Thursday, January 29, 2004
Sleep that somethings the ravelled something of something.
I used to think I'd much rather go blind than deaf. Taking continuing ed courses at Emily Carr Institute of Art and Design made me value vision more, but the thought of progressive hearing loss made me feel more light-headed than I already did yesterday.
Having spent almost 24 hours in bed, I am now
a) rested
b) exTREMEly bored
c) a bit sad I missed the snow
d) no longer fretting like I was yesterday, thanks in part to a helpful pointer to this page and the info that I probably have vestibular neuronitis or labyrinthitis.
I still feel mildly dizzy as the drugs start to wear off, and there's pressure in my left ear, but I can do yoga tree pose without falling over and I should be fine in a few weeks. I'm timing the drugs so that I will be steady on my feet at dance practice tonight.
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
Fuck.
I just had a doctor's appointment at the campus health centre -- it was a follow-up thing to check that the inhaler I'm now using morning and night has improved my peak flow. Which it has, hooray. Go lungs.
Last night, though, I started feeling very dizzy for no discernable reason around 8 pm -- I lay in bed for a few hours until it subsided, but I'm still feeling mildly dizzy. I told the doctor about this, and he's given me a prescription for tablets to take for three weeks and told me to go stay in bed, avoiding light and noise, for 24 hours. Better today than yesterday, I'll just cancel tutoring tomorrow and should be fine for dance practice tomorrow night. When he was explaining it, though, the page he brought up on the computer was about Meniere's disease, which I really really really have no interest in having. Progressive hearing loss, tinnitus, and periodic episodes of vertigo, please NO.
I don't think the doctor diagnosed me with that, though, and he definitely didn't do a diagnosis of exclusion -- I am choosing to believe I am just a bit overtired and have an inner ear infection. And an unwanted excuse to lie in bed doing nothing for 24 hours. And no reason not to compete in at the next University dancesport competition in Sheffield in 2 weeks.
This isn't just denial -- I wasn't vomiting and my ears weren't ringing. I didn't notice any hearing loss, either, but might just not have been paying attention. The Merck page on Vertigo isn't reassuring me as much as I'd like.
Monday, January 26, 2004
"My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus", as a friend likes to say
Actually, my feet both hurt and stink from 2 hours of dance practice this evening (and 4 yesterday), and some guy named Jesus kept trying to grind with me the last time I was in a salsa club so no, I'm not a fan. I'm now dancing Sunday afternoons, Monday nights, Wednesday nights and Thursday nights, and sitting in on two courses on top of my regular load (and doing readings and homework for all of them, though not the essay for Analytic Frameworks for Policy Evaluation, which is making Grash resent me I think), plus tutoring on Thursdays. Not sleeping enough; I can sleep when I'm dead.
This, however, is a summary of my birthday, which was great (I think I'll turn 29 again next year): my lectures were both highly instructive and beyond hilarious because Larry Phillips and Carlos Bana E Costa teach like an old married couple, bickering and interjecting when the other one is leaving something out, and Professor Lane is ascerbic and cutting. I keep writing down professorial bon mots in the margins in my notes and some day when I have more time I will record them for posterity here. In the evening I had good Indian food with a dozen friends, and while the LSE Colombian student society party was sold out so we didn't get to salsa or merengue or cumbia or some-other-Latin-dance-I-forget, we had fun dancing to really crap music (the DJ sucked) at the Walkabout. Where there was a person of small stature on the dance floor (midget? dwarf? I don't know). As Quentin said, "my night is complete." Personally, my favourite was the couple getting nasty to "Pump up the Jam".
Kevin requested pictures of women that would make him discount things:
Thursday, January 22, 2004
Gung hay fat choy
(or for the culture fusionists, Gung haggis fat choy)
Happy year of the monkey. Hooray for monkeys!
