Too lazy and busy to blog in ages.
Several episodes of (relatively minor) snowfall have effectively brought this city to a standstill; we are now awaiting the arrival this evening of what may be the most significant storm system yet (or not).
The public transportation system (such as it is) has pretty much bailed out; operating only on "major arterials" and providing "limited service"(hard to tell the difference). I worked at home on Thursday and Friday, having pointlessly put in several extra hours worth of commuting time earlier in the week when the roads essentially were clear.
Missing NYC more and more.
Such a beautiful day outside today. Yet here I am stuck inside.
Being aware that one's behavior and moods can fall into certain fairly predictable patterns doesn't make it any easier to circumvent those feelings. For example, I am never more excited and happy about making a trip than immediately after I book it. The closer the actual departure date becomes, the more anxious and depressed I get about it. That old my term paper is due tomorrow feeling of stress steals over me. But why? What immensely important thing is there that I could forget about or fail to do before I leave would have some enormous impact on my life? Don't answer that!
This weekend on my end I have been short tempered and cross. Annoying things have been happening. From the relatively trivial (such as the lid spontaneously popping off my organic free trade latte, causing a minor spill) to the more intrusive. I received my first text message spam the other day, although I couldn't figure out the intent. It certainly wasn't intended to sell me something, but was it done deliberately to annoy? I chalked up the first one, which just said, "yo" as a misdirected communication, but after receiving another one the next day from the same phone number with another equally brief, but more meaningless message I became suspicious and irritated. Then today, I got a longer, creepier one from the same number. I searched my provider's Web site for information about how to block specific numbers, but found no guidance. I was going to send an e-mail inquiry, but felt like I wanted a more immediate response. Spent the next fifteen minutes or so trying to work my way through the most aggravating telephone tree ever before finally getting through to a live "advisor," who, most likely, was in a call center in some other country. Anyway, the person claimed to have gone ahead and put a block on messages from that particular number, but refused to credit my account for the amount that was deducted for having to view the stupid messages or give me any kind of confirmation number or direct access number for customer service should I receive another unwanted text message.
So now I am obligated to send in an e-mail complaint about the company's shoddy customer service? Why do we have to spend so much time and energy on crap like this?
Meanwhile, back in New York, my boyfriend reported a situation with a drunk in the hallway of our apartment building in the early morning hours yesterday. This morning apparently there was a repeat of the same type of plumbing incident I blogged about over a year ago. How could the thing break down again in less than two years? And I want to hang onto this apartment?
Well, maybe change did happen in other ways too (or I'm just getting weak), but I found the ballet performance far more enjoyable than I was anticipating. Mark Morris' A Garden was pleasant and, as might be expected, stronger in the group sections than the variations (if you can call them that). But then again, the same could be said of the other pieces. Kiyon Gaines' M-Pulse showed impressive use of the stage. I didn't care for the commissioned score all that much (school of John Adams and all that) -- it sounded like the soundtrack for a movie I didn't want to see. The biggest surprise was Benjamin Millepied's 3 Movements (Steve Reich music, urgh) -- the first one of his pieces that I actually liked (though I'm having a hard time remembering exactly what I liked about it). Only the ending is a bit weak, but the music never really resolves into an ending either, so I guess that's understandable. It perhaps was too soon to see William Forsythe's One Flat Thing, reproduced yet again, but it still held one's attention and the dancers clearly enjoy doing it. I'm not sure why the audience doesn't seem to "get" it or is even offended by it. For the first time I noticed the absence of Noelani Pantastico, who brought a sort of insouciance and buoyant sexual energy. The usually excellent Kaori Nakamura seemed a little too dour and cheerless here. Maybe it's the height situation. I couldn't help thinking what if Linda Hunt had played Anybodys in West Side Story (did she?)
I'd almost forgotten, but then again, it's not such an inspiring program. Last month, however, I did take in a performance given by the Chamber Dance Company which featured reconstructions of three pieces by Loïe Fuller that still seemed to crackle with the shock of the new. I'm trying to read up on Fuller, but why oh why are all of the books I have picked up so far (mainly academic) such dreary reading?
More happily, it's now so easy to find a copy of the Lumière Brothers' early film of Fuller in action:
It's probably fair to say that Everett, Washington (which proudly bills itself as "an All-America city") has never been seen as much of a destination in itself. A former Pacific Northwest mill town and the site of a horrific incident in the early growth of the labor movement in the United States, it retains a definite blue collar character as a Navy town and home to a major Boeing plant. With its proximity to Seattle, however, gentrification has begun sneaking in. The downtown has gone through some major redevelopment in the last several years. A large intermodal transit center opened, as well as the Everett Events Center, which includes an arena in which a wildly popular and successful minor league hockey team plays.
