Happy, Etc.

Last night Darin and I celebrated the New Year with Ceej and Lance by going over to Rob and Laura's and playing Pin The Cowhide Bone On Nutmeg. Also, we drank quite a bit of wine and bubbly, played Streetcar, and sent Darin and Lance out for donuts at 11 p.m.

I never thought I would get into the couples thing. It helps that I like the individual members.

One of the other things we did was watch Rob guide Ceej through the intricacies of the Playstation game Tomb Raider. Either Ceej or Rob has played this game the past few times we've gotten together at their house. It's addictive to watch, even when you can't tell what's going onthe player controls the main character, who runs, jumps, swings, and backflips as she explores underground caverns, Peruvian caves, abandoned monasteries, and the like, and evidently the player has a sense of direction, but on-lookers have pas de clue about the geography.

Last night, appropriately, I dreamed:

I'm at a live-action Tomb Raider theme park with Tiffany (the only person I know who could actually do all that climbing, flipping, and jumping in real life). All of the gigantic underground caverns have been set up and she has to bound from one boulder to the next to flip the switch to open the door to the next cave.

I, however, do no bounding: when I get to a point where I can't follow her, I exit the gigantic caverns and find the very boring hallways and offices in back. Employees of the theme park direct me to a part of the park where I can meet up with her again. I pass a refreshments stand.

I think this dream means that I take the easy way out instead of doing the hard work of bounding around. Or that I know the secretive, insider ways of achieving the same ends. Whatever it means, it means I've been watching that game too much.

Willa gave a pointer to an absolutely horrid essay about the quality of "women's writing" (a term that truly sets my teeth on edge) on the Web. The author ("auteur" is probably the title he gives himself) takes some rather mean-spirited and snot-nosed potshots at my fellow journalers.

Ceej had a rather nice reply to Willa about this entry; if she doesn't post it herself I'll ask if I can post it here.

I feel it incumbent to say that this is not the sort of slash-and-burn hacking of everything in sight I have in mind with my essay on Why Web Journals Suck. (Which I can't get to, as it's on Donut and I don't want to start over. Sigh.)