Alain de Botton, “On Pessimism”
Lots and lots of good stuff here, including a shoutout to my main man Schopenhauer.
A poem I wish I wrote
“Monorhyme for the Shower” by Dick Davis
Lifting her arms to soap her hair
Her pretty breasts respond – and there
The movement of that buoyant pair
Is like a spell to make me swear
Twenty odd years have turned to air;
Now she’s the girl I didn’t dare
Approach, ask out, much less declare
My love to, mired in young despair.
Childbearing, rows, domestic care –
All the prosaic wear and tear
That constitute the life we share –
Slip from her beautiful and bare
Bright body as, made half aware
Of my quick, surreptitious stare,
She wrings the water from her hair
And turning smiles to see me there.
A somewhat out-of-the-ordinary weekend
Despite my protestations, it was nice to see the support from my sister and my friends from TP, Stanford, and CRA during the Sunday afternoon show. Thanks, all of you who came.
It was quite the week: five hours of rehearsals from Tuesday through Thursday, and then preparations and shows all Friday, Saturday and Sunday. The amount of work I had was also above ordinary, so I was working until 2 to 3 am early in the week. It’s probably the least amount of sleep I’ve had in a while. After that whirlwind week, I’m completely bored right now. I really dislike that sudden shift from superactive to lazy mode. I always get a bit depressed after finals or after completing a big project. The unwinding is just too quick.
I will say that my caligynephobia was tested to its limits this past week. It really was a pleasant and extremely informative experience overall, however. As one who actively avoids the spotlight, being on stage was quite the change in scenery. I don’t think I regret it, although these fb pictures might make me eat my words…
At times, I wonder what the point is when there are nearly 7 billion people on this planet; our individual contributions are minuscule. But sometimes, I can’t help but be amazed by the level of achievement that people attain everyday. That so many girls can dance at that level, requiring years of training, is pretty astounding if you stop to think about it. And while some are clearly very talented, these are not the creme de la creme of ballet dancers (this is no SAB).
The shows did not go perfectly, but I think they went well overall. Although it was a little saddening that the backstage crew packed away the nutcracker doll prior to the last show’s ending, so Clara was left nc-less for the curtain close. And there were a few minor slips and a missed entrance or two. And the end, though, I think I will remember: how the girls who weren’t dancing were cheering the others on, both in the wings and in the Green Room, especially when the ones onstage did things well; how they consoled each other when one was being particularly hard on herself after a slightest of mistakes; how the two girls playing maids looked like they were having the times of their lives in mimicry; and how all the girls got emotional onstage after the final curtain closed for the seniors who would be graduating and just finished their last nutcracker. Things like these truly warm the cockles of my cold, cold heart.
The most amusing part of the weekend: a 16-year-old girl, very pretty but somewhat ditzy, reading A Confederacy of Dunces.