rinue: (Manetmini)
[personal profile] rinue
Friday:

The boar's head fest, a biannual renfair-ish dinner and signing of songs in the 1860s medieval-revival church to celebrate the Epiphany. Mom costumed fully a third of attendees, and was approached by another third about commissioning costumes for next time. I wore a very heavy white velvet dress with several feet of train, and a very tall veiled two-pointed hat.

Despite this, REL, Ciro, and I snuck into the basement to investigate the secret passage hidden behind the boiler; you have to squeeze through a tangle of pipes, and then there's a rock staircase hewn into the wall that leads up to a door, which leads to a long dark hall with fans. That's as far as we went this time, due to costumes and lack of flashlights.

Saturday:

I have a head cold again, or I suppose a chest cold, since I am coughing up teaspoons of yellow phlegm.

We hung out with REL's friend Joe and saw True Grit. Given the cold and the fact that I hadn't managed to sleep for a couple of nights, I wasn't able to have thoughts or feelings about anything, and was restricted to admiring the film's accomplishments on a technical level (including dispassionate appraisals of performances and writing). I'll have to watch it again when I'm more cognizant, since I couldn't tell whether I had any emotional connection to the film. In the meantime, I'm willing to give the Coens the benefit of the doubt. They've earned it. As always, a pleasure to revisit the photographic eye of Roger Deakins

Beautiful midlength gray cashmere gloves from Val arrived.

I picked up some overtime on CSPAN, which means I was on deck for coverage the Rep. Giffords shooting. My mom's name is Gabby.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-01-10 02:03 pm (UTC)
oddment: Fairy lights in a wintry bare-limbed tree. (Default)
From: [personal profile] oddment
I didn't hear about that til late in the evening, and thought of you and whether you'd be captioning, and whether you'd be okay. It seemed like a more unfounded worry at the time.

I have such a terrible skills-admiring-based crush on Roger Deakins, which I now feel completely justified in because you have mentioned him. I mean I admire his work.

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