The ending of this week was slightly eaten by someone else's medical for a change, but everyone is alive and well and if not living in New York, at least some of us are going there next week to see The Gang's All Here (1943). Carmen Miranda. Busby Berkeley. Lots of fruit. If Wittgenstein didn't watch this film after one of his lectures at Cambridge, his biographers have been misleading me for years. I'm just not sure the Film Forum will allow us to bring in pork pies.
Today was mostly quiet, which was fine. I slept nearly ten hours and even had dreams I could recall: one was stupid and involved finding a bathing suit, but the other was about a three-person lesbian/genderqueer band I'm actually sorry doesn't exist. I think the drummer was hitting on me. In the afternoon, I went over to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gaudior and rushthatspeaks' and did not watch the next episode of Due South (1994–1999), because the television remote refused to be found even in the box marked "OMG SO FRAGILE" and "NO SQUISHING," but they offered me pancakes and showed me the weird little fort on Prospect Hill which overlooks Union Square; the wind breaks over it as if off the sea, which is why my hair is still very snarled. There were trees growing all round the second terrace, just breaking into white, very sweet-smelling blossom. We have no idea what kind they were, but I climbed over the rail and broke a branch for Lila. It is not the fault of trees everywhere that I will always associate May blossom with the Mari Llwyd.
(Someone of M. John Harrison's acquaintance actually made a Mari. Unsurprisingly, it freaks me out exactly as much as I imagined from Silver on the Tree (1977). The fact that Harrison had it haunt one of the protagonists of Light (2002) kind of hacked my brain.)
Cowboys & Aliens (2011) is exactly what it says on the tin.
Today was mostly quiet, which was fine. I slept nearly ten hours and even had dreams I could recall: one was stupid and involved finding a bathing suit, but the other was about a three-person lesbian/genderqueer band I'm actually sorry doesn't exist. I think the drummer was hitting on me. In the afternoon, I went over to
gaudior and rushthatspeaks' and did not watch the next episode of Due South (1994–1999), because the television remote refused to be found even in the box marked "OMG SO FRAGILE" and "NO SQUISHING," but they offered me pancakes and showed me the weird little fort on Prospect Hill which overlooks Union Square; the wind breaks over it as if off the sea, which is why my hair is still very snarled. There were trees growing all round the second terrace, just breaking into white, very sweet-smelling blossom. We have no idea what kind they were, but I climbed over the rail and broke a branch for Lila. It is not the fault of trees everywhere that I will always associate May blossom with the Mari Llwyd.(Someone of M. John Harrison's acquaintance actually made a Mari. Unsurprisingly, it freaks me out exactly as much as I imagined from Silver on the Tree (1977). The fact that Harrison had it haunt one of the protagonists of Light (2002) kind of hacked my brain.)
Cowboys & Aliens (2011) is exactly what it says on the tin.
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