After work,
sweh and I went hunting for a used bike. (I'd wanted one to leave at his place, so we can bike in Prospect Park during nice weather, but we hadn't achieved this last year and then, of course, I forgot. He remembered, useful creature that he is!) This we found at Recycle-a-Bicycle, and I am now the happy owner of a truly ancient but quite functional turquoise Carabela. It looks terribly 60s and swoofy, and that's just fine. Wasn't easy getting it back to his place, I may add.
Rest of the evening was snuggling and TV. Watched the pilot ep of Queer Eye (
sweh was not impressed), and some History Channel thing about a 1914 collision on the St. Lawrence between an ocean liner and a collier; the liner sank in 15 minutes, killing about a thousand people. The courts found that the collier's captain was at fault, and the program was saying that probably wasn't true. Yes, all right, this is not generally considered riveting entertainment. Secret shame: fascination with disaster stories.
Now I have a pair of completely contrasting songs stuck in my head, and I can't make either of them go away, or even duet in counterpoint. Brane hurts.
Rest of the evening was snuggling and TV. Watched the pilot ep of Queer Eye (
Now I have a pair of completely contrasting songs stuck in my head, and I can't make either of them go away, or even duet in counterpoint. Brane hurts.