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5-4-03 // 12.37 pm "mikey forrester, russian sailors..." No music at the moment, but I am watching "Trainspotting". It's the current installment in what has been quite a bit of film watching. Otherwise, so far it's been a quiet day. It rained quite a bit earlier, and it's still gray out. Had a pot of soup and several cups of tea. Will hopefully be able to get out for a walk at some point later, as it feels like it's been ages since I've been on a proper one. A few errands to run later, but for the most part, I think today will be a nice bit of lazing around and doing nothing too important. Which is just fine by me, I need that sometimes, you know? Had a nice rest of the weekend. Friday night Erin and I went out for a great Mexican meal at the place down the road from our place and spent the rest of the night watching rented movies and enjoying a slightly cool evening with the windows open. Saw my extended family at my cousin's birthday on Saturday evening, and we were supposed to meet Ryan S for a movie afterwards, but it was sold out. We're going to try again on Wednesday, though. I'm currently reading "1984" for what must be the millionth time. It's probably my favorite novel ever, though I haven't read it for maybe three or four years. But I picked it up and have been engrossed in it since then. It really is a brilliant book, and I've found that the passage of time hasn't dulled its appeal to me. Because you know how it goes sometimes -- a book or a record or a TV show that you enjoyed as a jr. high or high schooler or a college student loses some appeal or sense of meaning when you revisit it at a later date. I always feel like my weekend morning entries are always poorly written in some sense. They're never particularly witty or thoughtful. They're mundane. Yeah, that's a better way to phrase it. I suppose this whole diary is rather mundane, come to think of it. But oh well, it's mine isn't it? Beer is a vulgar drink. Vulgar in the "common" connotation of the word, not the "digusting" way. I was thinking about that yesterday while watching "Mr. Jealousy". There's a scene where two of the main characters are drinking neat scotch at a fancy reception, and I started thinking about how 99 times out of 100 I go for a beer, and how beer is seldom served at any event deemed "classy". I dunno, I don't really care. And I do love beer. That probably makes me sound like a drunk, but to be honest, I'd still drink it if it didn't have an ounce of alcohol in it. I just appreciate the taste, that appealing bitterness. I like the diversity of styles, and even within styles. There's the caustic bite of a Czech lager, the slightly slippery, mild taste of Dutch lager, or the slightly fruity, faintly fizzy feel of Corona, or even the fairly weak yet refreshing nature of a plain old bottle of Budweiser. British beers are a world of their own, from a complex, ruby red or rusty brown pint of bitter, to the casual taste of an IPA, not to mention the invitingly bubbly and sharp brown ale, or the solid, disarmingly strong Scottish ales. And there's also the warming, filling thickness of a draught stout, or the oddly pleasing acidity of bottled extra stout. I could wax poetic all day about beer. Seriously. It's an odd thing to feel that strongly about, I suppose, but then I am an odd person. There's a howling, crying child in the apartment behind me. Friday night there was one in the building across the courtyard from my living room window. This complex seems oddly full of them, actually. I'm actually torn at the moment, I can't seem to decide what to do with the rest of this afternoon. I could read more of my book and catch up on the pile of magazines on the floor, or I could shower and take a walk in the period between batches of rain, or I could listen to music, or watch another movie. In any case, one more cup of tea is a definite, and with that, I'm out.
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