, so I don’t stand out as much. I wonder if I could get hold of that “Nakatsu approved!” one...
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
The interns are commanded to write/create something to contribute to the “Intern Thank-you Book”. I was alarmed- nay, dismayed- at first. How will I possibly find the time to write something sappy and creative and blah? I have more important things to do! I have to write an editorial letter! I have to figure out what to put in my editorial letter! I have to save E from the growing slush monster!
Then I remembered my journal. And that I’m allowed “a decent amount of creative freedom”, ie, I get to make stuff up.
Mua-hahahaha.
Okay. I’m going to type it in Word because Pages is pissing me off. Now all I need is a manuscript and a beta or two...
Sunday, August 3, 2008
I got the stupid Thank You thing written in time for the deadline (thank you M and Rachel), but I kind of loathe it now. It is an unhappy waffle. When it’s not drowning in Ridiculous Gratitude Syrup, it’s dying under an overload of Blatant Juvenile-voiced Attempts at Humor and soured off by a dose of Whipped Pretentious. And it’s got grease streaks from the side of Cliche as a Metaphor.
Oh well. Maybe nobody will read it anyway. *prays fervently*
Saturday was thunderstorming and raining like the Taiyou no Namida PV. No joke. So I did laundry and got a lot of insane apartment-related stuff done, and the went to see The Dark Knight with a clear conscience. I thought it was pretty awesome. The dark side of superheroeness tends to appeal to me a lot more than the gadgety fightsmashfight stuff (although I do love gadgets). I’d talked to someone about it beforehand, and she said she couldn’t follow the plot at all, but it mostly made sense to me. Except for the part where Our Hero totally says he’s going to save Rachel and then... doesn’t. Also, THAT’S RIGHT, GORDON. THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU IGNORE THE SEXIST BIAS INHERENT IN YOUR TERMINOLOGY. THE SOLUTION: WE ALL LEARN SOME LANGUAGE THAT HAS A SEPARATE DECLENSION FOR “PLURAL MIXED GENDER”.
Or you could just call them “my people” instead, I guess. Whichever’s easier for you.
Also, I think Christian Bale could use some Gollum Juice. That Batvoice has gotta be tough on the throat.
Today was beautifully clear and cool and sunny, so I did what any sensible person would do: put on my shortest sundress and went out in search of fame, fortune, and adventure. I had a craving for bubble tea, so I strolled down the random street fair on 6th Avenue, examining a million booths I wasn’t interested in so I could catch a bit of sun. I ended up buying two pashminas and a few rings, because they were shiny and cheap and pretty. (This applies to both the pashminas and the rings.) I succumb to the urge to buy cheap jewelry now and then, because I tend to wear a piece for a while and then lose it. This way, I don’t have a great emotional or monetary investment, and can wear rings without worrying too much about losing them.
Then, like any other normal person on a beautiful, clear Sunday afternoon, I went to Coney Island and ate ice cream. It wasn’t nearly as crowded as I’d expected, so I strolled up and down the boardwalk quite happily. (Yes, I am capable of strolling. Don’t look so surprised. Just because I normally stomp around like a steam locomotive burning crack doesn’t mean that’s my only setting.) There was water and sand. It was pretty. Some little girl asked if she could touch my hair. I was feeling expansive, so I said “yes” and was only minimally creeped out.
I don’t think all this strolling about in the sun did much for my hopelessly uneven tan, although I do have a couple of slight burns in embarrassing places. (Which was sort of the, you know, whole point of the dress, but still.) Sigh.
Oh my God. Can I have a “Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still” icon? Can I? I identify with the Countess Olivia on a whole new level now. *facepalm*
On the subway I read a total of 18 pages of Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis, which is pretty damn hilarious. And I don’t even need a dictionary. :)
Friday I engaged in much brain-killing creative algebra trying to find out nonexistent statistics. Then I had an extremely uneventful bus ride to Boston and fell into the arms of the famed futon once more.
Throughout the weekend, I read The Count of Monte Cristo. I only realized mine was an abridged edition when I was on page 200, so I thought I might as well finish it as not. But it did explain a lot of gaping plot and character jumps that were bothering me. Sigh. I should have made sure before I got it out of the library. But the cover matched my shirt so perfectly, I didn’t think to check.
