Every now and then, pop culture actually makes me happy.
I spent this afternoon and evening with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
greygirlbeast, humglum, nineweaving—and after about six o'clock, Chris Ewen—in a long-delayed get-together at the Harvard Museum of Comparative Zoology, proceeding thence through Raven Used Books, Nine Tastes, the Harvard Book Store, and the Million Year Picnic, with the result that everyone left with more books than they had come with, elevated blood levels of ginger and bird's-eye chili, and in one case a large stuffed octopus. And then I walked home from Harvard Square, so that at nine-thirty at night on a relatively quiet Mass. Ave., I was treated to a sort of Doppler effect of two students singing "Bad Romance" as they bicycled past.
I am now going to finish up my day by reading Christopher Fry's The Boy with a Cart: Cuthman, Saint of Sussex (1938). Look, if you lived in the eleventh century, it was kind of the same thing.
I spent this afternoon and evening with
greygirlbeast, humglum, nineweaving—and after about six o'clock, Chris Ewen—in a long-delayed get-together at the Harvard Museum of Comparative Zoology, proceeding thence through Raven Used Books, Nine Tastes, the Harvard Book Store, and the Million Year Picnic, with the result that everyone left with more books than they had come with, elevated blood levels of ginger and bird's-eye chili, and in one case a large stuffed octopus. And then I walked home from Harvard Square, so that at nine-thirty at night on a relatively quiet Mass. Ave., I was treated to a sort of Doppler effect of two students singing "Bad Romance" as they bicycled past. I am now going to finish up my day by reading Christopher Fry's The Boy with a Cart: Cuthman, Saint of Sussex (1938). Look, if you lived in the eleventh century, it was kind of the same thing.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}