sarcasticwriter: (Bird)
Thursday afternoon I woke to a sustained, highly-pitched, discordant drone. It sounded a little like the second half of the Lost opening credits theme; an unsettling series of tones with weird peaks and valleys of high and low notes. In my half-waking daze, I couldn't think of what would be making the sound. All I knew was that I suddenly had an inexplicable soundtrack of creepy atonal noise. I briefly wondered if I was going to wake up to find myself on a tropical island, or to find a shadowy figure standing at the end of my bed.

A jolt of apprehension woke me up enough that my skepticism came fully online. When I really started listening, I realized I was hearing the cries of my neighborhood crows - about a dozen live in my apartment building's giant pine tree - but I was also hearing the cries of what sounded like hundreds of crows. It sounded like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir of crows, but in Hell. Curiosity got the better of me and I padded out of my apartment onto the breezeway to look at the crow tree.

There were dozens of crows, maybe even a hundred, diving in and out of the tree, with enough force and frequency to shake its branches, as if the tree itself was trembling. They were making wide circuits over the local parking lot and businesses, lining up on the rooftops for a moment or two, then taking off again to swoop into the tree. None of them were hopping around on the ground, looking for crumbs from the dumpsters; they were all on the wing, and they were all screaming at each other. It was a shitstorm of crows (somewhat literally - my car, which was parked under the tree, was liberally splattered with crow shit).

Other people noticed; people in the bank parking lot were turning their heads to investigate before getting into their cars, and one woman walking through the alley stopped entirely to watch the Crow Tree, dumbfounded. I watched for a little while, then went back into my apartment and tried (unsuccessfully) to get back to sleep. The noise went on for another hour or so, then gradually diminished.

Crow war? Family Reunion? Harbinger of a Seattle fault earthquake?
sarcasticwriter: (Pigwidgeon)
I started out Saturday with the full intention of doing chores, and then did almost none. I drove to the mall and returned an item of clothing, which I suppose was a chore, but not in any way an onerous one and therefor doesn't really count.

Then I hung out a bit with Doug the Best Friend and Co. We chatted a bit, tried to watch a really shitty movie titled Ink, which somehow managed to be frenetic and boring. It is (as far as we could gather 45 minutes into it) a tale about two forces who haunt/guide/guard dreams. A little girl's consciousness is kidnapped (without explanation) by one of the bad guys, and the good guys try to rescue her. There are no protagonists, and no exposition (explicit or in dialogue) laying out the rules of how the mystical forces in this universe work, or even why they exist. The villain's motivation for kidnapping the little girl is unclear, as is the guardians' motivation for trying to rescue her. The little girl's father is an alcoholic stockbroker who loses custody of his daughter when his wife dies, and who callously tells her custodians - the girl's grandparents - that since he didn't win the custody battle, he isn't interested in seeing his mysteriously comatose seven-year-old in the hospital. Um, what? 'The little girl, dragged by the villain into a series of inexplicable dreamscapes, is silently big-eyed and scared. So the humans don't act particularly human and don't have any agency, and we don't understand the nature or motivation of the supernatural characters, either. It's terrifically shitty storytelling.

Worse, the film looks bad. Constant hand-held camera, over- and under-exposed film, deliberately blown out high tones, uncentered focus - some of the visual style was interesting, but by the point we turned the movie off, I was actually starting to experience the physical pain of eyestrain.

I can't take bad media anymore. I just can't tolerate it. I can't enjoy it ironically, and I can't even enjoy it intellectually. I need to be moved by the media I consume, and bad storytelling doesn't move me whatsoever. Well, it moves me into frustration, I guess. But who wants to be frustrated by their media? Just tell the goddamned story, and tell it well. Is that too much to ask?

We did a little more hanging out after the movie, and then I headed home, where several excellent shows were waiting for me on the DVR (as well as piles of laundry). Not exactly the most exciting Saturday night, but better than being at work!
sarcasticwriter: (Molly crying)
After a long pause over a notification email from Livejournal, I decided to renew my paid membership. Yes, even though I haven't substantially updated in months and months. Even though everybody seems to be migrating to Facebook or their own dedicated blogs, and my Friends feed has dropped from fifty-plus post a day to maybe ten.

Is this thing on?

