The Y's Christmas party was at the Stanley Hotel Thursday night. Though it was billed as semi-formal, I sensed that it was actually going to be a swanky affair, so I put on the tie and suspenders. I was right; most everybody else was dressed up all fancy like.
This was my first time at the Stanley, so after dinner I wandered around, scoping out the joint. This is my usual behavior for places I've never been before; I like to check out all the nooks and crannies. I didn't go upstairs though, because a tiny sign at the grand staircase said since I wasn't a paying guest, I couldn't proceed. I usually obey such instructions.
The Stanley is, you'll recall, the hotel where Stephen King got the inspiration for The Shining. Something about this isolated mountain town in winter must have screamed "insanity" to King. Can't imagine why. Pray I don't snap like Jack Torrence.
It may still happen. It's bitterly cold and snowed a bit today, and when it's dark at 5pm, I tend to come home and bask in the flickering glow the television all night. But today marks the first day of the novena of Christmas--the days of the "O" Antiphons--and I've decided to fast from television for these nine days to better prepare myself. I've got some books to read, want to work on some poems for Open Mic Night this Thursday, set up the Christmas tree and wreath that the landlady dropped off a few weeks ago, and that.
No TV and no beer make Seth something, something.