time, time, time
Nov. 24th, 2005 08:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jazzfishJust finished reading Robert Penn Warren's absolutely brilliant All the King's Men, an American political novel based loosely on the life of Louisiana graftsman and governor Huey Long. Huey's become mildly fascinating to me in the last couple of weeks; I suspect I need to track down the 1970 biography. Anyway, yesterday or today it occurred to me that Pop Shackelford grew up in Louisiana, and would have been nineteen when Huey was shot. One more thing I can't ask about.
Ten-year high school reunion on Satyrday night. I went and looked over the list of people likely to show up (the ones who've written with brief bios of what they've been doing for the last ten years), and it suddenly hit me that I just don't care about (we'll be generous and say) 80% of my classmates. I'm unsure why I spent actual money for the privilege of standing around with them. Maybe I should go to the winter guard reunion lunch after all.
The Taylor family Thanksgiving movie this year ended up being Goblet of Fire. It was all right. About five minutes in I realised I was disliking it simply because the story wasn't self-contained; it took me another three hours to generalise that into "I dislike most stories that aren't self-contained." This just comes out most clearly in movies, where you can be utterly immersed in the world and trips to the Department of Backstory[1] stick out as the devices they clearly are. (Film for the most part hasn't gotten beyond voice-overs and "As you know, Bob.") The techniques tend to be smoother in books, somehow, or maybe I'm just more used to and accepting of them. Food for thought.
[1] Thanks to the wondrous![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cleolinda for that phrase.
Mom finally got in from Arkansas yesterday; Dad and a trailerload of stuff arrived, oh, about a week ago. Maybe two. The house is filled with boxes of stuff; the garage, packed full of unfamiliar furniture. Disconcerting.
Handed in my two-week notice at Walden's a week ago. Manager churn coupled with typical useless holiday help resulted in the store being an utter wreck, and I have no desire to be told to put it right for my measly pay. Measliness of said pay having been driven home on the discovery that said useless holiday help makes roughly 15% more than I do. This I don't need.
Thankful? I'm thankful I'm able to write. I'm thankful I've got good friends, and family. I'm thankful I'm not outside. I'm thankful I'm not who I was ten years ago.
Ten-year high school reunion on Satyrday night. I went and looked over the list of people likely to show up (the ones who've written with brief bios of what they've been doing for the last ten years), and it suddenly hit me that I just don't care about (we'll be generous and say) 80% of my classmates. I'm unsure why I spent actual money for the privilege of standing around with them. Maybe I should go to the winter guard reunion lunch after all.
The Taylor family Thanksgiving movie this year ended up being Goblet of Fire. It was all right. About five minutes in I realised I was disliking it simply because the story wasn't self-contained; it took me another three hours to generalise that into "I dislike most stories that aren't self-contained." This just comes out most clearly in movies, where you can be utterly immersed in the world and trips to the Department of Backstory[1] stick out as the devices they clearly are. (Film for the most part hasn't gotten beyond voice-overs and "As you know, Bob.") The techniques tend to be smoother in books, somehow, or maybe I'm just more used to and accepting of them. Food for thought.
[1] Thanks to the wondrous
cleolinda for that phrase.Mom finally got in from Arkansas yesterday; Dad and a trailerload of stuff arrived, oh, about a week ago. Maybe two. The house is filled with boxes of stuff; the garage, packed full of unfamiliar furniture. Disconcerting.
Handed in my two-week notice at Walden's a week ago. Manager churn coupled with typical useless holiday help resulted in the store being an utter wreck, and I have no desire to be told to put it right for my measly pay. Measliness of said pay having been driven home on the discovery that said useless holiday help makes roughly 15% more than I do. This I don't need.
Thankful? I'm thankful I'm able to write. I'm thankful I've got good friends, and family. I'm thankful I'm not outside. I'm thankful I'm not who I was ten years ago.