Funny even if you know nothing about the dismal science
Via the Econ 101 thread at The Perfect World, a trivia quiz about economists. Check out the wrong answers too.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
"girls don't like boys
girls like cars and money"
Grash wrote that yesterday on my notes in Advanced Behavioural Decision Making, nicely encapsulating the statistically-insignificant secondary results of the paper we were critiquing, "Do pretty women inspire men to discount the future?" (Wilson and Daly, 2003)
The authors, Margo Wilson and Martin Daly, claim their study shows that men start making more impatient choices about less money soon vs. more money later (discounting the future) after looking at pictures of "hot" women, as compared to men looking at "not" women or women looking at either "hot" or "not" men. Their study also showed women start discounting the future more after looking at pictures of "hot" cars, as compared to them looking at "not" cars and men looking at either beaters or Ferraris, but then statistical tests made that difference insignificant.
Wilson and Daly state in the introduction:
"A sex difference in discounting is predictable. Because men have always had some chance of gaining fitness from short-term expenditures of mating effort, whereas successful reproduction typically requires more prolonged parental investment by women, men should have evolved to discount the future more steeply than women"but then they don't show the raw data that bears this out. Which is a bit suspicious. Plus Wilson and Daly were comparing changes in raw values instead of changes in logs, which might have been more statistically valid. Whatever. I'm not convinced by the study, but I still find it entertaining.
I am, however, depressed by the whole sociobiological argument that our stone age ancestry makes men just care that their mates are attractive (as a proxy for being healthy and genetically well-endowed) and causes women to evaluate men by the size of their wallets. If true, I'm a total failure as a girl. Not only do I much prefer money I earn myself, I am not so impressed by cars (except Jaguars. Jaguars are very, very pretty and probably make me discount the future.), and I really like boys a lot.
Especially my new dance partner. He leads well, he doesn't let me get away with rushing, and he's very funny. He also thinks I look and sound Texan. "That dog won't hunt," I told him, which dissuaded him not at all.
On the way home from dance class, I was reading and forgot to transfer to the Central line at Tottenham Court Road, so waited until Embankment and took the Circle line. I picked up a section of the Independent off the floor of the Circle line train (Germs Are Weak is my motto this week) and loved the DAYS LIKE THESE from 21 January 1969:
Tony Benn writes in his diary:
"Caroline and I went to dinner with Arnold Weinstock and his wife. They live in a flat that is fantastic - it's a like a first-class cabin on the QEII, with no evidence of human habiatation. Arnold is a very complex character. I don't know his background, except that he did go to university and he married the daughter of Michael Sobell, who ran an electrical company, and got into business that way. He began doing very well, bought up General Electric and then AEI, and then English Electric. He is now in the same scale of operations as Philips or Siemens. I find him eagreeable, easy to work with, but incredibly primitive politically. Not so much reactionary, just primitive; he doesn't know what it's all about. He described Brian Abel-Smith at the LSE as a trouble maker, when he is a middle-aged, respectable Fabian social-engineer."
COMPILED BY IAN IRVINE
The very long list of other boys I like a lot includes John and Pranav. John and I went to the Solemn Mass at the Brompton Oratory on Sunday, with the singing in Latin and the bell ringing and the incense. I think the incense got to John, as he somehow took something I said as meaning that I am turning 30. NO! I WILL ONLY BE 29! THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW! I AM NOT FREAKING OUT! But I did laugh when John reported Pranav muttered "30-year-olds sure move slow," as I was taking too long to log off the computer and head off for dinner with the two of them this evening. Over dessert they used SMART analysis on each other to evaluate strategic career options. I really like this degree, even if it doesn't turn me into a respectable Fabian social-engineer.
According to Dr Susan Blackmore, Psychologist and Writer (again from the Independent) "If you really think about evolution and why we are human beings are here, you have to come to the conclusion that we are here for absolutely no reason at all. That can be very scary, but it can also be comforting." I am comforted: it means I don't have to feel like a Darwinian failure for not being a golddigger, and even if I use the wrong decision-making technique to figure out what to do when I grow up, it doesn't really matter.
Whee!
