: so cold the night
That was a weekend of snow, squalls, high winds, cloudy overcast, clear bright chilly skies, hail, and lightning, sometimes all within four hours, in which
papersky and I sensibly stayed inside and watched the first nine episodes of Borgia, not to be confused with HBO's Borgias series; an odd admixture of mostly historical accuracy, the occasional contemporary slander or bit of folklore, and the occasional grinding anachronism, which is mostly very good indeed after a slightly clunky start (particularly episodes 3 and 4, covering the conclave that elected Rodrigo Borgia Pope) though unflinching in the graphic depiction of medieval nastiness; particular kudos to John Doman's Rodrigo and Mark Ryder's Cesare.
This morning it was down around -20 with eight or ten degrees of windchill atop that. Exciting failure modes for wearing my fleece trousers include having lost so much weight since last I wore them for my change purse to slowly pull them down over one hip, and leaving my keys in my jeans such that I had to ask the building manager to let me into my office this morning. Also, it being bloodycold means lots of static, my legs itch and I generate unexpected and unpleasant non-metaphorical sparks while kissing people.
That was a weekend of snow, squalls, high winds, cloudy overcast, clear bright chilly skies, hail, and lightning, sometimes all within four hours, in which
papersky and I sensibly stayed inside and watched the first nine episodes of Borgia, not to be confused with HBO's Borgias series; an odd admixture of mostly historical accuracy, the occasional contemporary slander or bit of folklore, and the occasional grinding anachronism, which is mostly very good indeed after a slightly clunky start (particularly episodes 3 and 4, covering the conclave that elected Rodrigo Borgia Pope) though unflinching in the graphic depiction of medieval nastiness; particular kudos to John Doman's Rodrigo and Mark Ryder's Cesare.This morning it was down around -20 with eight or ten degrees of windchill atop that. Exciting failure modes for wearing my fleece trousers include having lost so much weight since last I wore them for my change purse to slowly pull them down over one hip, and leaving my keys in my jeans such that I had to ask the building manager to let me into my office this morning. Also, it being bloodycold means lots of static, my legs itch and I generate unexpected and unpleasant non-metaphorical sparks while kissing people.