![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
But I'm down on my knees with the last of the sponges
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.
no subject
NaNo does seem to work for me, at least kind of, but it certainly doesn't for everyone and I have to be careful with it cos it can throw me into a spiral if I don't make it. NFWMM is probably a better thing, even if the acronym sounds sort of like onomotopeia for someone swearing through a gag or severely clenched teeth.
I'm glad ye made it to Día de los Muertos. Hope all goes well with the kitchen.
no subject
It's getting better.
no subject
Tamales in corn husks is reminding me that I should make more zongxi, or at least more steamed rice in bamboo leaves.
Things wrapped in leaves = wonderful eating.
Good luck with NFWMM--looking forward to maybe/hopefully seeing some of the results?
no subject
You should! I should make more steamed rice in banana leaves. I believe there's still a whole packet in
Good luck with NFWMM--looking forward to maybe/hopefully seeing some of the results?
If it's things like poems or posts, sure!
no subject
no subject
I really liked it. I'd read all the extant Dancy prose, but none of the comics; I was waiting for the collection to come out, and then I was waiting for the money to buy it with. Boxcar Tales doesn't seem to be collected yet, but I'll wait for it, too.
no subject
I feel like I am always aware of a pair of echoes when we eat there
It's one of those nice things about getting older: the layers of memories get deeper, and start to sit more visibly on the world.
no subject
I hope so. I like reading you.