Anyway, I'm fine. I have a host of minor problems that are moderately worrying to me, but, when laid against the backdrop of all human suffering, are astonishingly petty. I guess the worst is ongoing spikes of grief over the loss of the family dog. My trip in September to see my parents was the first where Rocky wasn't there, and although I thought I'd done most of my grieving before getting down there, the physical absence of Rocky from his environment was still a vastly painful blow. My father, who was the most deeply bonded with Rocky, didn't want to talk about the loss at all - he's of the mindset that staying busy is the best way to cope with grief. My mother and I talked about it a little, but after that point I was afraid to say anything when I was feeling sad, lest I remind my mother when she was otherwise happily occupied to also be sad.

The loss of a pet, much like a bad head cold, is one of those odd life experiences that nobody can empathize with, even though we all literally share the common experience. Because after all, it's "just" a dead pet, or it's "just" a head cold. It's something that's common, and inevitable, and universal. At least, until you're the one doing the suffering, and then the experience expands in scope sig-nif-icantly.

I bring this up because I woke today to a disturbing nightmare about Rocky - I won't go into it now, since I'm already in silent tears and I don't want to freak out the guests - and because today there's another dog named "Rocky" staying in the hotel, and the knowledge of that sent me backsliding into a degree of grief that I thought I'd moved through. Last week I was dogsitting Mints, a guest's dog, and when she started to whine for my attention to play fetch, I thoughtlessly, reflexively commanded, "Quiet, Rock," and then squirmed in the confines of my grief when I realized what I'd done.

God damn, that hurts.

Also, tell me if this is a thing. I woke up from my nightmare crying (maybe for the first time in my life?), and something about how I was laying on the pillow led a significant portion of my tears to run down my face and into my right nostril. Before I even sat up, I reflexively sniffed the fluid into my nose, and my right nostril has been itchy and slightly congested-feeling ever since.

I mean, what is that? Are tears an irritant to the mucus membrane in the nose? Is that even possible? I used a make-up remover cloth earlier in the day, and I rinsed my face afterward, but did I somehow suck up some residual chemicals into my nose? What the fuck?

It's not a full-on cold, but between the itchiness and the irritation or dryness or whatever it is, it's distracting and uncomfortable. And again, nothing that anybody can sympathize with, because it's no big deal, unless it's your big deal. And it's my big deal.

Future posts of suck to include: Netflix, the new uniform policy at work, the weird noise in my brand new car, the new iPod nano, my parents, my stock portfolio, two of my favorite coworkers leaving their jobs, texting in movie theaters, bad music, and...I dunno. Other stuff, too.
sarcasticwriter: (Default)
Hmm.

I don't know what to write about.

I mean, I've looked back over previous posts, and I know what I used to write about (whatever was going on in life), but it's hard to generate a daily writing plan these days. Many of my LJ Friends have drifted away; most notably to Facebook or their own stand-alone blogs. I'm not sure if I should keep generating content (if you can call it that) here on LJ. But if not here, where? None of the new social media websites lend themselves to deep thoughts. Or long, shallow thoughts.

And my god, is it easy to not write. Even though I'm fussy, Netflix's streaming catalog is big enough that I can always find a way to be entertained while I'm at work. Even though, having rated 2500+ movies and TV shows, Netflix is deeply confused about what I want to watch.

So...stuff?
sarcasticwriter: (Mad Simpsons)
So there's this commercial...

(Yes, I haven't updated in a while.)

...currently in heavy rotation, featuring a haplessly nebbish hipster-looking guying bringing a baby into a bedroom and setting him down on the bed to change the diaper. He peels the front part of the diaper back, and a powerful stream of liquid jets from the baby's groin to spray the ceiling. The man quickly replaces the diaper, which stops the stream. He and the baby exchange a look. The man pulls the diaper open again, and the fire-hose geyser erupts again. Cut to close-up shots of the stream knocking over a picture on the bedside table and soaking the white pillows. The man pulls the baby's diaper shut again, tapes it back in place, and lifts the baby up to check for leaks. There are none. Wow, diapers are great!

So that's strange, but what's even stranger is that the baby's stream is light blue. Think, Luke's-glass-of-blue-milk-on-the-farm-on-Tatooine-blue. In the long shots, the stream looks whiteish (as frothy, fast-moving water does), but when the stream hits the white pillow, it is blatantly and irrevocably blue when viewed on an HDTV screen. I should know, I ran the DVR back three times to be sure. It's less blue on the YouTube clips, but still definitely blue.

And that leads me to wonder...why blue? Of course, commercial demonstrations of absorbancy have always coyly used blue fluid (as if we don't know what color bodily fluids diapers or sanitary napkins are designed to absorb), but why, when the bodily fluid is coming straight from the source, is it still blue?

