If I call that an experience, do I have to do it again?

teinedreugan's office holiday get-together thing was at a place called The Medieval Manor. Long on something that might be called ambiance if we weren't being virulently Anglo-Saxon about it.

First rule: if you're going to do a restaurant comedy revue thingy, don't put it in a large concrete room and encourage people to be rowdy. Please. Ow.

Second rule: How to really make me uncomfortable: "Gee, I'm glad it's not me" humor. When all else fails, sit well away from the stage, and don't ever admit that it's anywhere near any recognizable dates of commemoration for anything.

Third rule: I really, really need a good hour to get drunk before I can appreciate some of those jokes.

As a modern rendering of medieval bawd. . . not bad. As medieval bawd itself . . . not good. And they served tomato soup. My inner SCA daemon, which was never very devout in the first place, is still throwing fits. Also, the minstrel was named Bill. I cannot articulate why I found this fuckin' hilarious, so you'll just have to settle. (The jester was named "Bupkis". Or whatever bit of Yiddish that is that I can't actually spell.)

Though suzimoses should know that when I get this drunk I wander around singing Christmas carols in Latin. And having philosophical ramblings about Methodism, which is highly ironic to do while completely sloshed.

And I thought the cats were perplexing.

"I don't know what happened, officer, it just rolled over as I was going around the curve!"




Normally the log lives, right-way-up, to the left of its current position.

Silly snakie.

That's reassuring.

Apparently some citrus plants just will drop all their leaves and sulk through the winter when they're brought inside when it stops being citrus-friendly outdoors. Maybe it's not dying; maybe it's just being pissy.

I shall operate under the presumption that the thing is not brooding itself into suicide at least until I've had it outside for a while next year.

(I'm also going to have a mild giggle as someone posts to a message board thing complaining that the sermons in Methodist churches he's attended don't quote enough scripture. If I'm remembering the liturgy from First United correctly, there was at minimum an Old Testament reading and a New Testament reading each service, plus sermon, usually riffing brilliantly on some significant idea (I really, really liked the pastor there); I think that manages to meet my RDA of Bible Wordage.)

Also, I think this frightens me. Though the concept of an explosion-powered musical instrument does appeal to my inner pyro and my inner music elemental.

Maybe I should change my mood to 'scattered'. . . .