15 February 2009


Or actually, maybe friendsick. I don't miss NYC, and I still really love London, and I think I'm officially over the honeymoon phase now. But I do really miss my friends and family from back home. I'm not sure why they are all so stubborn and refuse to all move here.

But, my mother is coming over from NYC and my aunt is coming up from paris to see me for a few days next month for my birthday! So that's a start. Once they're here, it shouldn't be too hard to come up with some sort of incredibly logical argument for why they shouldn't leave. Slowly but surely, everyone from back home will end up here. Right?

06 February 2009

05 February 2009

New old project

Sometimes, procrastinating is a boon. I took another look at the gothlet, which I'd not yet frogged, and now - with a decent amount of time since I last looked - the join looks fine to me. The sweater still has to go. Maybe I should start calling my procrastination "being patient."

Last night, we went to the Macbeth to see nonclassical, which seems to me to be what you'd expect from experimental classical music, with all the usual suspects - cello, flutes and synth, then throw in some spoken word, some images on a screen, change the rhythms up, etc.

I did like that it was in a pub, so all the pub noises blended right in with the performance noises, and created a dynamic that you wouldn't get in a "normal" concert setting. The three pint glasses that broke loudly at different times, harshly punctuating the soft accapella as they splintered across the floor, for example. Or the singularly loud and outspoken drunk. "I can't believe you have to pay for this," he said when the music paused. "It's Christmas all over again, except you wouldn't have to pay in a church." People politely ignored him, and though he kept repeating this sentiment, each time it was a little less adamant and a little less loud. Finally, the barman asked him to quiet down, and he said "oh, sorry," with a real air of penitence. But then, as he had the barman's attention, he spoke up again: "that bloke nicked my drink!" The patient barman said: "no, he didn't. yours is right in front of you." The drunk didn't even pause before announcing, outraged: "but it's empty!" The barman: "That's because you drank it." "Oh," said the drunk. "sorry." Whenever he apologised, he really sounded like he meant it. Indeed, when moments later a foul smell started drifting through the area, I turned to look at him, as he was right behind me. "Was that you?" I asked. "Oh," he said. "Sorry."

I've been trying to do a bit of yoga every day, and it's paid off. Look what I can do, finally:

Granted, it's just a tripod headstand, not a full one, but it's a start.