Today I got caught up in stuff - those petty tasks for classes that individually should take no time at all, but which have a tendency to collect at the end of the week like fluid in an unhealthy joint, and are equally difficult to get rid of. Educational technology is supposed to make me more efficient and save time and effort, but in fact it seems to add hours of work to my week and (I suspect) makes students more dependent, creating a vicious circle.
By early evening I was desperate to unstick myself from my computer and get out somewhere. My colleague had said I should leave my grading and class work behind and go out and see a film - and I thought she was right. I haven't been to the cinema for months. I can't even remember the last time I went. Yes, I can. It was in Boulder, sometime last year. I went to see the film Babel before a party I was reluctant to go to. But when was the last time I went just because? I think it was Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, when I first arrived in Boulder over two years ago.
I used to go to the cinema all the time, and never had any problem about going to see things on my own. I loved it in Edinburgh - going to see some obscure film at the Filmhouse or Cameo in the middle of the afternoon, a film with an audience of four or five people, and coming out to the shock of daylight outside when you were sure it should already be night. I saw a film called Suture. I didn't know what a suture was.
And in London, I used to go to the Sunday double bill at the Everyman in Hampstead. Or not always to double bills. I saw Magnolia there, and O Brother Where Art Thou.
These days I seem overcome by inertia, though. This afternoon I looked at what was on, and decided to go to see either Wristcutters: A Love Story at the Mayan, or Sharkwater at the Esquire. They both started at 7 p.m., but I failed to get up and leave my house on time. So then I decided to go to the 7:15 showing of The Darjeeling Limited at the Esquire, since I remember being fairly well amused by The Royal Tenenbaums (same director) in Kobe a few years ago. I still didn't manage to get up and go in good time, though, and part way there I realised I was late for a film I didn't even particularly want to see, and I filtered myself off into a coffee shop where I spent the evening getting through a pile of grading that I had, conveniently, not left behind after all.
It wasn't the most exciting way to spend a Friday evening, but it has at least reduced that horrendous pile of papers a little.
I used to have problems getting out of my house because of an invisible octopus that would wind its tentacles around my ankles and pull me back. Now it's a sluggish and suffocating quicksand (slowsand), and it isn't half as amusing.
By early evening I was desperate to unstick myself from my computer and get out somewhere. My colleague had said I should leave my grading and class work behind and go out and see a film - and I thought she was right. I haven't been to the cinema for months. I can't even remember the last time I went. Yes, I can. It was in Boulder, sometime last year. I went to see the film Babel before a party I was reluctant to go to. But when was the last time I went just because? I think it was Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, when I first arrived in Boulder over two years ago.
I used to go to the cinema all the time, and never had any problem about going to see things on my own. I loved it in Edinburgh - going to see some obscure film at the Filmhouse or Cameo in the middle of the afternoon, a film with an audience of four or five people, and coming out to the shock of daylight outside when you were sure it should already be night. I saw a film called Suture. I didn't know what a suture was.
And in London, I used to go to the Sunday double bill at the Everyman in Hampstead. Or not always to double bills. I saw Magnolia there, and O Brother Where Art Thou.
These days I seem overcome by inertia, though. This afternoon I looked at what was on, and decided to go to see either Wristcutters: A Love Story at the Mayan, or Sharkwater at the Esquire. They both started at 7 p.m., but I failed to get up and leave my house on time. So then I decided to go to the 7:15 showing of The Darjeeling Limited at the Esquire, since I remember being fairly well amused by The Royal Tenenbaums (same director) in Kobe a few years ago. I still didn't manage to get up and go in good time, though, and part way there I realised I was late for a film I didn't even particularly want to see, and I filtered myself off into a coffee shop where I spent the evening getting through a pile of grading that I had, conveniently, not left behind after all.
It wasn't the most exciting way to spend a Friday evening, but it has at least reduced that horrendous pile of papers a little.
I used to have problems getting out of my house because of an invisible octopus that would wind its tentacles around my ankles and pull me back. Now it's a sluggish and suffocating quicksand (slowsand), and it isn't half as amusing.
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