Friday, January 16, 2004
"I go one better / I'm indebted / to a contact magazine"
I'm indebted to the internet (and to dance) for getting me over my cranky mood. BeaucoupKevin has been sending me the funniest email. No one else has ever written email to anyone that is funnier. No, you're wrong. You haven't, they haven't. KEVIN WINS. But since you didn't get the e-mail, you can go read his friend Rob (the genius behind CAT TOWN and many other funny things)'s take on the trailer for FOUNDATION, starring Will Smith.
I love the internet.
Another great internet find that made me happy was a legal analysis of The Lord of the Rings by Adam Rosman. How can you not love something that starts with the title
Gandalf as Torturer:
The “Ticking Bomb” Terrorist and Due Process
in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings
?
I self-medicated with Tango the dance instead of booze+Tango the drink on Wednesday to get over the project hand-in not-letting-go. I have this whole essay building within me about dance as therapy, and how tango is particularly helpful for control freaks like me, but it's not funny enough yet so I can't post it. In the meantime, I found an actual workshop combining psychotherapy and tango. Which isn't what I'm looking for, plus with tango, having the woman lead is all wrong. TangoCamp, on the other hand, combines several of my favourite things: Tango, Sweden, Midsommar. And it's affordable-ish. Hmmm.
Thursday, January 15, 2004
It's a small coincidental world after all.
Friendster has got me thinking about social circles and how people are connected. Other than my friends from high school, summerGeekCamp, and the Openface/HASC/computer science crew at McGill, most of my friends and I have social networks that intersect but don't have many common nodes. Even here in London I've met a lot of wonderful people who form distinct circles of friends and mostly don't know each other: the OR department, my flatmates and their friends, the BALADS dance fanatics, etc. Though maybe Future ThinkTanker and I'll have a party next Friday to celebrate our shared birthday and worlds will collide.
I think most people's social networks are like this, very loosely but extensively interconnected, now that we don't all study/work, breed and die in the place we're born. It may be surprising but it's not shocking when you meet someone and it turns out they know several of your friends, especially when you come from a small country of only 30 million.
But this afternoon was weird. I went to my tutoring gig for the first time since early December. As with the last two times, the class had a supply teacher while the regular teacher was supervising exams or something. He and I established that he wasn't any good at French, so I'd handle that while he did classroom control*, and oh, we were both Canadian.
At the end of class, we were trading stories of how we ended up in London. When he said he and his wife were both musicians, so they were supply teaching days, going to concerts and playing nights, I asked what instruments. Brass: him trombone, her trumpet. I asked jazz or classical. He did jazz at U of T. At that point I was almost certain, but still I asked. And yes, he started there at the same time as my good friend the Type-A Hippy, and they're good friends too. The last time they saw each other was at SupplyTeacher's wedding two years ago, he thinks.
I've met a few people at LSE where we know some of the same people, or first took a computer science course with Laurie Hendren (and loved it). If I hadn't asked the right questions, though, I never would have figured out that this person who ended up in the same Year 10 French class in a city of more than 7 million on the same January afternoon as I did, through a rather random series of events, was someone I've probably heard stories about before. So odd, and very cool.
*His job was much harder than mine. Fifteen-year-old girls, last period in the afternoon. They aren't nearly as rebellious or rude as they clearly think they are, but most of them are loud and obnoxious. I had a hard time alternately not laughing and not cringing. Underneath it all they're lovely and I'm sure they'll grow out of it, just as I did.
Back-dated report on Barcelona
I finally copied and pasted my trip report on Barcelona here. Skip all the bullet points if you'd rather ignore the comedy of errors that was our travel to and from Barcelona. I'll probably upload photos from that trip and others to pbase later.
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
assshakemanship
Before heading to the Tuns, I followed a link from somewhere (Caterina maybe) and ended up at this page, a discussion of whether more men than women blog or not. About which I care not one whit and yet (because clearly I have no sense) I was reading through the comments despite my general distaste for meta discussions about the nature of blogging. Then this paragraph from a comment by Julius, whoever he is, made it all worthwhile:
People who blog as a social outlet are those with more intelligence than looks, more opinions than charm, more penmanship than assshakemanship. So to speak.
