I remember the first time I watched Snatch. I popped it out of the DVD player, not entirely certain what to make of it. Then I put it back in and watched it twice more in a row.

That was, for a number of years, the best Guy Ritchie movie I’d ever seen. Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels felt like Snatch reshuffled. It suffers from what I call the Austin Powers Theory: if you saw the first film first, that’s your favorite and you tend to think the second film is crap. If, however, you saw The Spy Who Shagged Me first, then the original film is, to your eyes, crap.

I mean – all rules have exceptions, but … generally.

Anyway. Revolver was disappointing. I didn’t even bother with Swept Away, and I wasn’t sure what to make of Sherlock Holmes, so I avoided it at theaters.

When I finally got around to watching it, however, I was very impressed. I felt the folks behind the film put together a unique take on the character, albeit mostly by mining the stories for information, and abandoning the deer-stalker hat. I thought the script was solidly built, the score delightful, and the visuals borderline steampunkish (wonderful combination).

Alas: the sequel kept the score and the visuals but abandoned story telling in favor of action sequences. Moriarty, a mysterious character in the first film, is not an unknown character in this film, in fact, he’s pretty well known to everybody: Holmes has his photo, Moriarty’s out signing books and giving well attended lectures, while trying to organize a world war to line his pockets. Moriarty comes across less as a brilliant manipulator and more as a guy who has a hard time getting anything to go his way. Not to mention that his whole scheme from the first film – stealing the radio device isn’t even mentioned in the sequel. ‘

Finally: a quick note about the ending. What could have been a really daring ending — and if you’re familiar with the Sherlock Holmes mythos, you probably have an idea — is cheapened by the final scene.

Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows – totally Netflixable.

I was reading an article today that cracked me up – movie patrons in the U.K. were wanting refunds because they hadn’t realized there was no dialogue in the French film The Artist.

I got out to see the movie last Thursday (I know, I know, I’m very untimely on this). What follows is SPOILERS so please be careful about continuing to read (you know how I get).

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

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I can tell you when I bought A Game of Thrones, and I can even tell you how much I paid for it. I bought it August 2nd, 2008, and I paid — including tax — thirty-seven cents for it. I can even tell you when I bought A Clash of Kings. I did that via Amazon.com. February 23rd, 2007. I paid $7.99 for it, and I also ordered a copy of Watership Down.

I remember that I’d tried to order A Game of Thrones, but later got an email from Amazon stating that it was unavailable.

I’d heard it about one afternoon at Towson University. So: quick recap. I’d dropped out of college, bummed around for a few years, then re-enrolled. Winter semester I had blocks of classes in the morning Tuesday and Thursday. I also had a night class on Tuesdays and would usually just hang out on campus for four or five hours — good time to get a bite to eat, and do studying and coursework. One late afternoon I was at The Brick, an underground cafe convenient to Linthicum Hall. I recognized a woman I’d had a lot of classes with my first time through, and we started talking.

Funny story: I used to actually have a copy of a paper she turned in for one of our classes. It was about Buffy: The Vampire Slayer and literary portrayals of vampire slayers. I also remember she once, semesters before this, came into class wanting to talk about the previous night’s episode of the show, and pointed at me and said “I know you watch the show!” I didn’t, at the time, but I since have.

She told me she was devouring a series of books by George RR Martin. They were being developed as a TV show by HBO. I ordered the first two books from Amazon, but as I mentioned, the first book was unavailable. Obviously, I wasn’t going to read the second book without having read the first, so I stuck it on a shelf and forgot about it.

Flash forward fourteen months. I’ve been hired at a job in Bethesda and I’m looking for an apartment and part-time work in the city. I found it at Borders. Flash forward to August. I’ve been at Borders for just under four months. I’ve never seen a copy of A Game of Thrones in our sci-fi section, but I’ve looked for it. I’ve never given it much thought. Since it was being turned into an HBO series, I figured maybe they’d just let the printings lapse to build up interest.

(I had no idea the show was in production for so long … it got to the point where I figured that woman had just lied to me).

Then I come into work one night, and passing through the stock room to the break room, I saw multiple copies of the book on a cart. At some point that night, I stuck a copy of it on the employee held shelf, and bought it after we closed. The receipt says I purchased the book at 9:08, which means it must’ve been one of those nights where we had to practically force the customers out at knife point.

