Had the loveliest of weeks! I have truly excellent friends.

Things I have learned lately:
Arkansas Black apples are sadly not as delicious as one might think.
One can easily procure seven books for $1 at The Reader’s Corner in Raleigh. Go check it out.
It is indeed possible to climb the old library at Campbell University. (At last, I’ve done it!)
Cell phones in my possession have a relatively short lifespan.
Always call to check the times of movies before dragging seven people to go see one.
North Hills is a labyrinth probably designed by the devil.
Whipped cream lasts a surprisingly long time.
Any movie, no matter how horrible, is hilarious when watched with RiffTrax.

In spite of spending scads of time with good friends, I also had time to go see a movie (Inception, my second viewing; I’ve been mulling over it a lot, so much so that I may post a review of it here) by myself, which was a really fun experience. I’ve never actually done that before. It’s a fascinating opportunity to people watch. I went to a concert a few months ago by myself and found it to be equally intriguing. I notice a lot more when I’m on my own.

People are good at stuff!
Cat versus mouse.

You’ve seen the film Watership Down… So morbid, I love it!
Jupiter sounds (so strange!)

Save the Words, stolen from Sam.
Pretty true.

I’ve been terribly bipolar in my reading habits lately. Usually I only work on one book at a time, but right now I’m juggling quite a handful. I finished The Wind’s Twelve Quarters, a book of short stories by Ursula K. LeGuin, and it was quite lovely. Behold, an excerpt (even better in context) from one of the tales:

“The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil is interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can’t lick ’em, join ’em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe a happy man, nor make a celebration of joy.”

I’m also somewhat working on The Wing-and-Wing by James Fenimore Cooper, the Aeneid by Virgil (translated, obviously), and Tigana by Guy Gavriel Kay. I also have an intriguing book called On Basilisk Station by David Weber waiting for me, which is supposedly space opera patterned after Lord Nelson and Horatio Hornblower. Can’t lose there, I should think.