dual personalities

I hope everyone is enjoying a day off today! A long weekend makes Saturday and Sunday feel that much more luxurious, and we have made the most of it. We actually both took off Friday, too, because we threw a baby shower for friends on Saturday and needed to prepare.

DN has very valiantly stepped up in the entertaining realm, lately — I still have the impulse to volunteer us for parties, but am lacking in energy for follow through! I’m very glad he took over nearly all of the dishes, helped run all the errands, and finished all of his projects around the house. (In the midst of party prep, he also put together another Billy bookcase and anchored it to the wall.) Like almost everything these days, I couldn’t have done this without him!

A lunch-y spread

Another DN-original punch

3-layer confetti cake from scratch is a labor of love, but worth it for a real treat (and show-off moment)

We certainly collapsed afterwards, but it was a fun party. I did promise DN that we wouldn’t throw another one for at least a year… so here’s to some peace and quiet! After all that activity, we did indulge ourselves by lounging and reading until nearly noon the next day.

However, not wanting to squander a Sunday afternoon that isn’t hampered by end-of-the-weekend errands, we took an adventure into DC to visit The Phillips Collection, which had an exhibit that was right up my alley: “Bonnard to Vuillard: The Intimate Poetry of Everyday Life.” Now, it isn’t every weekend that I have two things to write about, so I’m saving a discussion of the exhibit for Thursday.

Since we were already in the city, we went out for dinner nearby and made a real date night of it.

You can get in to the hottest restaurants in town if you show up at 5 p.m.!

Now I’m home, in pajama pants, looking forward to sleeping in again Monday morning. What could be better?

My semester started this week — and what a week it was. I drove through a nasty snowstorm to the first day of classes, which also happened to be the day the DH was to travel to Denver for a conference. Immediately following my first class, I hopped in the car (i.e. trudged through the snow, cleaned it off and waited while the windshield defrosted), drove home to pick him up, charged off to the airport where I dropped him off, and then rushed back to campus for a meeting. All told, it was about an hour’s snowy, sleety drive. I made it, but alas the DH did not. His plane arrived from Chicago with some hydraulic problem, so the passengers sat in the tiny airport lounge for…

…well over five hours. If my waiting husband thought, “We’d have more luck playing pick-up sticks with our butt-cheeks than we will getting a flight out of here before daybreak,”* he wasn’t far off. The plane was delayed so long that the TSA officials finished their shift, and because the flight was the last of the day, they locked everyone in the lounge and left. Ever thoughtful, the airport people provided bottled water and bagged snacks for the waiting passengers. I could not rescue the poor man, who I imagine endured stoically:

Dancing a jig — such a healthy way to celebrate a flight delay!

In the end they had to wait for another plane to arrive from Chicago so they could turn it around and fly back. When finally everyone got on board and taxied to the runway, the passengers were informed of another delay at the Chicago end and sat in a dark, cold plane, on the dark, snowy runway for another half hour (In order to conserve fuel, they turned the engines off). Altogether he waited more than six hours. Once he arrived in Chicago it was too late to go on to Denver, but at least they put him up in a hotel. The next leg of the trip, although unpleasant and frustrating, eventually got him to his destination.

Modern travel — what a marvel.

He’s supposed to come back tomorrow, by which time we hope the next winter storm will be over (We’re expecting 4-7 more inches of show tonight and tomorrow). Keep my long-suffering traveler in your prayers!

In the meantime, I’ve been reading Jim Mattis’s Call Sign Chaos.  Refreshingly, the book focusses on giving great leadership advice rather than divulging personal information or sharing his opinions about prominent figures.

I admire Mattis, who has strong ideas about honor and upholding the constitution. I especially love his views on the importance of reading:

I am skipping around in Joan Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem, which my sister gave me for Christmas. I never lived in New York City, but I think the essay I quoted above also reflects a process of growing up that we can all relate to. And I would suppose that my sister does especially get what Didion is talking about, since she said her own “Goodbye to All That” when she moved to mid-MO a couple of years ago.