I mean … not literally at knife point.

And so I had a copy of A Game of Thrones (my employee discount, plus “Borders Buck” pulled the price down to the .37 cent point).

And now it’s January 15th, 2012, and I’ve just finished reading it, having started at some point in December. Basically, it’s been a practically five year journey since I first heard of the book, until I finished reading it. I had actually tried reading it a year or two ago, but couldn’t really get into it.

Before you ask: I’ve got a few more books by other authors before I get to the next in the series. This year I’m focusing on George RR Martin, John LeCarre, and Lee Child’s Jack Reacher series.

So back to the book — I really don’t see how this story is going to be played across seven books. I also don’t know how far I’ll get into these books. I know how many George RR Martin fans came in complaining about the gap between the fourth and fifth books (like, five years), and if there’s any solace anyone should take, it’s this: if HBO wants to keep to adapting the books at the rate of one a season, and want to produce and air a season a year, then Martin’ll have to be finished by, what, 2017?

Back to Game of Thrones. My favorite characters:

-Jon Snow
-Tyrion

Also, why bother calling people “Ser”? Why not just “Sir”? It just seems weird. Everyone dresses in armour and prances around on horses at tournaments, why that switcharoo? Also: I kind of hate that one of the nastiest characters has a bastardization spelling of my own name, and I can’t wait until Joffrey’s killed by somebody. I hope he cries like a little bitch.

For those interested: Storm of Swords I bought at Barnes & Noble a few months ago, and A Feast for Crows the day after Thanksgiving.

Quick note:

The first fantasy series I loved was The Chronicles of Prydain

The first fantasy book I read as an adult was Angus Wells' Lords of the Sky.

Not long after that Robin Hobb’s The Farseer Trilogy: a delightfully brilliant series of books.

I highly recommend all of them.

I bought a book yesterday.

BUT! BUT!

It’s a gift for someone’s birthday. Remember the caveat in my New Year’s Resolution post: books for gifts are okay. With the unspoken provision that I actually GIVE the person the gift.

It’s a copy of Bill Bryson’s At Home, because we’d been talking about stuff in our apartments and I was laying down all this know-how about how guys used to jump on a bench with holes on it that were positioned all close so they could talk and poop at the same time. I could never have lived in the past, I don’t even like reading a book when I’m pooping. I’m afraid one of the characters is going to be like, “Woah, dude, your shit stinks so bad I’ve stopped being a fictional character with a fixed path to tell you to eat better smelling stuff!”

Or something.

I worked at the Cinecave until ten, and then began a three bus odyssey home. I jumped the D6 to Dupont Circle, where I disembarked, dashed to Kramer’s, found the book, bought it, and was at the stop to catch the 42. Next Bus showed one arriving in 0 minutes, and one arriving in two minutes. I couldn’t see the next one, so I figured maybe it was that weird counterpart of the “ghost” bus on NextBus (that’s a bus that is running the route but not showing on the application, so the counterpart would be a bus that wasn’t running the route but is showing on the application). Anyway, I got on the 42. The completely jam packed 42. Because everyone got on it. And more people got on it. And more. And more. And we weren’t going anywhere.

This was like 10:30 at night. More and more and more and more people. Always more people.

And then I’m standing in the back, and the bus starts moving, and I’m so unprepared I practically fell in the lap of some guy. Me? Oh, I was embarrassed. Beyond embarrassed. I was so happy to jump off at Columbia & 18th. And you know what I saw?

Another 42. Directly behind the one I’d been on. Completely empty.

I need to have faith in NextBus. And usually I do, and given the option, I’ll wait for the second bus because the rule of mass transportation is this: if two vehicles are traveling the same route with a short time span between them, everyone will crowd onto the first vehicle, and the second one will be nice and empty.

Anyway. I crossed two streets to get to the catty corner stop, and took the 96 the rest of the way home. Finally got in around 11-ish.

This is really only a story about how I almost crushed some poor guy because I wasn’t holding on to the bar tight enough. Sorry guy I almost fell on.

Just to make sure you WANT to see the BBC’s six hour miniseries adaptation of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.

(This is, in fact, the absolutely entirety of Patrick Stewart’s appearance in the series).