Julius just made me break my self-imposed rule about not blogging about blogging, but I thought if it made me laugh, maybe it would make you laugh too. Through a trackback to that article to rebecca's pocket, I also found Theory of the Daily, a blog on 'The domestic and the everyday in literature, history, philosophy, and science'. Which I need to check out when I'm caught up on all the domestic tasks that have fallen by the wayside since I got back to London.
Dance classes start again tonight, I will be working on my hip action. Assshakemanship, so to speak.
Looks like a job for alcohol
The first week of term always sucks. I always forget that. John reminded me of it as we ate lunch and aired our feelings of crankiness, edginess and disorientation. Yesterday I submitted the last of my projects from OR403 Computer Methods in Operational Research, so officially I'm done with simulation, applied statistics, and basic mathematical programming, at least as far as assessed work goes.
I'm having trouble letting go, though, second-guessing the work I did. BMP was actually very solid, but did I give enough recommendations, go into the dual values of the solution enough? In the stats report, I didn't mention that I used a runs test to check the linearity of the residuals, will I lose marks for that? And will the strength of the other two projects make up for a rather cursory report to management for Simulation? I need to kill the synapses that are getting all OCD here.
Part of the problem is the way they mark things here. Instead of getting marked down from 100, you get 50 for a pass and then marked up from there for great stuff, not just good work. So a 70 is Excellent. That's fine, I'm not expecting North American-style marks (and we don't get letter grades either, it's Distinction, Merit, Pass or Fail). It's just nerve-wracking wondering whether there are any critical flaws in my work that mean I'll not pass.
So yes, alcohol is in order.
On Sunday, my nth day of not enough sleep, I was thinking about Sam, a long-lost friend from Montreal. I don't know how many nights he and I and the rest of the people in compilers stayed all night in the lab making the damn thing work and then writing about it. I do know that our sleep deprived-induced punchiness led to a slightly wigged-out but funny report.
Anyway, Laura (who's in Decision Sciences and thus didn't have any of these projects due) had made me sign up for friendster Saturday, and Sam was signed up, and now I can read his blog that he doesn't update enough. You should too. He's a very funny man. Also remarkably tolerant of people who have been bugging him all term that if he gave up smoking he wouldn't have that cough and wouldn't have to freeze outside suddenly deciding they need to bum a smoke off him.
I made it through the first term without being tempted by tobacco, but am making no predictions for the rest of the degree.
(if you're wondering why comments aren't available, it's not my fault. Blogspeak is currently down.)
Friday, January 09, 2004
Glorification of dead animals in the New York Times
OK, this will come as a shock to almost no one who knows me well, but I think it's generally good if people consciously work out for themselves what they see as ethical in their use and consumption of animals. I'd be lying if I said I don't care about the net results of peoples' decisions, but I don't actually care on an individual level if someone, say, eats farmed salmon, or if they do if they've thought it through. I'm irked by vegetarians/vegans/animal rights activists who get all holier-than-thou and judgy about meat eaters/hunters/fur wearers; it's obvious not everyone agrees meat is murder. Edited to add: PETA's nutcracker stunt (via Maggie, 12.23.03), for instance, was revolting, stupid, and horrible.
That doesn't stop me from being disgusted that, at least if you go by two articles in the last three days in the New York Times, wearing fur and hunting is now trendy: Fur Leaps a Generation and Shooting for a New Generation. Excerpts of the vapidity that makes me cranky:
Other students of consumer attitudes suggest that flaunting pelts can be a badge of rebellion. "Wearing fur is a quick way for you to feel superior to your mother," said James Twitchell, the author of "Living It Up: Our Love Affair With Luxury."
SITTING in a mesh-covered pit in the middle of winter was never Christopher D'Annibale's idea of fun. That is until last January when he went on his first goose hunt on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. "It's actually not so different from golf," said Mr. D'Annibale, 33, a hedge fund manager in New York City. "It takes patience."
"I guess I just had this stereotype of hunting as just a bunch of big, burly guys who wear plaid and N.R.A. caps and say, `Let's go out and kill some defenseless animals,' " said Ms. Nigg, who is planning to go bird hunting next year in Northern California.
