I don't believe in NaNoWriMo. I don't mean metaphysically; I mean that I know that writing a novel in thirty days is not a reasonable goal to set for myself, especially when I don't even have a novel in mind. I do, however, believe in National Fucking Write More Month, which does not make a very good acronym. Something with intellectual content every day, not just reportage or link aggregation. It shouldn't be impossible.
Today, of course, is a lost cause: I spent the entire afternoon cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing out the insides of cabinets and shelves and laying new contact paper over some of the frankly scary wood we have in here, and then![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
derspatchel and I ran for el Día de los Muertos at the Peabody Museum at Harvard. We'd had tickets since mid-October; we'd been planning since last year. There was hot spicy chocolate, sugar-dusted pan de muerto, tamales in corn husks; altars and marigolds, skulls reminding everywhere. There was an altar for the dead of the Boston Marathon. There was an altar open to all visitors, with pen and paper and a box of tissues. I left a memorial for Dr. Fiveash, Rob for Abbie. Afterward we went to the Million Year Picnic where Rob bought a lot of Deadpool and I finally got hold of the collected Alabaster: Wolves. (Now I can start waiting for the collected Boxcar Tales.) We hadn't planned to eat dinner out, but somehow we still ended up with dessert at Christopher's, which I think we will always refer to as There's Always. It was the first place we met outside of Arisia and stage doors; I feel like I am always aware of a pair of echoes when we eat there, sitting near the front of the restaurant in grey pullover and soft black jacket, one with toothache and a bowl of corn chowder, the other talking about Christopher Morcom. And then I am amazed all over again.
Earlier today I found a much higher-quality version of the really impressive jitterbugging scene from The Canterville Ghost (1944). I can find many more obscure films in their entirety on YouTube, but not that one. Enjoy some fast footwork. I need to figure out how to sleep; I didn't finish the kitchen this afternoon, because there's a lot of it. Tomorrow had better not be a lost cause. I'll survive if it is.
Today, of course, is a lost cause: I spent the entire afternoon cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing out the insides of cabinets and shelves and laying new contact paper over some of the frankly scary wood we have in here, and then
derspatchel and I ran for el Día de los Muertos at the Peabody Museum at Harvard. We'd had tickets since mid-October; we'd been planning since last year. There was hot spicy chocolate, sugar-dusted pan de muerto, tamales in corn husks; altars and marigolds, skulls reminding everywhere. There was an altar for the dead of the Boston Marathon. There was an altar open to all visitors, with pen and paper and a box of tissues. I left a memorial for Dr. Fiveash, Rob for Abbie. Afterward we went to the Million Year Picnic where Rob bought a lot of Deadpool and I finally got hold of the collected Alabaster: Wolves. (Now I can start waiting for the collected Boxcar Tales.) We hadn't planned to eat dinner out, but somehow we still ended up with dessert at Christopher's, which I think we will always refer to as There's Always. It was the first place we met outside of Arisia and stage doors; I feel like I am always aware of a pair of echoes when we eat there, sitting near the front of the restaurant in grey pullover and soft black jacket, one with toothache and a bowl of corn chowder, the other talking about Christopher Morcom. And then I am amazed all over again. Earlier today I found a much higher-quality version of the really impressive jitterbugging scene from The Canterville Ghost (1944). I can find many more obscure films in their entirety on YouTube, but not that one. Enjoy some fast footwork. I need to figure out how to sleep; I didn't finish the kitchen this afternoon, because there's a lot of it. Tomorrow had better not be a lost cause. I'll survive if it is.
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