I’m not sure it’s a tradition, yet… but we zipped off to that same glorious, do-as-you-please type holiday that I’ve been enjoying, lately. Well… do as you please, provided it’s open on Christmas Day, and reasonably affordable… and that works out to a second-run movie and a Chinese Buffet.

Went to see Arrival. Not bad, actually, plus or minus a couple of places where I was choking on my jumbo-sized Coke. I especially liked the place where the linguistics prof looks around a massive–but mostly empty–lecture hall, sees seven whole students, and then says… Where is everybody? Because, of course… most linguistics classes are standing room only, sold-out crowds in professional sports arenas.

At which point, I went all nostalgic, and tried to remember all of the names of all of the other kids in one of my (not stadium-worthy) classes, and realized I’m one short. Five out of six. I can still see #6–skinny brunette, used to work at the martini bar–but it drove me nuts. Just this minute, it occurs to me that she had the same name as one of the other girls in the class, and that’s where the name was hiding.

Chinese Buffet was crowded, and… I regret to say, Americanizing more and more every time I go there. Last time I was there, the rice-noodles had been neatly cut into bite-sized pieces. Today… my tentacles had been separated from my squid-heads, which were nowhere in sight. And… there was pot roast.

It’s a sad, short hop from there to peanut butter and jelly.