December 28th, 2010


American Pancake Day. The world's worst Nutcracker

Today I decided to celebrate having a holiday on a day where there was nothing to celebrate by having people over for pancakes. So I made buckwheat pancake batter and lovelybug, babysimon, and trishpiglet came over and kept me company (and ate my food). This was actually fabulous and very cheering and a really good plan on a day when I might have got a bit mopey.

You see, my plan for Christmas, to keep me from getting hit with mega-depression, boo-hooing, and the usual "my life is a disaster" feelings (as my life is a disaster) was to make sure I spent every day with people. I had this covered really well as I was going to be Chez noirem from December 23-27th, and then wechsler was going to return from his parents on the 28th (after the pancakes were all served) and hang for a full day of toodling about London just before his surgery. Only ... everything got tossed upside down and I wound up being at home and having peopleless gaps in the schedule. In the land of the people dealing with bad stuff (or, rather, "me"), these gaps usually get stuffed full of self-hating thoughts and "if I was only a decent human being someone would want to spend the holidays with me." (It may not make sense but when I'm really down this is how my brain works.) But I counteracted them with exedore and English National Ballet's Nutcracker yesterday, and today I had people hang out with me just for ages, and it was super nice. I should look into hosting people for breakfast on weekends more regularly.

Anyway, I finally dashed off to the Streatham Odeon to see Harry Potter and the Really Long First Half, which was fine but irritatingly done in digital projection. Doesn't anyone care that they're just basically watching a giant TV screen? I mean, if people are going to sit there and text people on their phones and talk loudly during the show AND I can see the pixels on the lamps in the tent, what's the point of seeing this in a movie theater? I came home and felt ultra worn out but dragged myself through writing up the really wretched non-ballet Nutcracker I saw two weeks back. This was the one I described as "Kate Bush's Christmas Acid Trip." I only wrote it up because I've realized, basically, it was the single worst show of all of 2010: thus, its name must live on in ignominy. Butterfly Wheels: you are the baddicle of the year.