and the silly season is nearly over . . .

One more party, tomorrow evening, and life goes back to normal. And I go back to the gym; I've got this odd sensation I've been force fed over the past several weeks . . .

Yesterday, my friend Irene (formerly the LJ user known as ibshafer but alas, she seems to have abandoned us *pout*) came down; we went to the Metropolitan Museum and saw the same Hudson River School artist exhibition that Jacqueline and I had been evacuated from a few weeks ago. The guy has one of those all last name names, Sanford Robbins Gifford, I think. Since Irene's from the Hudson Valley (and still lives there), she really "got it" -- we even picked out several familiar landscapes.

We tried to find the Vermeer, as she's keen on seeing *Girl with a Pearl Earring*, but the lines for the El Greco exhibit were insane. Instead, we ran into an old friend of mine from grad school, and talked about the atrocities of the academic job market, then got into her recent breakup, with a sidestep into her therapy. I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was talking to myself through a time machine; like I've somehow escaped being a character from *Sex and the City* by the skin of my teeth. (Also made me nervous about the job market; I keep reminding myself that because I'm geographically flexible and a lot of my friends and peers aren't, I may have a better chance than I think I do . . . )

Then home to dinner with some of M.'s friends, and *shhh* someone went to Chinatown and came home with a copy of a certain recent film (someone is only allowed to do that if we're planning to buy it when it's legitimately released) -- next week, a three-film marathon.

Today, a party in New Jersey with some old friends from the dawn of my internet days, including menikoff and teenygozer. It was really nice to see people, though someone I'd met once before at a gathering asked me "So when did you stop being a Spike fan?" and that got me into reflecting on my whole position vis a vis fandom -- which was basically, I didn't, but it got to a point where I wasn't having fun anymore.

Strange issue of the New Yorker this week -- very disturbing artlce about this woman who adopted a mentally troubled dog, and everything she and her partner did to try to make the dog better, and their ultimate failure. Even more disturbing article by someone who worked on a Saudi newspaper for a year; particularly attitudes towards women (girls not rescued from a burning school bc they weren't wearing their burquas and the religious police wouldn't allow anyone through). Followed by a very chirpy and snarky review of RotK, that had me laughing in relief after all the heavy-dutiness of the rest.