Even though I didn’t have a “New York” phase, I was struck by how Didion characterizes one’s twenties — the sheer optimism, the lack of concern for resources and the feeling that money would come from somewhere, the belief that there would always be new faces at every party. It reminded me of a comment an acquaintance made to me once: that it was so romantic DN and I fell in love when we were poor. Although obviously in bad taste, the comment wasn’t entirely incorrect — we do have fond memories of the early days when my apartment was primarily furnished by IKEA and we mostly entertained ourselves by going on walks for free, a la Didion’s New York days. But we did move on, too.

On Monday I posted about getting the guest bedroom set up in our apartment. Well, many of you know that what we are really doing is setting up a nursery (!), albeit with a guest bed for visitors.

Now we can all admit why my blog posts primarily focused on resting and lounging for about 3 straight months. We are going to have a baby at the end of May, and I have been very immersed in this “beginning of things.” I suppose there’s an inherent end, too, as Didion suggests. People keep telling us to enjoy sleeping while we can, to take one last vacation alone, etc. I suppose the message is, “life as you know it is ending.” But for now, I just feel very, very excited.

Will it be a little me or a little DN?

On Monday, I had to drive to Springfield to meet my boss so that he could do about 3 1/2 minutes of television and then I drove back to Jefferson City. I like to minimize my time in Springfield, but it was still a lot of driving for a tiny bit of purpose.

The thing about driving anywhere from Jefferson City is that nothing is convenient to or from the capital city. Thus, the drive to Springfield is a drive that is on a minimum of three minor highways. And a substantial part on roads with intermittent passing lanes.

Well mid-day Monday driving is not unpleasant, even if it is exhausting. And, at the very least, one can find some good radio stations. I love to find random country stations that play old-timey music. Now, I will say that I currently live in a town with a station that plays the “best mix of the 70s, 80s, and today.” Of course, the “today” spans 30 years, I guess. Whatever, it’s a great station.

I heard some old Dolly, some old Waylon, Hank Williams, and oddly, a lot of Keith Urban whilst scanning the various radio stations between Jefferson City, the Lake of the Ozarks, and Springfield. Midland (featured in the photo I took so I’d remember the song) is a current band, with an old-timey sound. And I like them. And I liked this song.

I was exhausted when I got back to work (and the multiple meetings etc that awaited me), but I was also grateful for the approximately six hours alone in the car with nothing but the radio. Thankfully, I wasn’t in a hurry and the music was fine.

We had a productive weekend, which was made more fun by the fact that it was sunny and in the 60s. We even opened the windows and could air out the apartment in all its winter stuffiness. What a treat!

One big accomplishment: DN’s parents brought over a twin bed frame and mattress and accoutrement that they had very generously gifted us for Christmas. I picked out the bed frame at our favorite antique store in Baltimore, Ryan’s Relics. It never ceases to amaze me how something old is really much nicer than something new — and a fraction of the cost!

When they arrived and we put everything together, we did have a small snafu when we realized it had not come with slats. However, DN’s dad is a whiz in his workshop — he went to the hardware store and cut some to size in time to bring them to his own birthday dinner later that night! I am very grateful to have a handy FIL.

This mattress came all rolled up in a box, if you’d believe it. It’s quite comfortable because it has coils and foam (a “hybrid” model, I take it). Well, we are excited to really get this guest bedroom set up. Rearranging the furniture is forcing us to address some boxes of odds and ends that have been hiding in the room since we moved in August. We will also have to tinker with what’s hanging on the walls (and hopefully hang some more things — we have a huge pile of framed items waiting for a home). Far from finished, it feels great to at least get started!

*single occupancy only 😉

Recently, my DH showed me a web site that offers ‘generative media’, otherwise known as AI invented human faces that “can be used for any purpose without worrying about copyrights, distribution rights, infringement claims, or royalties.” The web site owners claim they are “democratizing creative photography and video.” Uh huh, sure. Here are some examples of their product.