Saturday I looked at a bunch of hideous apartments, ate burritos, walked around a lot, and happily marathoned R and S’s The Office DVDs. I do love that show, although sometimes I have to look away lest the facepalm overwhelm me. Poor, poor Jim! So adorable! I also have a strange and twisted love for Dwight. In the episode where he and Michael get into a fight (yes, the one where Jim proves his overwhelming awesome by snapping his fingers a la West Side Story), Dwight says “arigatou gozaimashita”, and I nearly died laughing- he had the worst Japanese accent I’ve ever heard. BWA-HAHAHAHA! Oh, Dwight. I understood your Darth Sidious costume.
Sunday I watched a few more episodes, bringing me up to halfway through the second season, then on a whim and a prayer I looked at a couple more apartments. One of them was perfect, so I started rental procedures. About which key parties are being kind of asses, btw, but I think it’s going to work out. I hope. PLEASE LET IT WORK OUT.
Sunday evening I headed back to NY. And you know a trip cannot happen without Peter Pan Bus shenanigans. Prepare yourselves...
The AC was initially broken, but the driver fixed it somewhere outside Worcester, and we continued on our merry way. Until we hit the Bronx. Then the driver got lost. More specifically, he did not take the turnoff that was clearly marked “Manhattan- Amsterdam Ave”. Instantly the bus was filled with consternation. “Do you know where you’re going?” cried a multitude of voices. He clearly did not, and was only further confused by the hand gestures of the girl across the aisle from me. We eventually got him on the right track via an impressive u-turn and a lot of collective “Turn right!”s and “Go straight. STRAIGHT!”s and “LEFT! LEFT! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GO LEFT!”s. We had to talk him through every turn- he obviously had no clue where he was or where he was going. Finally on Central Park West and 66th, another bus driver signaled him to pull over and informed him that one of the luggage doors was open. At that point there was a small mutiny, and a bunch of us bailed and headed for the subway. As a result, I got back about 45 minutes earlier than I would otherwise have.
It’s nice to know that Peter Pan Buses continues its commitment to quality driving and fine customer service, isn’t it?
If I thought Friday was bad, on Monday I wished fervently to return to that younger, innocent self. My creative algebra on Friday was apparently unsatisfactory. So I had to count some books on a list. A lot of books. On a really long list.
There were over 2,800 books, 60% of which were for 8 and under. And I counted every one of them.
...
Or, as I said later, I HAZ NO BRAIN. THE COUNTING ZOMBIES, THEY ATED IT.
And then we needed even more obscure and unlikely statistics. I went into the bathroom and cried.
E did take pity on me, and let me write the address label for an author's birthday present. That helped a little bit. And a bunch of us went to an advance screening of Brideshead Revisited after work. Initially I wasn’t going to, on account of needing to do laundry and buy groceries, but seeing a movie with a bunch of English majors and total literature dorks sounded like a lot more fun.
It was. We fangirled (and fanguyed) Gosford Park and talked about various books over dinner, and M and N had brought their copies of Brideshead Revisited, so we oohed over those. M was jealous that my copy has Jeremy Irons on it. Wish I had it here.
The movie itself was okay. I admit I’ve seen the miniseries twice and was totally enthralled by it, so that was constantly running through the back of my mind. Charles Ryder was quite good, and had a lovely deep Jeremy Irons-like voice. Emma Thompson’s Lady Marchmain was written as much more overt and verbally controlling than I was expecting. Julia was okay. Sebastian did a good job. He was tiny and dark and flighty and not in love with his childhood; a different sort of fey from
Heading to the subway, N and I agreed that we were disappointed at the reduction in Aloysius’s narrative role.
Also, I need a JE icon or two. For when I occasionally comment on
snowqueenofhoth’s journal, so I don’t stand out as much. I wonder if I could get hold of that “Nakatsu approved!” one...Wednesday, July 30, 2008
The interns are commanded to write/create something to contribute to the “Intern Thank-you Book”. I was alarmed- nay, dismayed- at first. How will I possibly find the time to write something sappy and creative and blah? I have more important things to do! I have to write an editorial letter! I have to figure out what to put in my editorial letter! I have to save E from the growing slush monster!
