Comme C'est Brutal

Well, Thursday evening's delightful wine and writing got, typically, out of hand, leading to the single-handed consumption of the entire bottle of Beaujolais and lengthy and ridiculous gchat discourses before a healthy bedtime of 5 am.

Anyway, unfortunately my plan of then rising at 8:30 the next morning did not go so well. I woke up at 11:45, with my usual morning-after start of horror, generally accompanied by a clawing for the alarm clock to see how fucking late I slept in this time. Anyway, relatively, 11:45 isn't all that bad, though, of course, since I had a corrector session at 10:45, it was quite late enough. I quickly sprung from my bed and to the computer, where I sent an apologetic email to my correctrice, accompanied by a copy of my plan. Since people have sent in entire papers many days late, I figured the chances were probably pretty good of her being able to manage looking over one spacey page of text and writing a few lines of reaction. Then I returned to the warm-ish confines of my too-thin bedspread and slept until 1.

I awakened again and took a shower and whatnot, then checked my email. Indeed, she had responded with a very quick thumbs-up, which was fucking good enough for me. Nothing from Sawyer, though, still.

There was also a cordially stern email from the receptionist, telling me I should send my plan to the girl and reminding me that corrector sessions are important and not to miss the next one. I wrote back with, basically, a polite version of "Whoops; I overslept. No shit they're important. I already send her the goddamn outline." The receptionist nicely emailed back and said that Steve Sawyer had also received my outline, and would be emailing me shortly. This comforted me.

Anyway, I dove into the paper (actually, I didn't really start it till around five, as I did some eBaying, a lot of forum browsing, and basically anything else I could think of to delay the starting of the paper) and got a surprising amount (maybe a quarter to a third) done by 7, when I had to leave to go to the movies. (I HAD to!)

Taking in an 80s American horror double feature at the Cinematheque Francaise was indeed quite relaxing, and, in its way, just what I needed, kind of like that delightful weekend first quarter of first year when Steve and I stopped crying over our math homework in the library and went to Doc to see The 40 Year Old Virgin). I was also surprised how much of the films I understood, their being dubbed in French. All in all, it was quite delightful, and I hope to eventually address it over at the other, neglected blog, soon.

Returning home, I stayed up till 5, but managed to get the fucking paper done. It bears noting that I was surprised how easily the ideas flowed once I managed the Herculean task of cobbling them together in my brain. Structures I didn't even know I knew came flying back to me, and everything expressed itself with a great deal more eloquence, on the whole, then I am accustomed to. Perhaps this program is indeed getting me at least a little better in French.

Anyway, exhausted, I retired, and woke up at 1:00 this morning, after my recoup. After my shower, I produced an omelet that I was fairly proud of, in addition to some fried potatoes that, while better than many batches that had come before, were still lacking something. Also, I think I put too much pepper on them, because my stomach became angry. Anyone out there want to teach me how to make those roasted breakfast potatoes?

Rereading the paper I was either very satisfied or very apathetic, because I didn't do too much to it. Not that I had all that much time before the deadline at 6. Following that, I did some brief shopping, then met up with my friends Brian and Rosemary to go out for seafood. We went to a nice little oyster bar by the Opera Garnier and Pyramides, where we each got the Plat Atlantique, which came with a lot of shellfish that I didn't know what they were. I had my first oysters, which were quite pleasant, though interesting. We also wanted to try sea urchin, but they were out. Poop. Nevertheless, it was a good - if expensive - meal, though I have to say, I generally prefer meals where I am full afterward to ones where I eat like seven shellfish. Nevertheless, it was a fun experience, and the seafood was quite fresh. You could tell because it squirmed if you put Tabasco on it.

After that, we went to a jazz club by St. Michel, in the Quartier Latin. It was crowded, but pretty cool. The band was good, and the lady liked to scream really loud as she was singing. I had been expecting more of that Humanities-style stuff (I guess that's what I think of when I think of jazz), which, while I guess is fine, is not really something I'm all that into. This was much more engaging for me, though, since it was full of screaming, so I enjoyed it a fair bit. Nevertheless, that typically annoying thing happened where the singer was trying to engage with the audience and get us to stand up and dance and stuff. I'm sorry, I do not go to musical events (actually, I generally don't go to them at all, but when I do) to be guilted. I go to sit and listen to you perform. Perhaps this is unique of me.

Nevertheless, they were a good band, and it was an enjoyable time, though my ears are still ringing, I have a headache, and am incredibly tired. I'm drinking diet Coke now, so there should be no danger of a repeat of two nights ago, and I should be going to bed right after I finish this. I'd like to try to catch the new HD reissue of Suspiria tomorrow, but it's only playing at 11. Crap.