Some enchanted evening
Friday night, I took the train to Doraville, and walked down the street (much closer than expected!) to Happy Karaoke. Mediocre singing, lots of laughs. Enjoyed the chance to harmonize, but one person especially was completely off - then again, she was probably drunk. Afterwards, Spring and I went to the anime lock-in only to find them exiting; apparently they couldn't reserve the room past midnight, and the RA forced them out.
Saturday was grouchtastic for the most part. Not sure what it was, possibly pressure changes, but I had a nasty mood. Rushing hither and yon, feeling especially touchy, not getting things done, people not responding in time. Ran to train, tapped along to 5 Points. Got a text from her while waiting for the (delayed) train. Finally got to Midtown Station, started running (late). Found Intermezzo much closer than I expected - it had moved since last I visited. And there she was in the corner.
We both had the hot chocolate, and I ordered a goat cheese appetizer as well. We talked about work, cartoons, hiking, cooking, and family. Since we were relatively close, I asked if she wanted to walk around Piedmont park. She did, and so we did. She talked about running and her experiences arriving in Atlanta, I pointed out places the scene had done guerrilla tango and other park memories. She got a picture of me climbing a magnolia (one of my favorite types of tree... in part because they're easy to climb). We walked around the lake, stopped by the playground, went up the slides (I went up the slide part), and both slid down.
As we were leaving, she asked me about where I parked, and I said I had come by train (which made her jealous, for some reason). But she offered to drive me home. I capitalized on a previous discussion about movies, and asked if she had anything else planned this evening - she didn't - and if she wanted to see a movie - she did. My first choice would have been "The Croods", but its last showing was 7:30 and it was 9 by the time we got to Atlantic Station. Despite neither of us liking horror movies, I had heard good things about "Evil Dead", and we decided to give it a shot. Took a walk around the shopping center while waiting for the movie to start, stopped by Kilwyn's and inhaled deeply.
It seemed, to me, to have a metaphor for drug addiction on some level. Lots of effective use of "the uncanny", things that are at once familiar and "wrong". Chekhov's chainsaws Guns all over the place. Overuse of camera looks one way, looks back and The Evil has entered the frame... but still scary despite totally expecting it. Fingers started tingling near the end; not sure whether adrenaline overdose or short of breath. It is good at what it does, and the nods to other movies in the same vein and easily-identifiable ironic lines were enjoyable. I honestly hope never to see it again.
We stayed through the credits (sort of a stinger, but not related to the movie) and decompressed a bit, and then started driving to Decatur. Along the way I spotted the "Hot Now" sign at Krispy Kreme, and decided to indulge our sweet tooth as well as my recent warm gulab jamun comparison (similar, but not the same... different kind of sweet, softer texture, and of course the yeast.)
Sunday morning I had (understandable) difficulty getting to sleep, with occasional images of pale eyes, evil reflections, and things that should not be appearing precisely when and where I'm not looking. Once again, using fantastic terminology helped far more than trying to logic it away. Then there were dreams. The first was karishi and I driving through some backwoods, finding a rather fancy vacation home, and getting ready for the others to arrive. Instead bad cops show up, and we're running through and around the house while they're shooting at us. Pretty obviously influenced by parts of the movie and other trailers. Woke up to the sounds of roommates moving about. Went back to sleep. I'm in a mostly-"Black" audience listening to a community speaker exhorting us about something that seems important and rational, but there are some hecklers in the back. (unclear transition) The hecklers (three young "Black" men, I think?) and I are in a gym. They try to fight me, but they keep projecting their movements and moving slowly, and it's easy for me to move them somewhere between Jackie Chan and an adult fighting toddlers - tripping and tossing and redirecting and catching. It's a different kind of dancing. Almost forgot that last one; over-trusted my memory.
One week left.
Saturday was grouchtastic for the most part. Not sure what it was, possibly pressure changes, but I had a nasty mood. Rushing hither and yon, feeling especially touchy, not getting things done, people not responding in time. Ran to train, tapped along to 5 Points. Got a text from her while waiting for the (delayed) train. Finally got to Midtown Station, started running (late). Found Intermezzo much closer than I expected - it had moved since last I visited. And there she was in the corner.
We both had the hot chocolate, and I ordered a goat cheese appetizer as well. We talked about work, cartoons, hiking, cooking, and family. Since we were relatively close, I asked if she wanted to walk around Piedmont park. She did, and so we did. She talked about running and her experiences arriving in Atlanta, I pointed out places the scene had done guerrilla tango and other park memories. She got a picture of me climbing a magnolia (one of my favorite types of tree... in part because they're easy to climb). We walked around the lake, stopped by the playground, went up the slides (I went up the slide part), and both slid down.
As we were leaving, she asked me about where I parked, and I said I had come by train (which made her jealous, for some reason). But she offered to drive me home. I capitalized on a previous discussion about movies, and asked if she had anything else planned this evening - she didn't - and if she wanted to see a movie - she did. My first choice would have been "The Croods", but its last showing was 7:30 and it was 9 by the time we got to Atlantic Station. Despite neither of us liking horror movies, I had heard good things about "Evil Dead", and we decided to give it a shot. Took a walk around the shopping center while waiting for the movie to start, stopped by Kilwyn's and inhaled deeply.
It seemed, to me, to have a metaphor for drug addiction on some level. Lots of effective use of "the uncanny", things that are at once familiar and "wrong". Chekhov's chainsaws Guns all over the place. Overuse of camera looks one way, looks back and The Evil has entered the frame... but still scary despite totally expecting it. Fingers started tingling near the end; not sure whether adrenaline overdose or short of breath. It is good at what it does, and the nods to other movies in the same vein and easily-identifiable ironic lines were enjoyable. I honestly hope never to see it again.
We stayed through the credits (sort of a stinger, but not related to the movie) and decompressed a bit, and then started driving to Decatur. Along the way I spotted the "Hot Now" sign at Krispy Kreme, and decided to indulge our sweet tooth as well as my recent warm gulab jamun comparison (similar, but not the same... different kind of sweet, softer texture, and of course the yeast.)
Sunday morning I had (understandable) difficulty getting to sleep, with occasional images of pale eyes, evil reflections, and things that should not be appearing precisely when and where I'm not looking. Once again, using fantastic terminology helped far more than trying to logic it away. Then there were dreams. The first was karishi and I driving through some backwoods, finding a rather fancy vacation home, and getting ready for the others to arrive. Instead bad cops show up, and we're running through and around the house while they're shooting at us. Pretty obviously influenced by parts of the movie and other trailers. Woke up to the sounds of roommates moving about. Went back to sleep. I'm in a mostly-"Black" audience listening to a community speaker exhorting us about something that seems important and rational, but there are some hecklers in the back. (unclear transition) The hecklers (three young "Black" men, I think?) and I are in a gym. They try to fight me, but they keep projecting their movements and moving slowly, and it's easy for me to move them somewhere between Jackie Chan and an adult fighting toddlers - tripping and tossing and redirecting and catching. It's a different kind of dancing. Almost forgot that last one; over-trusted my memory.
One week left.