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May. 22nd, 2008 12:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phthalombrageToday was not supposed to be noteworthy.
The plan was, take the 3:15 shuttle to geagle, buy curry powder, things to make french toast out of my bread that expires tomorrow, and whatever else I feel like, sit at home all night and use the internet/paint.
Instead, I had adventures!
Work ran over a quarter-hour because, even though Jeanna called him in advance and he SAID he was in his office, my advisor was in fact not in his office and available to sign things. The lights were on. The door was locked. He was not in any of the labs on the floor. His secretary is on vacation, and he was not in her office, wearing only her shoes and a devastating leer. I have no idea where he was, but I spent several minutes looking for him, another several in front of his door... until I went back to base and took an errand run for Warner. Sure enough, when I get back from Warner, the man and his moustache are in the corridor with Anita. He signed the necessary paperwork, but I will not see the errand to its completion until tomorrow.
Anyway, I go to the cluster, knowing full well another shuttle will not come until 3:45 and I want to go shopping. But I forget my umbrella and have to go back for it, losing a couple minutes. I walk shuttlewards talking to kbraniga, missing it by a minute. A minute! But then I check my voicemail that had buzzed at me earlier and discover that trevor and a mysterious friend are thinking of lulu's. So sure, I tag along. Meet ian. The kitchen has silly mexican mariachi-ish music playing, but the customer seating area is being piped with other flavors of ambient ear-food. Order the pad thai, am baffled by the rectangular brown stuff that has never been in it before but is probably just tofu, since it tastes like nothing. Drop a chopstick, and a waiter brings me a fresh set in a moment, as I am grumbling and trying to just clean it off, as if he has been trained to recognise the sound of a single chopstick striking tile. We stand awkwardly outside, watch a preppy white boy walk past three (3) times in his orange embroidered shorts, sockless brown loafers, white popped-collar shirt, and v-neck sweater, chattering semi-awkwardly until we decided to lie to a blind woman to sneak into fairfax to see if vincent was awake, which she wasn't. Trevor got thirsty (or just wanted an excuse to see hayley), so we went to kiva han and somehow got hayley to come there.
She asked me where I worked twice. In spite of his illness, ian still found it within his power to make fun of her for this and many other things. Hayley does in fact know this michaelrule fellow with whom I was awkwardly in contact for a few days. She ate macaroni and cheese with much paprika, very slowly. Trevor told me a hayleyeatingslowly story. Hayley accidentally flipped a straw at a greasy balding guy the next table over, after ian cut it to make it less aerodynamic. Then Stacy called asking if I wanted to go to a dance class in ten minutes. I said sure, since I knew the rest of my comrades-of-table were heading to the waterfront for indiana jones at some point.
This class is a modern class, in Friendship, and apparently eight bucks. Not bad, but I have been spoiled by free dance classes these past few weeks. It was also more formal than anything my ass has done recently. I did tendus for the first time in like a year. At one point, the teacher said "we're going to do battements next", and I almost pulled a Trevor and said "fuck you!" even though battements used to be my favorite thing ever when I was young and still thought they were called "batmans", when the teacher would blow bubbles out of a bright plastic gun and we would pop them with our toes in the air. I didn't quite like this woman. She didn't spew wisdom like pearlann. She didn't directly insinuate that we should be putting artistry into this. She had hired a creepy percussionist, also named ian, that I ignored because he was like thirty and I didn't want him looking at me in the grey pants I had borrowed from a tall person (erika) and tank top I had been wearing under my two other shirts earlier in the day. She was just an artist trying to make a buck, had beautiful calves and feet, but I was overall unimpressed and probably won't return. I bluntly, fuzzily miss doing technique work, taking actual classes, feeling centered and balanced, concentrating on quickly learning little technical phrases, being told all these little french words and translating that into motion, but felt above doing it with her. Maybe I just wanted a mirror so I could see if I still had that sparkle/spy on the other people in the class. There was one person in the class who was truly remarkable (lisa), but most of the dancers were anything but, and a surprising number were over 30-looking, lisa included. I got floorburn on my wrist from baseball-style sliding, which I like, and jammed some of my left toes stupidly coming out of a turn, which did not thrill me. But I liked continuing to dance despite the injury. I had missed that, too. Spent a lot of my childhood shit-miserable and letting dance wash the tears away with sweat. But hey, at least we didn't have to spread out and practice our fouetté turns. I am good at them, but it makes me so sad when they are in every dance ever, sending back the vacuous light beams of rhinestones spinning round and round on their meaty axis, communication signals from tiny, insignificant planets nobody cares about. I am not stacy or angela trying to take every dance class I can. I've been through that. Now I have standards, and I like pearlann's classes so much I might call it love if I weren't so skittish.
I see giant eagle on the way back and ask stacy to let me off there. Buy foods, see erika on the corner with her bike (dude, I just saw you like a half hour ago), talk to nate after dinner, otherwise do the mundane sort of things I had originally set out to do. (My old dance teacher's eleven-year-old daughter has a blog, like her mom. Cute!)
The plan was, take the 3:15 shuttle to geagle, buy curry powder, things to make french toast out of my bread that expires tomorrow, and whatever else I feel like, sit at home all night and use the internet/paint.
