We could chase our shadows around the lawn until we're both exhausted
Hell yeah, weekend!
Instead of choosing between all of my weekend-fun possibilities, I decided to do all of them. Went to the cabin on Saturday: drove down cute country Virginia highway, lounged in hammock next to river, finished Midnight's Children, got A-plot more or less nailed down for spec, went for ice cream at cute local creamery, sat on the pier in the dark and discussed (via telephone, with old friend) Sherlock Holmes (why we don't really like the Holmes stories--different concept of reader participation--but wish we did), pondered B-plot for spec, curled up with Bones ("The Boy in the Shroud": SO SAD, you guys, but also rather romantic, a la S2), slept with windows open and river crashing against the shore. I should never put off going to the cabin, you guys. It's so nice.
And, so, yesterday, would you believe me if I told you the cops busted my church picnic? I came back from the river early because we were having outdoor church and then a cookout, and who am I to miss grilled meat, mysterious potluck salads, and hang-out time with my people? (Note: When you're new, missing any kind of church party is a total rookie mistake. Friends-wise, one potluck meal equals like six weeks of regular, awkward coffee-and-cookie mingle time.) I missed church but made it in time to have a burger and listen to the reggae band we'd hired...and then to see the cops show up and (very apologetically) tell us to turn it down. Awesome! We turned the amps down a bit, offered the police some cupcakes, and then we all got up and danced. I knew this was the place for me.
And THEN I walked over to the National Cathedral and sat on a bench with my new book (Maps and Legends, Michael Chabon's delightfully nerdy essays on genre in reading and writing), and it was just like Notting Hill, where everyone hangs out in a walled garden with their books/dogs/kids/significant others.
And THEN I came back home and there was new Pushing Daisies on my teevee! It's gone, yadda, and I don't even miss it that much anymore, but...awww. My show. I love sweet funny macabre murder hijinks with amazing production values and random musical numbers. And analysis of the relationship between Clark Kent and Superman (though I disagree--I've never liked Superman and his blue-haired, underwear-on-the-outside squareness. Give me Clark Kent any day). Good times.
And then...you know. Groceries, dinner, unpacking, CH, lounging. Writing. Kitty snuggles. Bones before bed, because I love it and summer is the time for nostalgic re-watches. (Remember when we didn't like Cam? How can it be?)
So, that was good. More fun weekend time, plz. And now I settle in for...work?
....Sure.
Instead of choosing between all of my weekend-fun possibilities, I decided to do all of them. Went to the cabin on Saturday: drove down cute country Virginia highway, lounged in hammock next to river, finished Midnight's Children, got A-plot more or less nailed down for spec, went for ice cream at cute local creamery, sat on the pier in the dark and discussed (via telephone, with old friend) Sherlock Holmes (why we don't really like the Holmes stories--different concept of reader participation--but wish we did), pondered B-plot for spec, curled up with Bones ("The Boy in the Shroud": SO SAD, you guys, but also rather romantic, a la S2), slept with windows open and river crashing against the shore. I should never put off going to the cabin, you guys. It's so nice.
And, so, yesterday, would you believe me if I told you the cops busted my church picnic? I came back from the river early because we were having outdoor church and then a cookout, and who am I to miss grilled meat, mysterious potluck salads, and hang-out time with my people? (Note: When you're new, missing any kind of church party is a total rookie mistake. Friends-wise, one potluck meal equals like six weeks of regular, awkward coffee-and-cookie mingle time.) I missed church but made it in time to have a burger and listen to the reggae band we'd hired...and then to see the cops show up and (very apologetically) tell us to turn it down. Awesome! We turned the amps down a bit, offered the police some cupcakes, and then we all got up and danced. I knew this was the place for me.
And THEN I walked over to the National Cathedral and sat on a bench with my new book (Maps and Legends, Michael Chabon's delightfully nerdy essays on genre in reading and writing), and it was just like Notting Hill, where everyone hangs out in a walled garden with their books/dogs/kids/significant others.
And THEN I came back home and there was new Pushing Daisies on my teevee! It's gone, yadda, and I don't even miss it that much anymore, but...awww. My show. I love sweet funny macabre murder hijinks with amazing production values and random musical numbers. And analysis of the relationship between Clark Kent and Superman (though I disagree--I've never liked Superman and his blue-haired, underwear-on-the-outside squareness. Give me Clark Kent any day). Good times.
And then...you know. Groceries, dinner, unpacking, CH, lounging. Writing. Kitty snuggles. Bones before bed, because I love it and summer is the time for nostalgic re-watches. (Remember when we didn't like Cam? How can it be?)
So, that was good. More fun weekend time, plz. And now I settle in for...work?
....Sure.