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If you'll walk across my camera
Day before yesterday: I shoveled a lot of snow. I watched some classic Law & Order. I did my job. It was kind of a nothing day until I crashed unexpectedly in the evening and had to spend most of the night shooing Tiny Wittgenstein off the fruit bowl.
Yesterday: I got up, I did some more sorting of depressing papers, and then the day converted itself into awesome, because I met![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rushthatspeaks at Rodney's in Central Square and from there we discovered the Atomic Bean Café (which has lettering so artistic as to be nearly illegible, but they make a fine pistachio muffin), braved the unfamiliar buses of Somerville (I went to Sullivan Square once by accident and I don't want to do it again), and met up with gaudior at their new place (which turns out to be in an area I know quite well, I just didn't recognize it from the other end of the street). Fentiman's rose lemonade is absolutely astonishing, intensely rose-flavored without tasting like either a bath soap or those brittle candy flowers you get on certain cakes. It is a good thing I do not live around the corner from Hub Comics, because they have couches and the giant Winsor McCay. And I wound up the evening with derspatchel at Greek Corner on Mass. Ave. and a ten o'clock showing of From Russia with Love (1963) at the Somerville Theatre, and it is rather an understatement to say he's better company than T. Witt.
Then of course it took me nearly forty-five minutes to get home in the increasingly thickening snow, but it was worth it.
(Did I mention that Rush and I have agreed to make a Thompson turkey? Be with us, Robert Benchley, except when we're cooking with spirits.)
Today: I am going to the Ivy+ Fine Spirits Showcase with a group of lovely people who don't have livejournals and I have no idea if you will hear from me for the rest of the day, or if it will be in English when you do. But the Guardian has a newly discovered story by Sylvia Townsend Warner. Thank you, universe.
Yesterday: I got up, I did some more sorting of depressing papers, and then the day converted itself into awesome, because I met
rushthatspeaks at Rodney's in Central Square and from there we discovered the Atomic Bean Café (which has lettering so artistic as to be nearly illegible, but they make a fine pistachio muffin), braved the unfamiliar buses of Somerville (I went to Sullivan Square once by accident and I don't want to do it again), and met up with gaudior at their new place (which turns out to be in an area I know quite well, I just didn't recognize it from the other end of the street). Fentiman's rose lemonade is absolutely astonishing, intensely rose-flavored without tasting like either a bath soap or those brittle candy flowers you get on certain cakes. It is a good thing I do not live around the corner from Hub Comics, because they have couches and the giant Winsor McCay. And I wound up the evening with derspatchel at Greek Corner on Mass. Ave. and a ten o'clock showing of From Russia with Love (1963) at the Somerville Theatre, and it is rather an understatement to say he's better company than T. Witt.Then of course it took me nearly forty-five minutes to get home in the increasingly thickening snow, but it was worth it.
(Did I mention that Rush and I have agreed to make a Thompson turkey? Be with us, Robert Benchley, except when we're cooking with spirits.)
Today: I am going to the Ivy+ Fine Spirits Showcase with a group of lovely people who don't have livejournals and I have no idea if you will hear from me for the rest of the day, or if it will be in English when you do. But the Guardian has a newly discovered story by Sylvia Townsend Warner. Thank you, universe.
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Well, we've got months to figure out how to do it safely . . .
I hope you have a wonderful time at the Showcase.
It was fantastic!