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My friendships will carry me over any course of distance, any cause of sorrow
Thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday, because it was. We have upcoming houseguests, so most of the afternoon was spent on general housecleaning, helping my father paint the front steps and my mother fold laundry (the latter while watching Jim Henson's The Storyteller, admittedly: my parents' gift, along with a DVD of Atanarjuat, which is one of my favorite movies in the world), but in the evening ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gaudior, rushthatspeaks, weirdquark, captainbutler, nineweaving, ericmvan—and the awesome last-minute addition of Naya, who called that afternoon out of the blue—gave me dinner at Cafe of India and dessert at Finale in Harvard Square, and then we watched The Apartment (1960) and talked about chess and movies and feminist rage until everyone started to drift home. I was presented with Benjamin Britten's The Turn of the Screw and two books of Finder wrapped in paper covered with shiny. The birthday candles were blue and white, left over from Hanukkah. I don't think I can look chocolate in the face for a week. It was entirely good.
And I love PJ Harvey's White Chalk, which is my other new music. It's full of ghosts and demon lovers, bones and briars and oak trees, broken-stringed harps; it is an autumn album. White chalk hills are all I've known . . . And I know / These chalk hills will rot my bones. The CD has been on repeat since last night. I can only hope it surfaces in my stories.
Even the fact that I have to vacuum the entire house now isn't going to dent my mood.
gaudior, rushthatspeaks, weirdquark, captainbutler, nineweaving, ericmvan—and the awesome last-minute addition of Naya, who called that afternoon out of the blue—gave me dinner at Cafe of India and dessert at Finale in Harvard Square, and then we watched The Apartment (1960) and talked about chess and movies and feminist rage until everyone started to drift home. I was presented with Benjamin Britten's The Turn of the Screw and two books of Finder wrapped in paper covered with shiny. The birthday candles were blue and white, left over from Hanukkah. I don't think I can look chocolate in the face for a week. It was entirely good.And I love PJ Harvey's White Chalk, which is my other new music. It's full of ghosts and demon lovers, bones and briars and oak trees, broken-stringed harps; it is an autumn album. White chalk hills are all I've known . . . And I know / These chalk hills will rot my bones. The CD has been on repeat since last night. I can only hope it surfaces in my stories.
Even the fact that I have to vacuum the entire house now isn't going to dent my mood.
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I hope the vacuuming goes as pleasantly as vacuuming may go.
I just thought of something--the newspaper's celebrity birthdays bit yesterday said that it was PJ Harvey's birthday. You seemed to have pretty good company--nobody like Jesse Helms, at least, with whom I, alas, must share mine. ;-)
Best of luck with the houseguests.
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Anyone who writes with Polly is getting another two paragraphs in my good books, that's for damn sure. I have her first 3 albums, but it occurs to me that I must have the rest.
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