Despite exhaustion and rainy weather and my clock being totally off, I still made it to ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
phi's birthday/Novroz/Pi Day party, where there was ridiculous food and equally fantastic conversation and more than one person qualified to speak to the biological specifics of duck penises. It was lovely. I stayed long past the point where I thought I would be coherent and—in defiance of the usual direction of presents at a party—left with paperback copies of all four Clockwork Phoenix anthologies and Northwest Press' Anything that Loves. On the way home, although mostly out of the capacity to interact, I stopped by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
audioboy's birthday party just long enough to say hello and watch derspatchel mix something with crème de cassis that came out smelling exactly like high-test Dimetapp. (I am informed the previous invention, the White Vermonter—dark maple syrup, milk, chestnut liqueur—was a hit.)
To inaugurate the Ides of March, we watched Carry On Cleo (1964) off TCM when he got home. I admire any movie that contains jokes that depend on at least a rudimentary knowledge of Latin and passing familiarity with Roman history and/or Shakespeare and completely stupid one-liner gags and slapstick at a breathlessly flurrying pace; if you don't like the film's sense of humor, wait ten seconds. No brow too low! No distance too great to go for a punch line! We kind of wanted to double-feature it with Mel Brooks' History of the World, Part I (1981). And then we fell down an internet sinkhole of Kenneth Williams. I feel obscurely proud of introducing my husband to Julian and Sandy.
Today is my mother's birthday observed. It is a very festive weekend.
(edit: It just started snowing. What even.)
phi's birthday/Novroz/Pi Day party, where there was ridiculous food and equally fantastic conversation and more than one person qualified to speak to the biological specifics of duck penises. It was lovely. I stayed long past the point where I thought I would be coherent and—in defiance of the usual direction of presents at a party—left with paperback copies of all four Clockwork Phoenix anthologies and Northwest Press' Anything that Loves. On the way home, although mostly out of the capacity to interact, I stopped by audioboy's birthday party just long enough to say hello and watch derspatchel mix something with crème de cassis that came out smelling exactly like high-test Dimetapp. (I am informed the previous invention, the White Vermonter—dark maple syrup, milk, chestnut liqueur—was a hit.)To inaugurate the Ides of March, we watched Carry On Cleo (1964) off TCM when he got home. I admire any movie that contains jokes that depend on at least a rudimentary knowledge of Latin and passing familiarity with Roman history and/or Shakespeare and completely stupid one-liner gags and slapstick at a breathlessly flurrying pace; if you don't like the film's sense of humor, wait ten seconds. No brow too low! No distance too great to go for a punch line! We kind of wanted to double-feature it with Mel Brooks' History of the World, Part I (1981). And then we fell down an internet sinkhole of Kenneth Williams. I feel obscurely proud of introducing my husband to Julian and Sandy.
Today is my mother's birthday observed. It is a very festive weekend.
(edit: It just started snowing. What even.)
