Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams...

Just finished watching Equilibrium (instead of writing a detailed post), an excellent sci-fi/action movie superior, in most respects, to the Matrix movies. I highly recommend it, if that is your cup of tea.
I've also started listening to the Decemberists Picaresque, which finally came in the mail. I'm only halfway through the album, but already I think it's one of the strongest I have heard in the past year or so. A sort of symphonic pirate folk, with tales of love and loss at times almost desperately evocative.

It's felt like an odd couple of weeks. You know those times when you were little (or maybe last week) when you would spin around just to get dizzy, and sometimes your eye would catch something and follow it, and for just a moment, with the turn of your head, you could see the world and not just a blur? That's sort of what life has seemed like--a blur of motion punctuated by the occasional clear image.

Last night was spent cutting out and glueing together Cheat Commandos action playsets and vehicles. Rock, rock on. We have the whole set. Feel free to envy.

Went to see Cornerstone's opera this past Saturday with Jane. Splendid evening, all around, complete with tea in one of North America's coziest sunrooms (which is, I suppose, somewhat wasted on Michigan weather).

Last week I went to the library to do some work, fleeing the havoc that is the IT department where I now reside. It was...nice. Just to be there, surrounded by all the books, was somehow refreshing, like I could breathe easier. You can feel the knowledge radiating from the pages. Do I miss the hallowed halls of higher education and scholarship? I must, or else it wouldn't have felt like a homecoming of sorts. Or at least a reminder, that that world exists, and has a piece of me.

But more on that later. There's always more, and there's always later.

ennui...that's the word for it

I confess that I am filled with an almost insurmountable inertia when I think about writing here (or perhaps anywhere, as those who have engaged in the patience-building task of writing are well aware). I promised Carleen that I would do better with my correspondence this year, and promises made to the expecting mother at a baby shower are extra sacred. By at least 42 percent. If not more.
I am back from Florida, by the by, though I am sure no one thought that I was still there, shucking this life of mine with all its modicum of grandeur to live as a beach bum amongst the splendor of the old Jewish ladies in West Palm Beach. Chelle and I had a splendid time, with much rambling and singing and sleeping in and general pleasantness of being. Travel buddies we remain. Scott and Sarah continue to fall into the not insubstantial but hardly indiscriminate category of favorite people in the world.
I think that's really all for now. Later I will regale you with tales of my decisions about grad school, life, and the monastic existence, but at present you are victim to my unfettered caprice. And my caprice is sleepy.

Oh. Hugh Laurie won the Golden Globe for House. This pleases me on some level, though I did not bother to actually watch. Amber said his acceptance speech convinced her that he and I were twins separated at birth. I can live with that comparison.

fin.