Then I remembered my journal. And that I’m allowed “a decent amount of creative freedom”, ie, I get to make stuff up.
Mua-hahahaha.
Okay. I’m going to type it in Word because Pages is pissing me off. Now all I need is a manuscript and a beta or two...
Sunday, August 3, 2008
I got the stupid Thank You thing written in time for the deadline (thank you M and Rachel), but I kind of loathe it now. It is an unhappy waffle. When it’s not drowning in Ridiculous Gratitude Syrup, it’s dying under an overload of Blatant Juvenile-voiced Attempts at Humor and soured off by a dose of Whipped Pretentious. And it’s got grease streaks from the side of Cliche as a Metaphor.
Oh well. Maybe nobody will read it anyway. *prays fervently*
Saturday was thunderstorming and raining like the Taiyou no Namida PV. No joke. So I did laundry and got a lot of insane apartment-related stuff done, and the went to see The Dark Knight with a clear conscience. I thought it was pretty awesome. The dark side of superheroeness tends to appeal to me a lot more than the gadgety fightsmashfight stuff (although I do love gadgets). I’d talked to someone about it beforehand, and she said she couldn’t follow the plot at all, but it mostly made sense to me. Except for the part where Our Hero totally says he’s going to save Rachel and then... doesn’t. Also, THAT’S RIGHT, GORDON. THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU IGNORE THE SEXIST BIAS INHERENT IN YOUR TERMINOLOGY. THE SOLUTION: WE ALL LEARN SOME LANGUAGE THAT HAS A SEPARATE DECLENSION FOR “PLURAL MIXED GENDER”.
Or you could just call them “my people” instead, I guess. Whichever’s easier for you.
Also, I think Christian Bale could use some Gollum Juice. That Batvoice has gotta be tough on the throat.
Today was beautifully clear and cool and sunny, so I did what any sensible person would do: put on my shortest sundress and went out in search of fame, fortune, and adventure. I had a craving for bubble tea, so I strolled down the random street fair on 6th Avenue, examining a million booths I wasn’t interested in so I could catch a bit of sun. I ended up buying two pashminas and a few rings, because they were shiny and cheap and pretty. (This applies to both the pashminas and the rings.) I succumb to the urge to buy cheap jewelry now and then, because I tend to wear a piece for a while and then lose it. This way, I don’t have a great emotional or monetary investment, and can wear rings without worrying too much about losing them.
Then, like any other normal person on a beautiful, clear Sunday afternoon, I went to Coney Island and ate ice cream. It wasn’t nearly as crowded as I’d expected, so I strolled up and down the boardwalk quite happily. (Yes, I am capable of strolling. Don’t look so surprised. Just because I normally stomp around like a steam locomotive burning crack doesn’t mean that’s my only setting.) There was water and sand. It was pretty. Some little girl asked if she could touch my hair. I was feeling expansive, so I said “yes” and was only minimally creeped out.
I don’t think all this strolling about in the sun did much for my hopelessly uneven tan, although I do have a couple of slight burns in embarrassing places. (Which was sort of the, you know, whole point of the dress, but still.) Sigh.
Oh my God. Can I have a “Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still” icon? Can I? I identify with the Countess Olivia on a whole new level now. *facepalm*
On the subway I read a total of 18 pages of Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis, which is pretty damn hilarious. And I don’t even need a dictionary. :)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-08-05 01:03 am (UTC)I will find a better, unabridged translation at some point and savor the deep-laid revenge.
I haven't read the Twilight books- although what with all the entertaining fallout from the fourth one, I kind of want to now.
You and I both know that I cannot resist the sparkly vampires forever. It's only a matter of time.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-05 08:52 pm (UTC)isn't it bizarre? I haven't seen it firsthand, just heard reports from my reading list, but fans can get so ... fannish. XD
my version of The Count of Monte Cristo didn't have commentary either. now I'm curious to go back to the library and try and figure out which translation I read, because I don't think I wrote that down.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-07 01:06 am (UTC)