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Where the devil is that devil of mine?
Rabbit, rabbit. LJ inaugurates the year by remaining slightly broken. I suppose there must be a few traditions to observe.
I thought of writing some kind of catch-up post for the post-Christmas week, but mostly on Friday I saw The Pirate (1948) at the Brattle with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rushthatspeaks, gaudior, weirdquark, and B. (who had brought me a Hittite sun disk from Turkey, wrapped in more apotropaic blue eyes than I thought you could fit on paper) and on Sunday went back with derspatchel for An American in Paris (1951), almost solely for the ballet and Oscar Levant. New Year's Eve was low-key: we made fondue with two kinds of cheese, polished off the chocolate soufflé cake with burnt caramel clementine sauce, and ran upstairs after midnight to annoy the neighbors—Rob banged pots with my mother while I blew the conch. He toasted the new year in whisky. I drank Kraken rum. I didn't sleep late, but I didn't have nightmares. And this afternoon schreibergasse came by for the traditional clove-and-pineapple ham and hanging-out afterward, which even in our comparable states of tiredness was good. I should write about the last movie of the year, which Rob and I watched on YouTube. I'll pitch forward into my computer if I try to stay up for it now.
2012 was a good year. I didn't expect it to be. I thought it wouldn't be. So many of these last few years I've ended wishing myself and others a better year because the best we could say of the one on its way out was that we'd survived it: and so many years, I don't think it worked. The end of 2011, the beginning of 2012 was especially bad. Right now, though, I'm thinking I would like a better 2013 because I want to see what follows a year in which I was often, unexpectedly, happy. I don't expect not to have to work for it. There are still things I need to change. But I like this curiosity a hell of a lot better than I did the hope that this next year just shouldn't be worse.
I thought of writing some kind of catch-up post for the post-Christmas week, but mostly on Friday I saw The Pirate (1948) at the Brattle with
rushthatspeaks, gaudior, weirdquark, and B. (who had brought me a Hittite sun disk from Turkey, wrapped in more apotropaic blue eyes than I thought you could fit on paper) and on Sunday went back with derspatchel for An American in Paris (1951), almost solely for the ballet and Oscar Levant. New Year's Eve was low-key: we made fondue with two kinds of cheese, polished off the chocolate soufflé cake with burnt caramel clementine sauce, and ran upstairs after midnight to annoy the neighbors—Rob banged pots with my mother while I blew the conch. He toasted the new year in whisky. I drank Kraken rum. I didn't sleep late, but I didn't have nightmares. And this afternoon schreibergasse came by for the traditional clove-and-pineapple ham and hanging-out afterward, which even in our comparable states of tiredness was good. I should write about the last movie of the year, which Rob and I watched on YouTube. I'll pitch forward into my computer if I try to stay up for it now.2012 was a good year. I didn't expect it to be. I thought it wouldn't be. So many of these last few years I've ended wishing myself and others a better year because the best we could say of the one on its way out was that we'd survived it: and so many years, I don't think it worked. The end of 2011, the beginning of 2012 was especially bad. Right now, though, I'm thinking I would like a better 2013 because I want to see what follows a year in which I was often, unexpectedly, happy. I don't expect not to have to work for it. There are still things I need to change. But I like this curiosity a hell of a lot better than I did the hope that this next year just shouldn't be worse.
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Thank you. I think it would be fun!