This season is always ridiculously busy, especially for someone who likes to hibernate.
After commuting to Westchester twice last week, I realized it would be worth it to buy a 10-trip train ticket. Surely I'll work 5 days in the next year, before it expires.
Saturday was a repeat of last year's puzzle gathering with surprise visitor Judie from Florida. Janet was a great hostess (yay, white pizza), and Leslie again commuted by elevator. The funniest moment involved the Ugandan national anthem - click click *@% (you had to be there).
On Monday I went to a screening of the fluffy romantic comedy "The Holiday." It was enjoyable, though with the typical Hollywood plot holes and not quite believable situations. Luckily, we saw a lot more of Jude Law than Jack Black. I could have seen "Factory Girl" the next day, but was too lazy to take advantage of the offer.
The screening was at Loew's Lincoln Center, so I stopped afterward at the Food Emporium across the street to look for Minute Maid light raspberry. They had it! I bought only 2, since it's heavy and doesn't last forever but that was Monday night and I'm already on the second carton.
Speaking of fluffy romance, I read "The Bachelor" by Carly Phillips. When I describe my non-highbrow chick-lit taste in reading, I usually qualify it by saying I draw the line at true romance. I had never actually read any true romance, so tried this. It takes place in present-day small-town America so there are no knights in shining armor, but it was still sugar-coated, unrealistic, predictable and not very interesting.
More interesting was "Hard Lessons: Senior Year at Beverly Hills High School" by Michael Leahy. I was a bit put off by the author's admission that the 6 students followed were actually composites of real people, though how would I really know one way or the other? Beverly Hills is like Great Neck, but even richer. These 1986 seniors seemed more interested in sex and drugs than school.
Back to chick lit: "On the Couch" by Alisa Kwitney. This story of a psychologist and an NYC cop moved slowly and didn't always hang together. Certainly better than "The Bachelor," but I didn't mind saying goodbye to these characters.
I did enjoy Billy Crystal's "700 Sundays." This memoir of the comic's childhood in Long Beach, LI with a father who died young was sharp, funny and poignant. I've always liked Billy Crystal, and this book did not change my opinion.
I just drew the winners in the "Wordplay" DVD raffle, notified everyone, and prepared the packages, using return labels Judy H. made up with Todd's drawing of my LJ icon. Tomorrow the post office.