So, uh, apparently I got into UBC. It’s not definite yet, but I wasn’t expecting to hear anything for awhile. It’s kind of real now. I’m. Going. To. Grad. School.

To celebrate, Alex and I went to see Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story. I am normally wary of anything this meta (but I did like Day for Night). However, this was sort unprecedentedly good; the meta-film stuff all actually seemed to have an actual point. It’s not like they said “Bah! This book is unfilmable! Let’s go meta!” The meta actually makes it better. The book is about this guy who can’t get to the point, because there’s so much backstory, so is therefore as much about the writing of the book as its subject, and the movie’s kind of the same way. Only with the movie.

Plus, you know, I like anything that can make a guy trapped in a womb work.

Tonight, I watched All That Jazz, which may be the most 1970s movie ever made. And I mean that in the best way possible. Roy Scheider is seriously so brilliant. The character’s so unsympathetic, but he makes him so charming and affectionate — plus we know it’s autobiographical so Fosse probably wanted him to be that way — but still, like, a real person. Sort of.

(Weird aside: the actress who plays Scheider’s ex-wife is named Leland Palmer. Like the dad on Twin Peaks! It’s too unusual a name to be a coincidence.)

As a secondary celebration, we made a substitution-heavy version of the the Turkey Chili Verde we were given a sample of and found a recipe card for at Whole Foods. It’s verde because it uses only green peppers and tomatillos. Things we substituted: a couple slices of bacon for “smoked turkey thigh,” because seriously; fresh tomatillos for canned, because if Whole Foods doesn’t sell canned tomatillos, no one does; hot jalapenos for serrano peppers, becuase that’s what was there; and canned sliced jalapenos for canned “green chiles,” because we thought “They’re chiles, they’re canned, they’re green,” but then when I opened the can it had carrots in it, which I had to pick out of the chili, cause, no!

Tomatillos are a new subject of amazing fascination for Alex and I; we threw in our chopped fresh tomatillos and left the whole thing to simmer, hoping they’d cook down okay. They didn’t just cook down, the mofos dissolved. After 45 minutes of simmering, they went from being chunks to being this greenish soupy liquid that was sort of sweet and complex.

Speaking of BC, whither Rachel? I’m always sad when my friends stop blogging, but it’s so scary when there is no warning.