(bolding mine)
So if it's an upscale lifestyle thing, you're not actually saying, 'Let's go out and kill some defenseless animals'? Whatever.
(And I'm wearing a faux suede-and-fur coat right now; the irony is not lost on me. I wasn't annoyed by the guy in the article who has all the gear and only shoots clay disks, just by the ones who seemed to have more fashion sense than self-awareness.)
Canadian Cityscapes (for my Torontonian friends, primarily)
(in which I almost pretend this is actually a blog, and not just a way of examining my navel so that I remember my past in the future)
Via Caterina I found this beautiful time lapse movie of Toronto skyline. In some ways the one on this page appeals more, because the moon looks so cute and fake, but the September version has, after dawn, the bright crisp light that makes me all nostalgic for time spent in Toronto visiting some of my favourite people.
I am in grave danger of spending all evening exploring daily dose of imagery instead of getting my mathematical program project finished. Or just watching the CN Tower timelapse over and over again.
For the non-Centre of the Universals, there's also a cool bird's eye view of Montreal. If the camera had just been facing slightly to the right, I'd be able to magnify my would-be-favourite-ever-except-for-the-mice-and-the-drafts apartment, on Clark. That is de l'Esplanade in the foreground, and Mont Royal and Marie Anne headed brightly into the frame, right?
Thursday, January 08, 2004
Purging my mobile text messages while waiting for my AIMMS model to solve
Now-deleted contents of my Outbox:
Ok m on my wA from misery 2 :-)ness 2dA (from before I figured out how to use the dictionary to text quickly)
About-to-be-deleted contents of my Inbox:
Happy sunday! Location? Status? Plan? Me: Bus, awake, en route to blpes. Date and time: 7-Dec-2003 11:47:41
Home again home again jiggety jig. x a Date and time: 27-Sept-2003 13:05:29
Sorry! Will make it up to you both. Date and time: 21-Nov-2003 19:11:12
It looks like i wont have time to meet up today we'll have to meet when you get back Date and time: 16-Dec-2003 17:46:45
All the chanting worked. Christmas is NOW! Got bumped, so free flight and since now going via ohare i arrive an hour earlier. Wahey. Date and time: 15-Dec-2003 09:46:28
Feeling better? Any chance i could pick up the tools this eve? xa Date and time: 29-Sept-2003 17:24:12
Not going to gig. Soz didn't call earlier. Bumped into cute girl i met in paris at hostel so drinking in fitzrovia. Oh susannah on mon tho. Date and time: 23-Oct-2003 19:50:56
Come down to 101 after dance. Last band has crunchy guitars and 3 part harmonies and i'm doing sound. Date and time: 13-Nov-2003 18:58:47
Sure. Telesave sign up is 08000664000, don't have BT or dsl info yet, will advise as and when. xa Date and time: 30-Sept-2003 09:31:57
Get me a ticket too. Can't afford bristol for health money and school reasons. xa Date and time: 1-Oct-2003 13:39:10
Happy new year, Welcome back. See you soon maybe, though very busy. X Date and time: 7-Jan-2004 12:08:31
Stop working. Start drinking. Date and time: 5-Dec-2003 21:57:01
About damn time. Date and time: 5-Dec-2003 22:40:22
wot time is it?prob not cos my cuz cumin ova.maybe! Date and time: 6-Oct-2003 18:10:18
On my way to newquay. Will bring back pictures of water. Have a good wkend. Date and time: 10-Oct-2003 19:48:35
The Preacher. Date and time: 12-Oct-2003 14:54:43
Going abroad? Take your mobile with you. Soon Virgin Mobile Pay As You Go customers will be able to use their phones abroad. Call 22523 free to find out how. Date and time: 3-Nov-2003 17:10:38
Home (crankiness, avoiding stupid taxes, and an exodus from an undesirable place)
from my Outlook Sent Items:
near downtown Vancouver, 0916 PST, 6 January
Vancouver is supposed to get 15-20 cm of snow today. It started about an hour ago. Visibility is limited. It is now just after 9 am and my flight supposedly leaves at 6:35 pm. I think I may be hooped. So I'm getting packed up now and heading for the airport, to see if they can either get me on an earlier flight or at least let me hang out in the Maple Leaf lounge. I just checked the YVR website, they have wireless internet in the departure lounges, so I may be stranded and miserable, but I should be connected.