Holy shit – those opening credits. Beautiful. Mesmerizing. And set to a cover of Immigrant Song by Karen O. and Trent Reznor? Amazing. I am not kidding when I say those credits were practically worth the admission cost by themselves.

(Kinda wish I’d known they were on YouTube before now…)

It’s been a couple of years since I’ve read The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. It’s been close to two years since I saw the Swedish film, starring Michael Nyqvist and Noomi Rapace as Blomkvist and Salander.

So: impressions.

Pretty damn good. And long. The change to the plot at the end of the film was kind of confusing — in the book, as I recall (and I might not) Harriet has fled to Australia where she’s lived under her cousin’s identity. Her cousin, meanwhile, lives in England. In the movie, Harriet’s cousin has been killed in a car wreck, and Harriet has assumed her identity and works as an investment banker.

I dunno – that seemed weird. Like fleeing your Nazi incestuous relatives from your home in Georgia by moving to South Carolina. See what I did there? Ned Beatty and Deliverance. If you’ve seen either of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo adaptations, or read the book, you know what I’m talking about. “Squeal piggy, squeal!”

The ending went on forever. For. Fucking. Ever.

I watched an interview with John le Carré once where he said that he judged an adaptation not for how faithfully it kept to the book, but how faithfully it kept to the medium. In other words: don’t follow the literal words in the book, follow the spirit. I agree (this is why Order of the Phoenix is my favorite Harry Potter adaptation – they butchered the plot, but kept the building terror of the book). Fincher followed the literal letter, but, in my mind, lost the spirit of the book.

Oh, who am I kidding. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is a twist on Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians (eh, sorta – isolated island, someone’s killed, etc.), with a recurring theme of men betraying women, most visualized through all the crap that happens to Salander. She’s raped (repeatedly – orally, anally), robbed, and then betrayed romantically by Blomkvist. In the book, there’s also a lot of plot-stopping rants (like Larssen’s explanation of the Swedish custody system) and some really awful dialogue (“Lisbeth Salander, you’re a fucking hacker”, as I recall) that fortunately skipped the movie.

Well – I don’t know. I guess he kept the spirit. I think he could’ve just rushed the ending a little more. I had to pee, man.

Basically: there goes two and a half hours of my life. It was really too bad Christopher Plummer wasn’t in it more, but, hey, look, there’s that old dick from Lost who valued his Scotch more than his daughter’s happiness.

No, really, that was one of my favorite parts. When he’s all “Hey, when was the last time you ate?” and she’s all “Oh, I have a high metabolism, stop talking about my weight” and he’s like “Oh, well, when I show you these photos you asked for, you’ll probably vomit” and then she’d say “Oh, I hope we’ve both learned a lesson about assuming stuff.”

Bob Anderson, who performed as Darth Vader when it was time to duel, and who was a Hollywood sword master, died yesterday morning in England.

You can view a list of all of the movies & TV shows he worked on here. I will probably remember him most through his work on Highlander: The Series, where he was sword master for the first two seasons.

These are two of my bookshelves.

I have many, many, many more. Many, many, many more.

Okay – not all are used for books. Two I use for general storage in my closet. Three and a half are primarily for digital media – they hold a TV, and DVDs, and box sets, and DVD players, and receivers, and cables, and other things. One is half books, and half shoes. But the rest, of my total eighteen bookshelves, hold books.

They hold books from left to right. They hold books stacked. They hold books sitting on top of stacked books. They hold sock monkeys in front of books. Little clay penguins from atop a wedding cake. Ties on top of books, ties in front of books, ties on shelves. Why haven’t I put that hammer away? That’s on top of a bunch of books, too.

There is very little room left for books in my apartment. (There’s almost no room for me, either).

But that’s not why I’m stopping buying books in 2012. That’s my resolution (one of them, anyway): I will not buy any more books in 2012. Let me now, quickly, apologize to Second Story Books, Books For America, Kramerbooks, Idle Times, Bridge Street Books, Politics & Prose, and Capitol Hill Books. To a far less extent, allow me to apologize to Barnes & Noble, and Books-a-Million. (I shall refrain from apologizing to Amazon, as I will still be buying vast quantities of cat food & toilet paper from them, and they’re set to conquer the world soon anyway so whatever).

