Well, that worked out well (my resolution to post every day) or did I just say more "regularly?" My morning commute, which used to be fairly uneventful, has started to suck since they relocated the bus stop (consolidating two former stops). So, now not only do I have to deal with Chicken Hawk occasionally, but the regular presence of a (gasp) smoker. Possibly my bus route will be of those eliminated in the next round of budget cuts and I'll have even more to complain about.
Swine fever panic is also starting to get to me. We're now wiping everything down at the public service desk between each shift change. However, I went into the reading room later on in the day yesterday and my eyes began to water and my nose drip almost immediately. I think it was the dust, but I bid a hasty retreat, my research unaccomplished. A co-worker was coughing, as well as one of the students, and it really was very grating. This evening we're supposed to be meeting someone for dinner in Chinatown. I thought about canceling or choosing another location -- I hate taking public transportation to and in downtown at the best of times.
Fear is an ugly emotion.
Not that anyone cares, but I'm going to try to start posting here more regularly again.
Today brought the sad news that lindy hop legend, Frankie Manning passed away just a few weeks short of his 95th birthday.
Interestingly (or not), last night brought a feeble example of something called the "lindy hop" on Dancing with the Stars. Yuck. I don't know why I continue to watch the show.
Tonight is a documentary on the "coops," an experiment in cooperative housing for workers that ultimately failed is showing on PBS. I almost paid money to see it last evening at the Seattle Jewish Film Festival, but found out that it was going to be shown on television. I take an especial interest in it because the coops were near to where I lived when I was very young and growing up in the Bronx. We thought it was a scary place when I was a kid.
Hmm. It seems as if I only post whenever I'm planning on going to, or returning from, New York. Just booked my next trip, which is a bit longer than usual for reasons I don't want to get into now. Yay? As mentioned previously, I already purchased a couple of tickets for NYCB spring season (which begins tomorrow) when I was in town last, but I now I realize I also may be around for the SAB workshop.
Meanwhile, I made a trip to Portland recently, which in its charm, only served to underscore how truly unsatisfying Seattle is. While there we caught a performance of Oregon Ballet Theatre, which featured pretty good dancers, but the usual bleh contemporary choreography. Surprisingly (or not), I enjoyed the Forsythe piece the most, didn't think the Balanchine was totally well-performed, prefer Fonte the coffee to Fonte the choreographer, and continue to despise Kudelka. With looming budget cuts, perhaps OBT would be better served to work with fresh and up and coming talent, rather than spend choreography $$ on an "internationally renown" waste of space like Kudelka. He has a day job anyway, doesn't he?
Tomorrow I must finish my tax returns. The Federal one is done, but having to fill out a NY State return (fool that I was not to leave my last job exactly before the end of 2007; having received a single paycheck in 2008 from a NY source has created all sorts of complications), has made me somewhat less nostalgic for the Empire State. I will be glad to get that particular monkey off my back.
But tonight, Swan Lake. In a rare fit of balletomanic behavior, I exchanged my regular performance ticket for this evening's performance with who else? as Odette/Odile. It's too bad that I have reached the point where I do not have the money, and, in this case, the time to take in multiple performances.
My trip back to New York went fine, although it was too brief. This time around I only made it to a limited amount of areas in Manhattan. Last time (in February), when I arrived the lake in Central Park was still frozen (although that day proved to be the warmest of the stay). Later on in the week, a friend and I had an indulgent lunch at the Boathouse (discovering, after we got there that it was --an extended-- New York restaurant week).
This time when we got to Central Park, we only had time to stop for an (overpriced) glass of wine, but it was possible to sit outside and no one in authority was policing the smoking. A lovely view. I prefer the geese to the tourists, but I guess that's all I am now too. Sigh.
I consoled myself on the last day by purchasing a couple of tickets for the NYCB spring season on my next visit. Still too far away.
Checking an infrequently checked gmail account today I found this interesting notice about its new Autopilot feature:
Autopilot calibrates for tone, typos and preferred punctuation. It's just like you, but automated.
Does that mean it will insert the typos and other grammatical errors I usually make when I don't make them? How about doing my job for me? Fuck you, Google! Stop trying to control my life!