Instead, I had adventures!
Work ran over a quarter-hour because, even though Jeanna called him in advance and he SAID he was in his office, my advisor was in fact not in his office and available to sign things. The lights were on. The door was locked. He was not in any of the labs on the floor. His secretary is on vacation, and he was not in her office, wearing only her shoes and a devastating leer. I have no idea where he was, but I spent several minutes looking for him, another several in front of his door... until I went back to base and took an errand run for Warner. Sure enough, when I get back from Warner, the man and his moustache are in the corridor with Anita. He signed the necessary paperwork, but I will not see the errand to its completion until tomorrow.
Anyway, I go to the cluster, knowing full well another shuttle will not come until 3:45 and I want to go shopping. But I forget my umbrella and have to go back for it, losing a couple minutes. I walk shuttlewards talking to kbraniga, missing it by a minute. A minute! But then I check my voicemail that had buzzed at me earlier and discover that trevor and a mysterious friend are thinking of lulu's. So sure, I tag along. Meet ian. The kitchen has silly mexican mariachi-ish music playing, but the customer seating area is being piped with other flavors of ambient ear-food. Order the pad thai, am baffled by the rectangular brown stuff that has never been in it before but is probably just tofu, since it tastes like nothing. Drop a chopstick, and a waiter brings me a fresh set in a moment, as I am grumbling and trying to just clean it off, as if he has been trained to recognise the sound of a single chopstick striking tile. We stand awkwardly outside, watch a preppy white boy walk past three (3) times in his orange embroidered shorts, sockless brown loafers, white popped-collar shirt, and v-neck sweater, chattering semi-awkwardly until we decided to lie to a blind woman to sneak into fairfax to see if vincent was awake, which she wasn't. Trevor got thirsty (or just wanted an excuse to see hayley), so we went to kiva han and somehow got hayley to come there.
She asked me where I worked twice. In spite of his illness, ian still found it within his power to make fun of her for this and many other things. Hayley does in fact know this michaelrule fellow with whom I was awkwardly in contact for a few days. She ate macaroni and cheese with much paprika, very slowly. Trevor told me a hayleyeatingslowly story. Hayley accidentally flipped a straw at a greasy balding guy the next table over, after ian cut it to make it less aerodynamic. Then Stacy called asking if I wanted to go to a dance class in ten minutes. I said sure, since I knew the rest of my comrades-of-table were heading to the waterfront for indiana jones at some point.
This class is a modern class, in Friendship, and apparently eight bucks. Not bad, but I have been spoiled by free dance classes these past few weeks. It was also more formal than anything my ass has done recently. I did tendus for the first time in like a year. At one point, the teacher said "we're going to do battements next", and I almost pulled a Trevor and said "fuck you!" even though battements used to be my favorite thing ever when I was young and still thought they were called "batmans", when the teacher would blow bubbles out of a bright plastic gun and we would pop them with our toes in the air. I didn't quite like this woman. She didn't spew wisdom like pearlann. She didn't directly insinuate that we should be putting artistry into this. She had hired a creepy percussionist, also named ian, that I ignored because he was like thirty and I didn't want him looking at me in the grey pants I had borrowed from a tall person (erika) and tank top I had been wearing under my two other shirts earlier in the day. She was just an artist trying to make a buck, had beautiful calves and feet, but I was overall unimpressed and probably won't return. I bluntly, fuzzily miss doing technique work, taking actual classes, feeling centered and balanced, concentrating on quickly learning little technical phrases, being told all these little french words and translating that into motion, but felt above doing it with her. Maybe I just wanted a mirror so I could see if I still had that sparkle/spy on the other people in the class. There was one person in the class who was truly remarkable (lisa), but most of the dancers were anything but, and a surprising number were over 30-looking, lisa included. I got floorburn on my wrist from baseball-style sliding, which I like, and jammed some of my left toes stupidly coming out of a turn, which did not thrill me. But I liked continuing to dance despite the injury. I had missed that, too. Spent a lot of my childhood shit-miserable and letting dance wash the tears away with sweat. But hey, at least we didn't have to spread out and practice our fouetté turns. I am good at them, but it makes me so sad when they are in every dance ever, sending back the vacuous light beams of rhinestones spinning round and round on their meaty axis, communication signals from tiny, insignificant planets nobody cares about. I am not stacy or angela trying to take every dance class I can. I've been through that. Now I have standards, and I like pearlann's classes so much I might call it love if I weren't so skittish.
I see giant eagle on the way back and ask stacy to let me off there. Buy foods, see erika on the corner with her bike (dude, I just saw you like a half hour ago), talk to nate after dinner, otherwise do the mundane sort of things I had originally set out to do. (My old dance teacher's eleven-year-old daughter has a blog, like her mom. Cute!)
no subject
Date: 2008-05-22 05:28 pm (UTC)(Bah, I am stuck at this desk, with everyone else in the department at some long meeting. I was too productive earlier and ran out of better things to do.
New meaning for ER: endoplasmic reticulum, emergency room, and now expense report! woo.)
Please don't fuck yourself, Chris. Not in that way.
no subject
Date: 2008-05-22 05:30 pm (UTC)And I wasn't planning on it. I'd have to find some time-traveled other versions of me first.