Retrieved from https://seths.blog/2020/01/the-end-of-someone/ (a blog about the phenomenon)

None of the people in the photo above are real; an algorithm designed those faces. The implications are enormous and deeply disturbing. Sure, such things will mostly be used for tricking us into buying merchandise we don’t want. It’s the “any purpose” use that bothers me. Fake news abounds already; we don’t need ways to make it easier to create. Not so long ago we could believe “Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away” (P.K. Dick). Not anymore.

The world is getting way too strange for me and I long to run away to some safe haven of sanity. Alas, I live in the crazy state of New York, where clearly we’re headed for “the biggest interdimensional cross rip since the Tunguska blast of 1909!”* I just have to accept that and deal with it. I stay home a lot and try to laugh. Over Christmas, we enjoyed much merriment. Despite the dearth of picture taking, I did get one photo of the best socks ever. Meet the Birkenstock sock or “Birkensocks” that I gave to my middle son (the pajama pants, a gift from his intended, are pretty great, too).

The socks even have real-looking soles! In a world where AI can generate fake humans, we have to expect socks that mimic sandals, right? Zut alors, but what next?

We’re supposed to get an ice storm this weekend and our Minister is already talking about canceling church. Whatever happens, I plan to stay home and enjoy my own little corner of normality, whether or not it’s an illusion!

*Ghostbusters (1984)

In the past few weeks, DN and I have watched a couple of new-ish comedy movies that have been pretty-OK. Given my lackluster feelings toward most newer films, pretty-OK feels like a win!

The first, The Spy Who Dumped Me, might have been graded on the curve of vacation-viewing. We watched it from an Airbnb bed while on our road trip in Nashville. In other words, we were very relaxed and expectations were low. In whatever context, though, it hit a few key notes: first and foremost, spy movies (particularly spy comedies) seem to be a genre that pleases many viewers in our family.

Mila Kunis and Kate McKinnon together do not add up to the appeal of Melissa McCarthy (who could?), but they are, overall, quite likeable. Mila Kunis finds out that a boyfriend who has recently ghosted her was actually a spy, and he gives her an assignment just before being assassinated. (To give away the first twenty minutes or so.) Novice-spy hijinks ensue. The plot stops making sense around the third or fourth twist, but if you don’t think too hard, it doesn’t really matter, right? Some of the gags are actually funny. I will note: the frequency of f-bombs would probably offend my mother.

We also recently watched Long Shot after I read a review claiming it was the most underrated romantic comedy of 2019. I would make a similar assessment to the above paragraph: the main characters (played by Seth Rogan and Charlize Theron) are likeable. Seth Rogan lands a spot as a speech-writer for Charlize Theron, the Secretary of State, after running into her at a party and realizing they were childhood neighbors. (To give away the first twenty minutes or so.) Political hijinks ensue. The plot stops making sense around the third or fourth twist… you see what I’m saying.

Long Shot loses points along the way because of its politics, I’d say — with very, very thinly veiled representations of current affairs (a former-TV-star president; a female Secretary of State and president-hopeful), it lost me when it tried to swing from blatantly liberal vibes to a “but everyone is OK” tone. It attempts to challenge some political stereotypes, but only at the expense of doubling down on other stereotypes. The pivot is strange and make you wish they’d just stick to making fun of Republicans (or whatever).

I think part of the mistake of the “pivot” is that it takes place at all. It marks the point at which we began to wonder when this movie would end. At least 30 minutes too long, it sort-of-ends about three times. Such a common problem! I can’t help but agree with this writer who declares that all movies (particularly bad movies) should be 97 minutes long. As I think I’ve suggested, there is a time and place (vacation Airbnbs) for B-grade comedies. But that B-grade comedy shouldn’t go past 100 minutes.

Before the holidays, we considered seeing Knives Out in theaters, because several friends had strongly recommended it. We never found the time, and I do wonder now if it would skew more B-grade or C-grade in terms of some of the appeals (and turn-offs) I’ve mentioned here.

Well, I just checked: the run time of Knives Out is 130 minutes. Sounds like 30 minutes too long to me.