You probably can see where this story may be headed.
Last weekend I decided to take in one of the events at Skate America. I would have preferred to have attended one of the evening programs, but because I had to rely on public transportation, I opted for an afternoon session rather than having to worry about catching the last bus out or leaving early. My journey to Everett went smoothly -- the good omen of a rainbow by the side of the freeway beckoned the way -- and I arrived in town even before the ticket windows had opened. I decided to spend the time looking for a breakfast place I had researched on the internets or an ATM. Instinctively, I headed in precisely the wrong direction, but after a few minutes, returned to the box office. I purchased a ticket to the afternoon session with no problem, but found out that the morning practice skates, which I mistakenly had the impression were open to all ticket holders, proved to be open only to those with a full weekend pass ("the ones with the lanyards, " so I was told).
Unfazed (it was a sunny morning, after all), breakfast began to seem like an even better idea. Heading in the opposite direction, I quickly found the place I had been seeking. I peeked in through the window and it looked as if there were a few available seats at the counter and possibly even some free tables. However, once I got inside I saw that the seats that had looked unoccupied from outside actually were. I looked around, trying to decide if I should if I go, when a voice behind me said, "if you're looking for a seat, young lady, you can sit right here." I turned around and saw a middle-aged fellow indicate the empty stool that was between himself and an older woman with whom he had been speaking.
Now it would have made more sense to me for him to have moved over one stool to continue his apparent conversation, but I decided to just go with the flow and sat down between them. I felt uncomfortable at first, as the guy -- let's call him Joe the Recovering Alcoholic -- continued his conversation with the woman (describing her as "the nicest person in the world"), asking me questions, while contradicting my answers ("No, I bet you're a great cook") and offering to pay for my meal. I decided he probably was harmless enough as he tucked cheerfully into his humongous order of steak and eggs (I also couldn't believe the size of my own order--which was a half portion!). After making short work of the steak, but leaving most of the eggs, toast, and potatoes, he got up, paid his bill, and left. By this time, the crowded restaurant had mostly cleared out. I chatted a little with the woman, who also remained, only to discover that she was not an acquaintance of Joe's, but was in town covering Skate America for her own newsletter (she writes reviews of skating costumes!). When I asked for my check, I found out that Joe really had taken care of it. Feeling bemused and grateful, I left a tip for the owner/waitress and headed out for a wander around Everett.
I did a lengthy loop around the downtown, finding in the process, a branch of my own bank with ATM (though the mortgage center was ominously shuttered), and a lot of other interesting sights, including an arts fair going on in an historic building. All in all, downtown Everett felt like a strange microcosm of many of the simmering tensions in America. Perhaps the most disturbing juxtaposition of all was the shiny new apartment complex -- boasting of its "loft-style" apartments and an invitation to live the "downtown" lifestyle -- which was right around the corner from the Planned Parenthood offices, where a small group of protesters was packing up and getting ready to leave. The fellow (with the Boeing strike t-shirt), who was putting his sign back into the pick-up truck said, "hello" to me as we passed. I said "hello" back, but was too much of a wimp to take a picture.
Shaken up, I eventually wound up at a reassuringly alt-coffee place (the kind of cafe where they still have a "Kucinich for President" poster up) and was comforted by the presence of the resident dalmation (who fleetingly let me pat his butt and thumped his tail against my leg) and read ( what turned out to be last week's) newspaper over a nonfat mocha -- I missed a Halloween cat show in town. Oh well. At Skate America, Savchenko and Szolkowy took the gold in the pairs event. It's great that an interracial couple (one of whom is of mixed race) can be no big deal in Germany, of all places. Let's see what happens here next week.
This town is too small. Yesterday (it was a gorgeous day) I went for a long walk in a fairly nearby park. I felt like getting outdoors since it was so lovely, but I didn't feel like venturing anywhere too far as the previous day I had made a road trip to Skate America by public transportation (more about that exhilarating, but exhausting adventure in another post). This morning my sorta boss (well, one of them anyway) says, "Was that you I saw in the park yesterday?" Huh? She claimed my dark glasses were a good disguise. I will go on record as saying I genuinely did not see her (although had I spotted her I probably would have pretended I hadn't and gone out of my way to avoid her).
It kind of creeps me out. Particularly as I seem to be running into people I know unexpectedly of late (the kind of thing that rarely happens in New York).
Work is encroaching too much on my personal time too. I was hanging out in a cafe before the event on Saturday and I actually felt a pang of guilt that I had not brought along something I had been working on with me since it seemed like such a great opportunity to concentrate.
Ugh!
But why? So arbitrary. And can the experiment be repeated, please?
