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Dec. 2nd, 2008 08:40 amIt is December now, right? Yesterday when I went out to lunch I didn't even need a jacket.
My holiday included: turkey, a ton of food, a nap, a blanket, pajamas, pie, a trip down memory lane with DS9, a NOVA about porpoise rehabilitation featuring floppy seals, half a dozen episodes of the delightful Ace of Cakes (they made a Millennium Falcon and 75 little present-cakes), a few glorious minutes of Tim Gunn, two Harry Potter Scene It victories over my dad and his girlfriend, an amazingly bad National Geographic special on the giant crystal cave followed by a comparably awful documentary about the Earth worth watching only for host Iain Stewart's accent (we had to rewind three times to discern whether he was saying "the Earth" or its theoretical twin "Thea" over the dramatic music), and many hours on a bus. On the way down—after trying to ignore the middle-aged guy in an Adidas tracksuit across the aisle who kept leaning over, showing the waistband of his underwear, to plant smacking kisses on his girlfriend—we passed right by where they were inflating the parade balloons. Oh, and there was also a boy at the next table over where my sister took me for dinner playing with a TNG action figure—Barclay, perhaps, or a strangely colored Data—who had absolutely zero reaction when my sister and her friend pulled out Geordi and Kirk from their bags and said they had action figures too.
Those links are meant to be entertaining rather than informative, by the by.
My holiday included: turkey, a ton of food, a nap, a blanket, pajamas, pie, a trip down memory lane with DS9, a NOVA about porpoise rehabilitation featuring floppy seals, half a dozen episodes of the delightful Ace of Cakes (they made a Millennium Falcon and 75 little present-cakes), a few glorious minutes of Tim Gunn, two Harry Potter Scene It victories over my dad and his girlfriend, an amazingly bad National Geographic special on the giant crystal cave followed by a comparably awful documentary about the Earth worth watching only for host Iain Stewart's accent (we had to rewind three times to discern whether he was saying "the Earth" or its theoretical twin "Thea" over the dramatic music), and many hours on a bus. On the way down—after trying to ignore the middle-aged guy in an Adidas tracksuit across the aisle who kept leaning over, showing the waistband of his underwear, to plant smacking kisses on his girlfriend—we passed right by where they were inflating the parade balloons. Oh, and there was also a boy at the next table over where my sister took me for dinner playing with a TNG action figure—Barclay, perhaps, or a strangely colored Data—who had absolutely zero reaction when my sister and her friend pulled out Geordi and Kirk from their bags and said they had action figures too.
Those links are meant to be entertaining rather than informative, by the by.
