Back in the years before First Chamber Dance co. moved to Seattle, we rented a space on 23rd street, close to the "old studio" on Park ave.S. between 17 and 18.
The building on 23rd was a big building with many floors and an elevator
and the elevator had an elevator man. Sam.
Sam was a skinny little old guy with a thick New York accent and an endless supply of pretzels.
Every afternoon when I left the office where the dogs and I spent some weeks care taking whilst the company was performing somewhere, Sam would offer some pretzels that he obviously had saved for the purpose, to the Schnauzers, Heidi and Frau. And the dogs would condescend to take the pretzels and then sit and stare at Sam till we hit the ground level and we could get out. They never let him touch them. Ever. They saw him in the morning and they ate his pretzels in the afternoon, but they never took to him. It made me sad, for Sam tried so hard.
I can still see the Schnauzers sitting, side by side, waiting for Sam to give then their pretzels and then back away. Very like humans. But Sam never gave up. If we had not moved to Seattle, maybe one day the Schnauzers would have relented. I'd like to think so.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Letters To The Editor
In most of my favorite books, the author or authoress has a character writing a letter to the editor ( I am talking about Agatha Christie or Antony Trollope or the the likes ) and I always thought it wonderful, the idea that one could write a letter to the newspaper and see it printed.
In the books it solved mysteries or exonerated innocent folks, whereas in real life you and your closest friend are the only likely people to read your input.
No matter.
I decided to join the forces of the The People Who Write To The newspapers.
I came across a "blog" entry in my Danish newspaper dealing with the Emmy speech by Sally Fields, written by a Dane living in Santa Fe who proudly pronounced in his bio that he owns a car that eats a lot of gas.
Already there I should have taken a deep breath and gone on to something else, but no, I kept reading. As his sources he listed the "leading media critic in the states" and the" leading TV critic in the states" ( both writing for the Washington Post ) and then, the capper, he referred to a wonderfully well written piece by Michelle Malkin telling Ms. Fields where to get off.
He thankfully gave a link and I read the "wonderfully well written piece".
YIKES
Michelle is mad, and what is worse, she is challenged.
She built a scenario of Sally Fields as an unfit mother, and certainly not speaking for this mother( Ms. malkin.)
Fine, says I, Fine.
And that was when I decided to write to the newspaper.
I want my voice to be heard, I want to be able to say to somebody like Ms. Malkin
I hear you, I do not agree, but I hear you.
The sad part about this whole deal is that people like Ms. Malkin are so sure, so absolutely sure, so sure as Mrs. Lynne Cheney who once said on a television show :
And from the right, and right on all issues.........
that they cannot fathom that others might have a point.
This is my point
This is my letter to the newspapers that I and a few of my friends will read
no matter
It did me a lot of good.
In the books it solved mysteries or exonerated innocent folks, whereas in real life you and your closest friend are the only likely people to read your input.
No matter.
I decided to join the forces of the The People Who Write To The newspapers.
I came across a "blog" entry in my Danish newspaper dealing with the Emmy speech by Sally Fields, written by a Dane living in Santa Fe who proudly pronounced in his bio that he owns a car that eats a lot of gas.
Already there I should have taken a deep breath and gone on to something else, but no, I kept reading. As his sources he listed the "leading media critic in the states" and the" leading TV critic in the states" ( both writing for the Washington Post ) and then, the capper, he referred to a wonderfully well written piece by Michelle Malkin telling Ms. Fields where to get off.
He thankfully gave a link and I read the "wonderfully well written piece".
YIKES
Michelle is mad, and what is worse, she is challenged.
She built a scenario of Sally Fields as an unfit mother, and certainly not speaking for this mother( Ms. malkin.)
Fine, says I, Fine.
And that was when I decided to write to the newspaper.
I want my voice to be heard, I want to be able to say to somebody like Ms. Malkin
I hear you, I do not agree, but I hear you.
The sad part about this whole deal is that people like Ms. Malkin are so sure, so absolutely sure, so sure as Mrs. Lynne Cheney who once said on a television show :
And from the right, and right on all issues.........
that they cannot fathom that others might have a point.
This is my point
This is my letter to the newspapers that I and a few of my friends will read
no matter
It did me a lot of good.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Monday Allergies
A long time ago I saw a poster of Snoopy of the Peanuts, resting on top of his doghouse and the caption said
I am allergic to Mondays
More Mondays like this and I too shall be allergic to Mondays.
When I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom for the obligatory morning pee, I noticed the lights were dim but, thought I, this is early morning and all that so....
by the time I got back from the doggie outing, the lights were gone, well almost. There was enough power to leave the little green light on the monitor operating. But not enough to run the fridge or radio or, most important, the coffee grinder.
The repair folks came to fix the problem late in the afternoon. And then I turned on the computer, only to find that I had no telephone connection and therefore no Internet access.
So I went down the hill to my least favorite public phone to report this problem which, since this was afternoon, would not be fixed till the next day.
I did my chores around the house and fed me and the dogs and did the dishes and sat down to watch some TV when it started to rain and the picture up and disappeared, but for good.
No matter, said I, I still have not seen the end of the Borat DVD that Colin let me borrow, so I fired up the DVD player and put the disc in and the machine spat it out saying it was "wrong disc". What? Does the machine decide which discs to play or what ? I tried other DVDs, but the result was the same.
