R is for Recap

Russian literature
At book club on Friday, I had a glass of champagne and more than my share of pierogi and stroganoff, so I was good and groggy when it came time to discuss the inner workings of Anna Karenina. I was slightly apprehensive going into this gathering, because our hostess and discussion-leader is enamored of Russian literature, and I didn’t want to be That Guy who couldn’t hack it. Fortunately, I wasn’t the only one who was not blown away by Tolstoy. I expressed my appreciation for the story and my sense of accomplishment at finishing the novel, but I took solace in the fact that I was not alone. Despite, or perhaps because of, our differing views on the style and plot devices, we had a lively conversation about which characters we liked and why the heck the book was called Anna Karenina. Much to my chagrin, the massive amount of food did not deter anyone from the cookies I brought, and I came home with an empty platter. Ah, well. I’ll have to make some more, I guess.

Rock climbing
On Saturday night, JG and I joined up with a group of friends from the climbing gym for dinner and a showing of the Banff Mountain Film Festival World Tour, which is based out of a Canadian film festival centered on the outdoors and extreme sports. The topics of seven films we saw that night included rock climbing, mountain biking, speed flying, and skiing, and I had a strange sensation that I didn’t belong. Sure, my fine-arts self had no problem going to a film festival, but one about extreme sports? I restrained myself from wearing patent leather flats, as though they would not come off as outdoorsy enough and my reputation would be ruined. Even though not every film was to my taste, I cringed and moaned along with the crowd at the sight of flailing falls off of seaside cliffs and fantastic tumbles down mountains. I couldn’t help but speculate how the film makers managed to get some of their angles, especially one where the camera stayed just ahead of a skier on a rail, and then dropped below for an underside view of a jump. How did they do that without smashing a couple of cameras in the process?

Bolstered by the festival — despite failing to win any of the door prizes or catch any Clif Bars — JG and I headed to the gym on Sunday afternoon. In the first half hour, he finished a new route after weeks of work, and I finally connected an outstanding project. I must note that it was a significant accomplishment for me because it was the first route that I finished in one attempt before JG did. Yes! We love low-gravity days.

Root beer
After dinner on Sunday, I put together a root beer float to commemorate a soda-free February, and I set down the bottle with the remaining root beer on the coffee table. About halfway through the creamy sweetness, I reached for the bottle to top off the float, but — why was it empty? I thought I had a good third of the bottle left!

“What are you doing?” JG asked.

Oh. I had accidentally reached for his Sam Adams, and just a couple of lager-y drops had fallen into my float. Flustered, I grabbed my bottle of Hank’s and hurriedly poured in the rest of the soda, swirling furiously with my straw. Fortunately, there were no ill effects from the actual beer tainting my root beer. Phew.