I mean, the point of the commercial is to be edgy and subversive, right? It's an advertisement that clearly and unambiguously features somebody urinating - right there, on screen! - albeit at comic proportions. But somehow, when it's time for a close-up of the urine actually hitting something, we have to pretend it's not really urine by making it a traditional, sterile, scientific blue? Why is urinating less acceptable than urine?

So now, instead of thinking about how great the product is (who makes it again?), I am obsessed with the conversation that went around the advertising agency's conference room table. How many seven-figure salaried grown adult people did it take to come to the conclusion that it's okay to show a baby's urine stream hitting a 12 foot ceiling, but it's not okay to show that urine as urine-colored?

sarcasticwriter: (Pierce Car)

I left the house a bus rider...

...and... )

Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

sarcasticwriter: (KittenKill)

Wow.  I asked for a few competing auto insurance quotes, and now I'm being stalked like a 20-point buck on the first day of hunting season. One who gives wishes, and blowjobs.

Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

sarcasticwriter: (Christinastan)
For my fellow small-o and big-O -ist friends:



...

My thoughts exactly...

Sucked In

May. 7th, 2011 09:28 pm
sarcasticwriter: (Fierce)

Goddamn it.  I got sucked into the last four-fifths of G.I. Jane AGAIN! I was going to do stuff tonight, stuff that didn't include watching this movie for the sixteenth time in my life!

Stupid competently made feminist wish fulfillment fantasy!

Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

Farty Pants

May. 4th, 2011 06:29 pm
sarcasticwriter: (La Resistance)

It makes me kind of sad that now we'll never know if the real guy saw "Osama bin Laden Has Farty Pants."

Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

sarcasticwriter: (America Fuck Yeah)


Is Osama bin Laden's death really so astonishing that we have to preempt Extreme Home Makeover and 60 Minutes?  Hadn't we all assumed the guy was dead for years now?  We haven't seen any of his home movies in years, so he was either too sick to do shit, or he was dead.  Either way, the guy hasn't been relevant for years.  Right?

Seriously, this is not news that should preempt the puff piece profile of a racehorse, CBS. 

That said...

Fuck Yeah!!!






Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

sarcasticwriter: (Spirit Ice)

Stuck on Joy of Painting on PBS. Why was this Bob Ross guy so obsessed with wintery tree scenes? I've stopped on the show six times in my entire life and it's always with the trees! This is one goddamn ugly painting of a forest where you're going to die at the hands of a cannibalist lumberjack. I have a feeling this forest is going to feature in my nightmares today.

Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.





sarcasticwriter: (Reproachful Baboon)

Just installed the Android LJ app and am testing it out on my new phone. Maybe I'll post more often when I don't have to drag out my computer every time to update.

The other thing I have to get use to now is the voice-to-text function, which is faster than typing but doesn't feel like writing per se. And there's no automatic capitalization or punctuation, which is unfortunate.

While I'm at it I guess I'll post a picture for my trip to the San Diego Zoo last week, since this app can do that. I guess. Here's a picture of a snow leopard.

EDIT: Holy crap, this picture is big. I'm cutting it.

saving the flist )



Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

sarcasticwriter: (Jane Grey Execution)
I watched the wedding live, streaming via the British Royal Family's official Youtube channel.

Don't look at me like that. I was already up, because I was at work, and I couldn't find anything on Netflix streaming that I wanted to see more.

Anyway, the visual coverage was top rate, but there was no commentary to liven up the dull parts in between the action. I actually tried a couple of other sites - CNN, and E!, but while everybody was streaming their footage, nobody was laying over the usual commentary. I find that really odd, but maybe commentary is a luxury provided exclusively to the television audience?

Kate Middleton's dress was lovely and perfect; formal and modern, and appropriate for a cathedral, which is an exceedingly rare combination. I thought the ceremony was surprisingly short and sweet. It looked like Prince Harry had a brief fit of the church giggles as Kate approached the alter for the first time, but he mastered it before it became embarrassing.

I have hopes that these two will be happy together. It's nice to see the royal family loosening up some classical traditions - the bride is a commoner and is not a virgin, and she did not vow to obey her husband. The public seem to like her and William well enough, and for all the wedding frenzy, I don't think Kate has the kind of otherworldly charisma that killed Diana. And maybe our news cycle is so accelerated that even the Royal Family won't be able to perpetually hold its attention. I hope.

