5-8 Dec 06

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Decided that I'm a blogging pansy. I don't like having such a total lack of record for the last few days, but it's not particularly useful to go through each of the missed days saying that they're missed days, so I'll just stick what I remember together and drive on from there.

Went to the Apple Store, Bergdorf Goodman (!), Sharper Image, and Brookstone with Anne. There is a huge three-dimensional, lit-up silver star over Fifth Avenue at 57th Street; a big pink banner advertising "I am a city child; I live at the Plaza" hanging on the front of the building; a slew of glowing Christmas trees in the middle of that expanse in front of the Plaza; a filigree of almost-bare trees in Central Park looking like some kind of lacy overlay that covers a far-off picture of tall old buildings across the way; a chinchilla hat and a six-hundred-dollar scarf in Bergdorf's; and somewhere outside it, a vestigial trail of Dudley, Liza, Sir John, and a silk tie. (That was Friday, after class and lunch.)

Sat at my desk, chatting with Professor... well, let's go with Charlie, whose office is literally two feet from where I sit. He is a really, really nice person - in Professor Alpha's words, "a very sweet guy" - who shares quotations and observations and stuff like that. At one point he walked out past me, noticing that I was squinting at what I was reading (it looked like I couldn't see it, I guess, although thankfully it was more an issue of frustration!) and commenting first that "it wasn't an accident" that I sit right outside his office and second that "You can always tell a scholar... you'll have eyes like mine before you know it." So a) not only am I a scholar, but b) I'm also coming up behind him. This brings new meaning to Tony Soprano's comment about the "re-tyyyy-amint comm-uuuuu-nity": in their retirement, we get their community. Snarl. (This would have been Thursday.)

Confirmed, in a small way, my position that part of the reason I don't have to think so hard or be so flashy about all the Native American stuff is that it is firmly internalized and governs my thoughts as much as any religion or spirituality does for the next person. After that conversation with Professor Charlie - and another in which I got some good words from Toni Morrison, Dr. King, and others - it occurred to me that my method of getting where I want to go is, and has always been (which explains a lot), learning from the elders. The problem, of course, is that the elders never quite stay where I want them to for long. (This, obviously, was also Thursday.)

Watched Professors Alpha and Charlie share that three-part handshake my dad always used to end with some comment about "my main man, my main constituent." (Haven't thought about that in a LONG time.) Did they practice? I'm thinking probably not, since I know how to do it myself, but what happened that they agreed to shake hands like that and not like more boring people? Did it come up in conversation sometime? I'm going to ask Alpha.

Tried to stay out of the way as workers put up those wood-framed plastic sheets in Professor Alpha's (and everyone else's) windows. Alpha first saw them in the hall and made some comment about, "You're sealing me in... oh, good." Then he noticed that a sheet which had already been put up was taken back down, and casually asked the worker if he was measuring again because the people who made the frame "had fucked it up... ah well, surprise, surprise." The worker absolutely did not know what to make of this - he probably was not a person who had never heard such a word before, but at the same time, he probably hadn't heard it uttered a) by a distinguished-looking professor b) so nonchalantly that he wasn't even looking at who he was talking to c) with a young woman in the room - and he stopped mid-reach to look around at the parties involved. Alpha was busy at his computer, though, and I was turning quickly back toward my work so I could at least try to stifle the laugh that bubbled up persistently, and I don't think this poor guy had any choice but to carry on with what he'd been doing. (This, too, was Thursday.)

Looked at the clock on my desk computer as I wrote, and experienced a moment of genuine temporal confusion: it said 1:00, but I was doing schoolwork, so shouldn't it have been 1 am? (Thursday.)

Watched, as I waited outside the gym, a big sister walking with the little one to school. This is nice first because they are obviously looking out for each other and second because in establishing a routine of my own - 14th Street, 7:25am - I get to have a little look at the routines of others (Dandelions, chocolate Labs, and dalmatians, too.) (Thursday...!)

Headed at a fast walk to DTUT to meet three peeps for a movie and dinner, and in the process of doing so, found myself behind a small boy who was obviously very impatient to get somewhere, and scrambled ahead of his mom, scrambled back, and struck out again waiting for her to catch up. The destination: Little Red Hen Bakery. The cool part: Florida kids don't get to be impressive by knowing how to get where they want to go; their parents drive them and all they have to navigate is a parking lot. This kid knew where he was headed and what he would find when he got there. He probably played peek-a-boo in Washington Square, too. (Friday.)

Smelled the piles of Christmas trees waiting outside the Food Emporium (or whatever.) It was so cold that all I could really catch was a small waft of the pine surrounded mostly by the sharp, dry smell-feel of very chilly air, and I suspect if I found those trees where they came from, my nose would have had the same experience. (Friday.)

Walked gratefully into the coffee shop to a greeting of "Schultzie!" and the sight of three friends sprawling around one corner. I'm lucky enough to know lots of great feelings and experiences, but coming in from the windy cold to a warm laid-back place populated by people who are looking forward to seeing you as much as you're looking forward to seeing them - and especially with a Cheers-style welcome - is definitely right up there. (Friday.)

Walked into the conference room for class with Roey and Professor Number Five right at my heels. Number Five must have asked what we were doing or something, to which Roey responded, "Regine is amusing me." I added that he was right, he came back with "Almost 24 hours a day, it seems," and Professor Number Five responded not in a surprised or offended but merely on-the-down-low curious tone... "Sleeping together?" The enormous "Ha!" I snorted in return was less because of what might seem to be the more obvious reason for such a reply and far more because Professor Number Five was so matter-of-fact (and so sure she'd get an answer!) about it. (Friday.)