So: no more book buying in 2012. I feel I need to go back to late February/early March, when I found out my dear part-time employer Borders, was closing the 18th & L store that I’d worked at for just shy of three years. I found another job and, sadly, left Borders in the dust. And it’s weird, because even though it has been less than a year, I really have no concrete memories of my last shift. I vaguely remember that a few of us went over to Mackey’s that evening for drinks but …

Anyway, so skip ahead a bit. I bought myself an Amazon Prime membership. And I began exploring all of the bookstores in DC. I got a bit … how do I put this … I got a bit hoardy.

I don’t know if it was because I somehow thought actual paper bound books would disappear. Maybe I just wanted one more book. But I started trolling Amazon’s used book listings, and scored some amazing deals: used and new books, in great condition, coming to my door with two-day free shipping. And I scored some great deal – a “used” trade of Lynn Olsen’s Citizens of London in practically new condition from Amazon for $1.90 the same week it was published in paperback. I stocked up on Bill Bryson’s catalog, and picked up several titles from Richard Russo and Arthur Phillips. I rounded out my Alan Furst spy novels.

And from used bookstores I was finding a treasure trove of titles. I picked up a bunch of classic Len Deighton thrillers from Second Story’s Rockville warehouse. From a handful of bookstores I found all of the Graham Greene books on my assorted shelves – Our Man In Havana, The Power & The Glory, Brighton Rock, The Quiet American, and more. The Sunday after Thanksgiving I found seven of Lee Child’s Jack Reacher series on the outdoor carts in Dupont, and bought them for $3.50. I made a resolution to buy all of the books in the series used, and with two exceptions failed – I did not find a used copy of The Affair and declined to pick it up new, and I picked up Running Blind at Politics & Prose, only to find a used British edition at Idle Times this past weekend.

I bought used books because their covers looked beautiful, or interesting. I found a love letter in one. I don’t even know when I’ll read the book.

I own close to fourteen hundred books. In a four hundred square foot apartment. That’s a lot of books. And many, many hundreds of them, have been bought this year. If you think I’m exaggerating? Believe me I’m not.

So the problem is that I’ve been buying books far faster than I can read them. The other problem is all the money that I’ve been spending on books — a couple of hundred bucks a month, at least — is money that I could be, y’know, putting into my savings account or something.

So. I am not going to buy any books in 2012*. The goals are two:

First – to decrease the amount of books I own versus the amount of books I own that I’ve read.

Second – to increase my savings account. I am far too old to neglect that account as much as I do.

*With the caveat that I will still buy books for people as gifts. Otherwise, next Christmas would be really weird. (“You’re not giving us books?!”)

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. Did you see it? Did you understand what happened? Don’t feel bad if you didn’t: Malcolm Gladwell who’s a pretty damn smart man said of LeCarre’s “The Spy Who Came In From The Cold” that he’d read the book once every five years since he was sixteen, and only started figuring out what was happening on the third or fourth read. LeCarre doesn’t provide a road map for his readers, he sort of shoves them off a cliff and hopes they can keep up.

Digression!

The thing about working in a movie theater (hereafter referred to as “the Cinecave” – because it’s a cinema that’s underground. Literally. It’s an underground cinema, hence, it’s “cinema” + “cave.” It’s very clever, but only because I didn’t come up with it) is that you get to go see movies for free.

The other thing about working in the Cinecave is that you really don’t want to go to see movies there, for free or otherwise. It’s not because it’s not a nice theater. It’s not because it doesn’t play good movies. It’s because for the love of holy Jesus Mary and Joseph I already spend a lot of time there and I don’t care to spend my non-working hours at work, even if I’m enjoying myself.

But sometimes I do go there on my non-work hours, because there are films that I am so dammed excited to see.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is one of those films, and I wrote about going to the after hours staff screening of it roughly two weeks ago. Actually, two weeks ago exactly, now that I realize today is Thursday. I’ve been having a hard time keeping track of which day is which this week.

I went to see the movie again today, for a couple of reasons. First, because I was seeing it so late the last time, I drifted asleep in a few parts. Second, I’m reading the George Smiley books — in order! — and wanted some Gary Oldman in the role. I’ve also started the BBC series with Alec Guinness as dear Mr. Smiley — I almost prefer him to Oldman.