(I have just realized that I have no wedding-themed user icons. I guess the Execution of Lady Jane Grey will have to do as it is at least British royalty-themed.)
sarcasticwriter: (Alcatraz me)
So Passive Aggressive Notes just pointed me at one of those sites that is so astonishingly awesome you want to build a robot just so you can hug the internet:

For your viewing pleasure, a live feed from the Abbey Road crosswalk.

Crosswalks in and of themselves aren't interesting, of course, but when you have tourists stopping traffic to recreate the iconic Beetles album cover, it becomes mesmerizing.

I first clicked on the link at 1:05 AM PST, which, of course, is 9:05 AM GMT. People were taking pictures between breaks in traffic. They were actually lined up on the sidewalk to take pictures.

Then I took a phone call, and when I looked back at the feed, more people were taking pictures. Two guys actually waved at the feed camera.

For about a minute, nobody was taking pictures, but then a couple in full formal wedding attire - he in a tuxedo, she in a voluminous white ballgown with train and trailing veil - walked into the crosswalk to take a picture. This was happening live, mind you. My brain almost exploded with awesomeness, and I don't even give a shit about the Beetles!

Bravo, internet, bravo!
sarcasticwriter: (La Resistance)
All right, well.

I can't believe how horribly undisciplined I am. I mean, even though every single year I make my one-post-a-day declaration and every single year I break it, and every single year I write posts like this bemoaning my lack of resolve, I still am perpetually surprised and disgusted with myself.

The problem is, when I'm sick, not only am I physically drained of energy, but I'm drained of mental energy, too. I have just barely enough endurance to get through work and get home. I don't want to do anything as strenuous as ordering thoughts.

Yeesh.

Anyway, the cough continues. As far as general well-being goes, I feel about 95% healthy most of the time. But then the cough - now a dry one, rather than productive - claws its way up through my chest and out my mouth maybe four or five times an hour. More if I'm breathing at an unusual pace (because I'm in conversation, etc.). I think the post-nasal drip is done, too. I hope it is.

I'm looking forward to seeing my friends again, too, since I've been in a self-imposed quarantine since the start of the month. If my cough is supremely annoying to me, I can't even imagine how irritating it would be for somebody who had to listen to me, but now I think the frequency is tolerable enough that I can inflict myself on others. Yay!
sarcasticwriter: (PTSD Jesus)
I'm skipping almost a week's worth of posts because I am absolutely, completely, miserably sick.

Again.

In mid-February I came down with a viral infection - not a common cold, no runny nose - the primary symptoms of which were violent coughing and a fever that bounced around between 102 and 104 degrees and lingered for five days. The folks at urgent care said it was something that was going around, and that the cough was going to last for many weeks.

As of earlier this week, I was almost - almost - fully recovered in that I was coughing only a wee little bit, but only when I had to do something else breath-related, like speaking quickly.

But then Thursday night at work I started feeling much worse, Friday I was feverish again, and Saturday I was weak, shaky, and coughing so violently I was surprised my organs weren't exploding out of my abdomen.

And Sunday I'm at work, desperately trying to check guests in and answer the phone without violently, convulsively coughing everywhere. My cough isn't a polite little throat-clearing, but rather an aggressive, bombastic roar of misery. Sometimes I can't get through a brief sentence without coughing, and between the coughing and trying not to cough, I'm perpetually short of breath. Oh my god, it's awful. I feel so bad I actually granted permission when my mom asked if she could pray for me.

When is it going to end?
sarcasticwriter: (Bridge)
I got up Monday morning, got ready, carefully packed my stuff, and then checked out of the hotel, after arranging to have a hotel towncar pick me up at [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l's home and take me to the train station.

[livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l and her husband have a beautiful home in a fantastically cute neighborhood. Their dog, Toby, is a cool little guy who looked somewhat confused by the forest of legs but seemed to take everybody in stride. I got to sample a bite of Voodoo Doughnuts after all (I think it was their "Tang" doughnut), but most of the catering was provided by [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l's bakery. I sampled a cherry...tart? Danish? Hand-pie?...that made my eyes roll into the back of my head, so perfect was the proportion of flaky crust to juicy (but not gummy) fruit.

My train was leaving fairly early, so I only got a chance to give [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l my gift (which I'd forgot to bring to the wedding itself - d'oh!) and briefly say hello again to everybody. I got a chance to hear a little bit about the behind-the-scenes of the wedding photo shoot (some preview pictures looked fantastic!), and to marvel at [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l's endurance over the course of her wedding weekend (to be followed by a European honeymoon!). But it seemed like enough went according to plan that she and her groom didn't have a particularly stressful time, and was able to enjoy themselves.