There I was. No telephone, no computer, no television and a dysfunctional DVD player. And it was Monday.
The telephone repair people came Friday afternoon to fix the phone, but the DVD player is still acting up.
See how one can feel a little frustrated and ever so slightly allergic to Mondays.
I am allergic to Mondays
More Mondays like this and I too shall be allergic to Mondays.
When I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom for the obligatory morning pee, I noticed the lights were dim but, thought I, this is early morning and all that so....
by the time I got back from the doggie outing, the lights were gone, well almost. There was enough power to leave the little green light on the monitor operating. But not enough to run the fridge or radio or, most important, the coffee grinder.
The repair folks came to fix the problem late in the afternoon. And then I turned on the computer, only to find that I had no telephone connection and therefore no Internet access.
So I went down the hill to my least favorite public phone to report this problem which, since this was afternoon, would not be fixed till the next day.
I did my chores around the house and fed me and the dogs and did the dishes and sat down to watch some TV when it started to rain and the picture up and disappeared, but for good.
No matter, said I, I still have not seen the end of the Borat DVD that Colin let me borrow, so I fired up the DVD player and put the disc in and the machine spat it out saying it was "wrong disc". What? Does the machine decide which discs to play or what ? I tried other DVDs, but the result was the same.
There I was. No telephone, no computer, no television and a dysfunctional DVD player. And it was Monday.
The telephone repair people came Friday afternoon to fix the phone, but the DVD player is still acting up.
See how one can feel a little frustrated and ever so slightly allergic to Mondays.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Cenicienta
You look like Cinderella, I said to Josefina.
Cindy who ?, said she as she looked up from scrubbing the concrete stairs in the building with a brush and a bucket of water.
Oh, said I, Cinderella the fairytale, you know. Sorry, I don't know what it is called in Spanish.
Never had time to read, grumbled Josefina.
Well, this is a fairytale for children, something you read at night before they go to sleep...
Always busy to work, said Fina, always I work, all day and all night. Never read no Cindy books.
In desperation I turned to Yose and asked what Cinderella was in Spanish and in rapid Spanish he said
Well, I don't remember the name but Fina, there is this beautiful girl with an awful stepmother who has two ugly daughters and then they all got to a ball and wear these gorgeous dresses and jewels and high heels and she meets this super handsome prince and they dance and they fall in love and.........
by this time Josefina was back scrubbing the stairs muttering that she never read no fairytale book, only work and work and work.
I went home and found that Cinderella in Spanish is Cenicienta but even knowing that I am sure Josefina would deny ever hearing of this fairy tale.
Cindy who ?, said she as she looked up from scrubbing the concrete stairs in the building with a brush and a bucket of water.
Oh, said I, Cinderella the fairytale, you know. Sorry, I don't know what it is called in Spanish.
Never had time to read, grumbled Josefina.
Well, this is a fairytale for children, something you read at night before they go to sleep...
Always busy to work, said Fina, always I work, all day and all night. Never read no Cindy books.
In desperation I turned to Yose and asked what Cinderella was in Spanish and in rapid Spanish he said
Well, I don't remember the name but Fina, there is this beautiful girl with an awful stepmother who has two ugly daughters and then they all got to a ball and wear these gorgeous dresses and jewels and high heels and she meets this super handsome prince and they dance and they fall in love and.........
by this time Josefina was back scrubbing the stairs muttering that she never read no fairytale book, only work and work and work.
I went home and found that Cinderella in Spanish is Cenicienta but even knowing that I am sure Josefina would deny ever hearing of this fairy tale.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Two Tiny Wires
It is amazing how such a big part of your daily life depends on two tiny wires encased in some black plastic material; the telephone line.
Mine was giving me all kinds of grief with lots of noise and slooooow, oh so slow Internet connection, till suddenly it gave up. How that happened I don't know, but the result was no telephone and by the same measure, no Internet access.
Calling The Company to complain involves, in my case, a trip down the hill to the public phone in front of the tienda. There, with buses roaring by and the local population of ill assorted mutts eyeing you warily, you make your case to some female in an office in Mexico City who will then promise that a person will be attending to your problems soon, and would there be somebody at the house when the person arrives ?
YES, you say, and then the game starts of you waiting all day and no repair person showing up.
Next day you brave the hill and the buses and the mutts and call again and the same result.
It took a week and a day for a repair that took all of 45 minutes to do, and that included a couple of breaks.
Now I am back online and wondering at the fragility of the tiny wires and my dependency on them.
Mine was giving me all kinds of grief with lots of noise and slooooow, oh so slow Internet connection, till suddenly it gave up. How that happened I don't know, but the result was no telephone and by the same measure, no Internet access.
Calling The Company to complain involves, in my case, a trip down the hill to the public phone in front of the tienda. There, with buses roaring by and the local population of ill assorted mutts eyeing you warily, you make your case to some female in an office in Mexico City who will then promise that a person will be attending to your problems soon, and would there be somebody at the house when the person arrives ?
YES, you say, and then the game starts of you waiting all day and no repair person showing up.
Next day you brave the hill and the buses and the mutts and call again and the same result.
It took a week and a day for a repair that took all of 45 minutes to do, and that included a couple of breaks.
Now I am back online and wondering at the fragility of the tiny wires and my dependency on them.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)