I saw Swiss film The Sandman at the Palm Springs International Film Festival, and I got to talk to the director and one of the actresses afterward. If you're looking to watch something whimsical, surreal, funny, and thoughtful, see it.
I read Billy Collins's Ballistics. It is sidesplitting. Maybe you thought poetry collections were boring, but if they are, this is the exception. My sister Madelyn and I almost died laughing when I read her this poem.
(Ballistics is also poignant and incredibly well-worded. And Collins is a great reader. If you're into that sort of thing.)
I also checked out The Art of Eating In from the library and helped Madelyn start a paper on Edwin Arlington Robinson, a poet who never stopped proposing to Emma Shepherd, even after she married his brother, and even after his brother died, and even after she refused him every time. Heartless Emma. Incorrigible Edwin.
I also picked some shards off the snowglobe Maren knocked over yesterday and ate cucumber slices with vinegar, which is probably my favorite snack as long as I've known me, and a lot of other minutia you might not be interested in, which might be fun to write about, but might also be writing too much.