All to early, I had to catch my train. The ride back to Seattle wasn't quite as fabulous as the ride from, owing to my being late to the station and receiving a seat in the back of the car, next to the toilets. There was a pneumatic sliding door between the car and the bathrooms, but when inconsiderate assholes other passengers didn't close the door, it could bang around rather noisily and emit a faint chemical odor. Not horribly unpleasant, just not ideal.

Eventually I got home, and melted into a sleepy puddle in front of my TV, congratulating myself for the decision to take the night off, even though I could have probably forced myself to go in.
sarcasticwriter: (Me in a Hat)
Sunday morning I kind of slept in - screwing with my nocturnal schedule has its consequences - but in the late morning I was up and ready to visit Powell's Books - the largest bookstore in the world, and Voodoo Doughnut - arguably the most famous eatery in Portland. Or, the most famous to me, anyway, since it's invariably featured in any Food Channel special about Portland, or doughnuts.

I got dressed, carefully plotted out the addresses, and boldly headed out to explore the city in my quest for friend dough.

And within four blocks, I was limping, whimpering softly to myself with each step.

It was weird - when I got up my feet felt completely fine - unusually good, actually, considering how much walking and standing I'd done the day before. I attributed that to the gel inserts I'd put into my aged Doc Martens, but maybe they did more harm than good, because within a couple of minutes of walking, the arch of my left foot started to ache. Another minute later, it started to hurt. A minute past that, the pain was all-encompassing, and I was hobbling along, completely uninterested in books or world-famous doughnuts. I turned back for the hotel, had some over-priced spaghetti in the hotel restaurant, then went upstairs to rest my foot.

As soon as I stopped walking, it felt fine. Even standing felt fine. But walking around was out of the question. I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon reading in my room.

But then, in the late afternoon, it was wedding guest time!

Actually, here I hesitate to go into a lot of details, because [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l has Flocked her post, and I overheard her say during the pub crawl that she wasn't completely thrilled with putting all the details up on the open internet. But here are the general highlights:

The ceremony was completely awesome; secular, humanist, and maintaining a sense of tradition, but free of any dated cliches. [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l and her husband exchanged beautiful original vows that were funny, touching, and wonderfully personal. I loved that [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l was walked down the aisle by her father but not "given away," and I teared up a little when the groom teared up a little. Oh, and [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l looked like a modern-day princess in the elegant dress she designed herself.

The reception was equally awesome, starting with a nice little cocktail hour while the photographer worked with the wedding party. I had a delicious lemon drop from the bar, and sampled some of the delicious hors d'oeuvres that the waiters were circulating - and now that I think about it, that might have been the first time I've done that. There was no seating plan, which was a great idea as people settled in with their friends (although I was now excessively glad that I'd taken the extra day to attend the pub crawl). I ended up sitting with some of [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l's extended family, which included teenage twin girls so shy they flatly refused to make eye-contact or talk to anybody - [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l included, when she came over to visit the table. I briefly considered gently sympathizing with their discomfort, and trying to engage them in conversation anyway, but decided not to force the issue.

The toasts were awesome, [livejournal.com profile] stochasticgirl's Maid of Honor speech was especially touching. Dinner was great - although I'd expected no less with [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l's taste and standards - and the beautifully decorated wedding cake was delicious, too. And I don't even like cake!

I did remember to bring my camera, but so many other people were taking flash pictures that at times it looked like the bride and groom were walking a red carpet event. I didn't want to add to the horde of photographers, lest all the flashes blind the bridal couple and/or take them out of living in the moment. I don't blame all the proud friends and family for wanting to take pictures, of course, but it didn't feel right to add to the photographing frenzy, and especially not while a professional photographer was trying to work, too.

As fun as the night was, I didn't go on to the after-party; even though I only had three or four "units" of alcohol over five hours, I still was feeling kinda hung-over by the end of the night. Instead, I headed back to the hotel, where I discovered as soon I walked in that all of my make-up brushes had fallen off the very narrow vanity shelf onto the floor behind the toilet.

I said a couple of very bad words.

Since I know too much about hotel housekeeping, I spent the next hour carefully shampooing, rinsing, re-rinsing, and drying my brushes. I consoled myself that it was something I needed to do anyway; I often use a disinfecting spray on my brushes, but hadn't given them a full immersion rinsing. I'll try to do that more often, though, because a shocking amount of color came out of my eye-shadow and powder brushes.