I mean. Obi Wan > Sirius Black. Sorry, Harry.

So I caught the first show today (I took today & tomorrow off from my full time job). After, I was the last person out of the theater (it was the biggest auditorium and it was pretty full for a Thursday afternoon), and I was talking with one of my coworkers who’d seen it with her husband. “Okay,” she said to me, “Explain this movie to me, because I didn’t follow it.”

So as she cleaned the theater, I explained. And since I’ve had lots of people tell me as they exited the auditorium that they didn’t follow what had happened, I thought that my explanation to my coworker would make for a good blog post.

A Warning in Two Parts:

First, this reconstruction of the film’s plot is based on what I remember of seeing the film. I may at times misremember certain things, either due to my failing memory, or because I’m confusing it with events in the book, or the BBC adaptation. Also, the reconstruction will attempt to proceed on chronological order (the film frequently utilizes flashbacks).

Second, spoilers. Lot of ‘em. You are entering a Spoiler Zone. Avoid Avoid Avoid!

*****SPOILERS FROM THIS POINT ON********
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I think most men would probably go for the electronics or the clothing sales.

Me? I went for the cat litter sale. That’s $88 & change worth of cat litter. 380 pounds. Should last me until June-ish.

(I do need new underwear, though.)

Due to an accident on the tracks, the Blue & Orange line is suspended between Metro Center and Federal Center SW. This means you won’t be able to use Smithsonian or L’Enfant Blue and Orange line stops.

Does this mean you’re stranded if the train hasn’t been cleared away and the tracks reopened by the time 5:00 rolls around? Hardly. Here are some options for escaping to the ‘burbs:

Destination: Vienna/Fairfax & Franconia Springfield – take the Red Line to Farragut North, and use the “virtual tunnel” to move to Farragut West. Pick up your train there.

Alternatively … If you don’t want to transfer at the Farraguts, or fear the Red Line, Yellow line (yes, I’m verbing it) to Pentagon, then catch the Blue line to Rosslyn. From there, you could jump on a west bound Orange line train.

Destination: New Carrolton & Largo Town Center – Yeah, sorry, you’re gonna have to make you way to Capitol Hill. Even if Metro does get shuttle service arranged, guys, it’s going to be a cluster fuck. Trains hold way more passengers than buses can, and Metro can’t shift its entire bus fleet. Use WMATA.com’s trip planner to check bus routes from your work places. Off the top of my head, you should be okay with any of the 90 or D# routes.

Part polka, part rock-y, all Dylan, and what’s up with the dude running from the other dudes and smashing glasses? So uncool. But such a wonderful song and video.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

After the midnight screening of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, I made my way home, and shot off an email to my boss telling him that, as I’d mentioned as a possibility, I would be taking the day off from work. I answered a few emails, wrote a blog post, and finally found myself in bed around four-ish.

I woke up at 7.

And I woke up again at 8.

Again at 9:30.

Finally, by 11, I’d broken away from the snuggling, purring, drooling cats, burned my scrambled eggs, and shivered getting dressed because I hadn’t turned the heat on before stepping into the shower.

I jumped the Metro for Silver Spring. I’d heard about a used bookstore near the Metro station I hadn’t been aware of, and I’d heard it had a great genre selection. I’ve been looking for Lee Child’s Jack Reacher books, and I was hoping to find the few still absent from my shelves. Notable the second book, because, yes, I know you can read them out of order, but man, I like to read them IN order, okay? The store was pretty decent, and I found some John le Carre titles (Call of the Dead and Our Game) and headed back into the city, intending for a grocery run.

But of course I hopped off the Metro at Dupont to visit two of my favorite used book shops: Second Story, and Books for America. No Lee Child at Second Story, but I found two at Books for America. I was hesitant about the hardback copy of Worth Dying For until I realized it was $3. Oh, okay. I can live with that.

I walked over to the L2 stop at New Hampshire and Dupont. Given the choice between Metro rail and Metro bus, I’ll always choose the latter. Riding a bus I feel connected to the city in a way I don’t in dark, underground subway tunnels. Also, if I miss my stop, I can just yank the chain and walk a block or two, rather than having to wait for a train heading in the opposite direction.

With a twenty minute wait at the stop, I said “screw it” and started walking south. This can sometimes be dangerous, depending on how long the wait is for the bus. It’s like this: if you’re trying to walk to a bus stop that’s closer to the bus’s current location, you might always find yourself halfway between the two stops when the bus comes past. That’s a recipe for shit-outta-luck.

Everything worked out fine, though, and I got on the bus. And then the bus went right past its turn on New Hampshire.

Look: I get that traffic on Dupont is fucked. I’ve literally been on buses that have taken ten to fifteen minutes from that turn from 20th Street to being able to get across the circle and make the left on 18th. Fucking sucks. Nobody knows how to drive that damn circle.

Anyway, the driver cut up to P Street, made a right, and entered the circle with little trouble. Problem: there was a woman waiting at the stop on New Hampshire.

And then the driver stopped along the curb, opened the door, and ran over to the stop to get her on the bus.

Which was awesome, but I couldn’t help but think about how trouble that bus stop can be when traffic’s high volume. Not so long ago, there was a long line of cars waiting to enter the circle, and the bus pulled up past those, the doors opened, and the driver was like “C’mon man!” and I ran over, between cars, and jumped on, and the driver was like “Sorry man, these idiots are supposed to be doing this double-lane like.” And a minute later, BAM!, we were across the circle.

I napped a bit on the long ride up to Van Ness, but got there okay, got some milk and some other stuff, and was checking out, and listened to the most ridiculous exchange.

I’d used one of the four automatic check out lanes. If you’ve never used them before, when you’re done, they print out receipts for you to use on your next visit. It’s a way to get you to come back. Or to buy the same products again.

“So, can I use these coupons?” this guy asked the clerk assigned to the automatic lanes.

“Yes you can.”

“Great. But I already paid, so …?”

“Well, you can’t use them now.”

“So I can’t use them?”

“You can use them. You just can’t use them on the purchase you just made.”

“Well, that’s dumb. I’m never coming back here again.”

Oh. Retail.

Mid-December. 2:30 in the morning. The streets are deserted. I wear no hat. My coat is open. I contemplate taking off my scarf. Because it feels like a spring night. And I walk from city block to city block, looking for a cab. There: ahead of me, a cab, a block away. By the time I reach the corner, it is long gone, but as I turn, I see another cab rolling down the street I just left, and a block west, and a block east, and a block north, passing cabs. Yet as I move in any direction, it is like I am some predator the cabs are wary of, for they and I never seem to occupy the same space at the same time.

It’s like a fucking episode of The Twilight Zone.

One of the awesome things about working part time at the Cinecave are the staff-only midnight viewings of upcoming films. These aren’t supremely popular for a variety of reasons, mostly revolving around a lot of people having full-time day jobs, and the lack of public transportation after a certain hour. Tonight — and by tonight, technically I mean yesterday evening — I left my apartment and made my way down to the Cinecave for a midnight screening of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, the new adaptation of John LeCarre’s classic spy novel.

For the most part, I really enjoyed the film. I say “for the most part” because, c’mon, I’d been up since like 6am. I nodded off a few times during the show. In the picture above, from the very first scene of the film, Mark Strong (as Jim Prideaux) is given his marching orders by Control (John Hurt), head of the Circus (part of the intelligence apparatus of MI-6). Thus begins the chain of events which … well, I don’t want to give too much away.

I liked it. I need to see it again, because, as I mentioned, I dozed off a few times.

I’ve read in some reviews that certain folks don’t think the plot is understandable without having read the book. Here’s a confession from me: I’ve read the book, and I had to go to Wikipedia to figure out what the fuck had happened and how Smiley put everything together.

Lastly: if you’ve never read anything by John LeCarre, consider adding this to your library. For one thing, it’s a good fucking book. I kind of think a spy novel should leave you more confused about what happened in it then you were when all you had to go on was the back flap. For another thing, LeCarre’s publisher has recently released a lot of the author’s works with new cover art by Matt Taylor … and guys? It’s fucking gorgeous:

And yes, I did get a cab. And now I debate staying up, or getting a few precious hours of sleep. Folks, I think the latter takes it. Here’s hoping I turn off my alarm.