Tomorrow, the car goes in for cosmetic surgery (at NINE. Ouch). It’s hard for me to part with it; anyone who’s known me during the past, oh, 6 years knows exactly how attached I am to my train wreck of a car. Insurance is going to provide a rental, though, so at least I won’t be wheel-less.
I am hitting a wall — a hard wall, a wall with no sympathy for slacking — with the “what’s the sound of your childhood” assignment that’s due tomorrow in my Memoir seminar. It has to have narrative description of the sound, some in-scene time, and reflection back on why this is emblematic. All of that, and meaning, of course, and I can’t come up with a good sound. I’ve thought of a few that might work — my mother’s piano playing, but I only remember it after the divorce; the sounds of living on a sand road; and the one I’ll probably go with, which is the sound of airplanes flying over our house, as we lived across the street from the Hutchinson Municipal Airport — but nothing’s clicking. Nothing feels like both the correct answer and the right answer.
I had no idea the Golden Globes were on tonight. I should see more movies this year. Two years ago, I hit a personal high (94 movies in a year), and had seen six movies by this point. And this year, I’ve seen… yep, nothing. Well, I saw The Queen on the flight back from Kansas, but I had already seen it once, so I doubt that counts.
I am excited to see Helen Mirren win anything.
Final question: how did I not know about Regina Spektor before now?