Last but not least, I promised my mom (and you guys) some pictures of my dress, which I took at the end of the night with the timer on my camera. The weird lighting can be attributed to an off-screen full-length mirror on the left side of the frame, which bounced the flash a bit. The colors in my skirt got a bit washed-out in the photo. In reality, they are a bright pink-coral and teal. Click to embiggen, if you so desire.


(I learned the "cupcake pose" from Toddlers and Tiaras.)



(My shrug that I ended up wearing most of the night, because it was a bit chilly in the ballroom.)

Unfortunately, I forgot to pose with the handbag I inherited which just happened to match the dress astonishingly well. I did some more swearing once I took the dress off and realized I hadn't included it.

And then - I went to bed!
sarcasticwriter: (Me in a Hat)
So after receiving shitty directions from the hotel staff, then getting myself correctly oriented via a streetcar map, I found the "food carts" where [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l's pub crawl was meeting. I loathe being lost, so I was somewhat out of sorts when I showed up, and had a hard time settling down enough to pick something and then eat it (at random, I ordered a lamb gyro, and mindlessly ate half of it. I think it was good...).

I'm not exactly shy, but I'm not great in large-group social situations, and I'm not at my conversational best with new people. I get panicky at awkward silences, and I do this moronic thing where I'm so focused on getting my handshake right, I forget to, you know, memorize the name of the person to whom I'm being introduced. I tend to be nervous and ill at ease with new people, at least until we reach a conversational accord on some subject we're both familiar with. Then it's smooth sailing.

That's how I usually am, but I decided that, for the purposes of [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l's mixer pub crawl, I was going act outgoing and confident, even if I was inwardly slightly freaked out.

And...it worked! According to [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l's count, there was a fluctuating group of close to 50 people, and I met many of them - just by sliding into their conversational space (when I wasn't interrupting) and proactively introducing myself. After that, the usual questions (how we know the bridal couple, where we're from, what we do) started most conversations on their way without any awkwardness. And I also made an effort to really listen to what the other person was saying, rather than constantly analyzing myself to see if I was coming across as likable or not. Plus, people tend to enjoy talking about themselves, and a shy or introverted person's best conversational strategy is to ask more questions than they answer.

And a little bit of alcohol doesn't hurt.

We hit some of the more famous and favored microbreweries of Portland - Deschutes, Rogue, Bridgeport, and Lucky Labrador - and much of the group went on to a final location, but I was fairly tired and pre-hung over after four stops. The pubs we visited were universally awesome, housed in old warehouses that lent their bars and dining rooms an open, airy, bright atmosphere. These were "beer halls," not bars, and that's a fantastic distinction for anybody who feels claustrophobic in low-celinged, tightly-spaced bars.

It's too bad I don't like beer, though. I gave a heroic try at each of the pubs - I probably sampled ten different beers over the crawl - but I didn't really enjoy any of them. I can drink a beer, if I have to, to be polite, but it's not my go-to. My pub drink of choice is hard cider, and it's too bad American pubs don't universally keep it on tap the way British pubs do. That would be heaven!

I met a bunch of great people, including fellow LJers [livejournal.com profile] stochasticgirl, [livejournal.com profile] trendywendy, and [livejournal.com profile] shannon_f_r (hi new Friends!), and a bunch of the couple's family members and non-LJing friends. At one point, I heard several oblique and ominous-sounding references to "The Center," which when I finally asked about was revealed to be an Objectivist...center...that several people had worked for. Many people in the couple's social circle met through various Objectivist social functions, though it was exceedingly rare for anybody to openly say so without first taking the philosophical temperature of the room. It wasn't exactly funny, but I took a kind of bitter, ironic amusement out of the observation that so many Objectivists are virtually closeted when amongst strangers, myself included.

No pictures, alas, because I left my camera at the hotel. But it was a great, great day, and I'm so grateful to [livejournal.com profile] theinimitable_l and her new husband for planning the outing as a low-pressure way for people to get to know each other before the reception. Walking into a reception without knowing anybody but the bride and groom would have been very intimidating, but the pub crawl was a great opportunity to meet everybody in a natural setting. A fantastic idea.

After the fourth pub I was getting a little headachey (an inevitable consequence of drinking any amount of alcohol, with food and water or no), so I headed back to officially check in to hotel in the early evening. I ventured out briefly for a surprisingly awesome slice of pizza in a little place that I'd noticed a few blocks away from the hotel, then I went to bed early.
Page generated Jul. 24th, 2017 12:44 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios