White Dune

I just went out for Grownup Groceries (toilet paper and bread, as opposed to Chinese take-out and gummi bears) and realized why the pizza place lady had to consult the driver before accepting my order yesterday. There are literally mounds of snow everywhere. Whole embankments along the roads, as if the car people are preparing for a siege.

Still, life goes on. Unlike in Britain, which I hear is completely paralyzed because they actually got some snowfall this year. It's a full-blown crisis, with headlines like Death Toll Rises, Salt Supplies Dwindle! I imagine my compatriots must be looking around scratching their heads and going "Ale głupi ci Rzymianie."*

Actually, I read somewhere recently that during Napoleon's ill-fated foray into Russia, the Poles were the ones to cover his retreat, because they were the only ones not really all that surprised by the cold. It might have been in a collection of essays on the 19th century by Stanislaw Mackiewicz which my parents lent me. They're quite interesting (the essays) (well, my parents too), but I don't really care for his style. Unfortunately, I was stupid enough to share that opinion with them a couple of days ago. I think they're still recovering. I imagine it must have been quite the Tracey Ullman moment: "I just read The Book of Revelation, and I have to polemicize with God..."

I went to Cracow last weekend and was reminded that most of the time composition is key. It was a perfectly enjoyable break from work, but that turned out to be neither here nor there, as the focal point of the trip became learning that my host watched the most fun episodes of Firefly without me (thus robbing me of my vicarious/parasitic joy), and then having to sit at some club right next to quite possibly the only person in the world I never ever want to see again. So that ended up being the snapshot.

Also saw W. recently. At long last. We've really drifted apart, but we're both quite intent on reversing that process. She saw 500 Days of Summer and thanked me profusely for recommending it. Said it fit perfectly into this particular moment of her life, and that she totally identified with the character. There was this weird intensity about the way she said it which made me ask, just to make sure: "The guy, you mean?". "The girl, of course!" she replied with matching certainty.

* "These Romans are crazy", the Polish translation of Asterix wins in this regard