the long weekend

pretty much kicked off with barely making into the global butoh show at highways: the circumstances weren't ideal as I was really tired and kind of anxious and perturbed for non-butoh-related reasons when the show began. Moreover, I wasn't remotely prepared for how tense and intense a form it would be. The first piece was at moments very beautiful. In particular, in the opening sequence, because it was almost fully in the dark--the only lights were the glowing computer screens, lights shining through the apple on the front cover of the laptops--I found myself straining, gaze leaping to whatever small bits of light glinted, then, finally, letting go of the strain and becoming comfortable with vague figures, whose outlines were thick and unclear, but evidently present. I love it when performances ask me to retrain my way of understanding the world around me; it's a hard exchange, but a worthwhile one. But after that, it was overly narrative and evident. And I like me some narrative, so that's saying something. And after that, there was no narrative to hang on to whatsoever: only distress and white chalk foofing into the air after a violent collision of bodies on stage.

I felt somewhat shy and out of my league in having few analytical responses to the show, especially unsure of how I would respond to queries from colleagues who were also in attendance without sounding stupid. So I was much relieved when a person in the row in front of us turned to Harmony and commented with a shrug, "what can you say? That is some crazy shit." Fiouf! Glad I'm not the only one to have astonishment crowding out any other possible thought.

Sunday was intensely lazy, with the exception of some flurrying around Michael's room, cleaning and dirtying, cleaning and dirtying. I love the laze.

And today was reggaefest. Which I will not attend again. There is a lot of hanging out, a lot of not much going on, no dancing, less than excellent music and heat. Little to report on that, really.

While I was there, my dad called and left a message on my cell asking me to call him back, that he had some not so good news. I knew it was about my grandma--his mom. My mom's mom passed away three months ago. And it turns out that the prognosis for my grandma's liver cancer is that she has about a year, at best.

I don't know how to handle this exactly. Everyone is flying from around the country to come see her. I guess I am too. It feels so wierd though, as if I'm going to see the Godfather to pay my respects. And what are we going to say? Hey! I'm sorry you're dying. I wish you wouldn't. But you are. I'm sorry.

THE LISTS

to do class: Write JM recommendation. Grade midterms. Write Catullus lecture.

to do work: Write Pépin performatic writing section.
done! Wrote a solid paragraph

to do life: Pay down debt (currently $3,430). Procure dog. Redo taxes. Pilates. Call Jessie Delgado; at your service.

to do blitz: sarah, marilyn, giulia, irmary, mariana, dar, nv
blitzed cindy, ksw

Netflixed: Step Up. The plot is ridiculous, cloying and predictable. What makes it worth watching are the dance scenes, which are funky fresh.