17 Nov 2007

get smart

17 Nov 2007 03:52 pm
cimorene: Couselor Deanna Troi in a listening pose as she gazes into the camera (tell me more)
Get Smart poster premiere:

 








I'm pissed off about the hair. That's not 99! Where's the sexy bob, and what caused them to edit it out? Stop remaking my childhood in upsetting ways! (One side-effect of that little quest for original pictures is that I now know it's out on a lot of shiny DVDs. Oooooh.)
cimorene: cartoony drawing of a woman's head in profile giving dubious side-eye (princess)
I bought my first bag of clementines of the season - the bin was almost empty, and the contents were spotted with green bits and soft bits, but I picked out six, and some yogurt and bread and instant café au lait, and it was a pretty good day, except I forgot the gingerbread.

Then I walked home - it's only half a block - and the wind blew my coat all over the place and tossed my hair and these huge, fat, wet snowflakes spun down straight into my face, into the back of my neck, and stuck in my hair. I looked up under the light outside the store, and it was one of those vertigo moments that always happens in the snow, in movies and reality, where it looks for an instant like you're the centre of a maelstrom, like all the snow is moving for you, in radial symmetry, like you really are the pivot-point of the universe, like being a child again. Then I looked down a little and the illusion vanished.

It snowed a week ago and didn't stick, and then earlier this week but it was that really, really dry snow, and when I went outside to look at it the snow was lying on the grass like tiny hard little spheres, that looked like they'd roll off onto the ground if you picked up a dead leaf - they didn't, but almost. They were loose and it took days for them to melt enough, when the temperature rose a little, to freeze to the ground and make that thin, shiny layer of slippery ingrained ice.

I think the part of winter that I love has started. Or it's about to. The air is chilly and full of promise, even if it's not cold enough to wear my raspberry-strawberry-wool-sweater-that-only-cost-7-bucks-haha under my winter coat (I've given up on lame layering of midweight coats. It's awkward and leaves bits of you exposed and it's just tiring. It's winter, so I will wear the fucking winter coat, even if it has these odd boob bulges in the front princess seams that are like, practically at my navel, because apparently this label thinks that Finnish women are not only fat but uniformly saggy. Allow me to say in defense of Finnish women that I think that is extremely unfair. Finnish women know how to use a bra and their breasts are usually at the right height unless they are old).

I had a dream last week that offers promise of becoming a YA novel. I don't know if I want to tackle it - I love reading YA (Diana Wynne Jones and Patricia C. Wrede are the pillars of my childhood and the best fantasy writers around, along with Gaiman, IMO), but I don't know if I'd like writing it. I need to talk to my dad about it, probably at length. It would be nice to get to write something where he would be my partner in crime again, though.

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