popping in and out
Dec. 5th, 2008 12:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ffloLee Ann writes that those guys have gotten rid of the TV. I laugh and laugh, seeing that. Of course they did. I have the TV now. It must have come from somewhere.
Tonight on said TV I took in, somewhat impulsively, Velvet Goldmine (Todd Haynes, 1998). Lotsa trippily costumed musical bits in an impressionistic reminiscence on glam rock & its cousins, with a tiny bit of character and plot, but it doesn't add up to much. Maybe it was a better movie in 1998.
I was back at work today for half a day, after a coupla days away. Driving there, I wanted not to.
In craigslist news, I bought some chairs off a woman whose oh-so-regular-lookin' family lives on a curious road up near Bird Hills. It's a country-style dirt lane that supposedly overlooks the river, as its name indicates, but mostly what it overlooks is the highway, which it runs right alongside of, with a few trees in between. Huronview Boulevard, it's called, in a sort of schizophrenic misnomer. A boulevard isn't a rural-ish one-lane dirt road, right?
Long and short of it, my dining room ass will no longer be plunked on the folding chairs from the bridge table set we bought my grandmother in 1970-something.
Tonight on said TV I took in, somewhat impulsively, Velvet Goldmine (Todd Haynes, 1998). Lotsa trippily costumed musical bits in an impressionistic reminiscence on glam rock & its cousins, with a tiny bit of character and plot, but it doesn't add up to much. Maybe it was a better movie in 1998.
I was back at work today for half a day, after a coupla days away. Driving there, I wanted not to.
In craigslist news, I bought some chairs off a woman whose oh-so-regular-lookin' family lives on a curious road up near Bird Hills. It's a country-style dirt lane that supposedly overlooks the river, as its name indicates, but mostly what it overlooks is the highway, which it runs right alongside of, with a few trees in between. Huronview Boulevard, it's called, in a sort of schizophrenic misnomer. A boulevard isn't a rural-ish one-lane dirt road, right?
Long and short of it, my dining room ass will no longer be plunked on the folding chairs from the bridge table set we bought my grandmother in 1970-something.