Vancouver Airport, 1530 PST, 6 January
The wireless network is active here in YVR, but DNS is not. Grrr. Also I can’t find any power points, so I’m running on battery power. Bad technology is making me cranky. Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea for me to nap instead.
I nearly paid a very expensive stupid tax [a pet notion of the e-mail recipient, see below]. I checked in very early, which meant the Air Canada agent had plenty of time to inspect my passport and notice that it expires in March. She looked up British immigration’s rules, and I need a valid passport for the entirety of my planned stay there. And the return date was set for June. Because I’m flying on points, it wasn’t the end of the world – she re-ticketed me for a flight returning mid-February, and I just need to get my British passport before late March, or renew my Canadian passport, and I can rebook that flight for whenever is convenient. I really ought to have renewed my passport last summer. Dumb dumb dumb.
I had a moment of panic when she first looked up the rules that I wouldn’t be allowed to fly at all, which would have been the worst stupid tax ever. Then, because I’d been apologetic and charming and fairly calm, she managed to waive the $75 rebooking fee and I didn’t even pay that stupid tax. To assuage the karmic stupid taxes collectors, should they exist and be feeling robbed, I used the last of my Canadian bills to buy some super 7 and 6-49 tickets.
It’s still snowing and planes are continuing to arrive and go away, so I’m hoping I will be doing the same in 3 hours.
Just North of the Southernmost Point of Greenland, 0930 GMT, 7 January
Seabiscuit just ended; I looked out the window and saw the Northern Lights. I felt myself making the mental shift from thinking of Vancouver and Kelowna as home, to feeling like I belong in London. Now they’re showing Out Of Sight, one of my favourite movies ever. Anyway, things are looking up.
Mid-Atlantic, 1030 GMT, 7 January
My battery’s almost done, no more work for me. And the movie’s bowdlerized. Part of the appeal of Out Of Sight is the wonderful but nasty dialogue. Quick question, which of these lines works better for you:
“Well, the man don’t just have to die, Foley. I mean, he could accidentally hurt himself falling down on something real hard, you know? Like a shiv… or my dick.”
or
“Well, the man don’t just have to die, Foley. I mean, he could accidentally hurt himself falling down on something real hard, you know? Like a shiv… or my stick.”?
I thought so. They also edited out the bit where Steve Zahn’s character talks about how he had to go smoke a joint just to chill out. Motherfucker is consistently monkeyfeather. So annoying.
[My Address], London, 1612 GMT, 7 January
Hooray, I’m home, showered, and feeling moderately human. No snow, and it’s warm here, comparatively. I took those no-jet lag homeopathic sugar pills every two hours, and I can’t tell if they worked or not. I’m very tired, but I’m not feeling the jet lag paranoia. Either it’s the pills or it’s having fully committed to the fact that I live here, for now at least, and am not just a tourist. FutureISConsultant and FutureAmbassador made me tea. It’s good to be back. And the last bit of Out of Sight resonated (I don’t have it memorised, I googled):
Foley: What kind of name is Hejira?
Hejira: It's Islamic.
Foley: What's it stand for?
Hejira: The Hejira was Mohammed's flight from Mecca in 622.
Foley: His flight?
Hejira: Brothers in Leavenworth gave me that name.
Foley: You were in Leavenworth, huh?
Hejira: For a time.
Foley: Meaning?
Hejira: Meaning, time came; I left.
Foley: You busted out.
Hejira: I prefer to think of it as an exodus from an undesirable place.
Which is not to diss Vancouver; it was weird being there and not living there, but I hung out with a few friends (not for as long or with as many as I'd like to have) in between slaving away on my projects, and I still miss living there in some ways. I do not miss snow, and the consequent slipping on icy sidewalks resulting in bruised hips/hands/knees.
an explanation of stupid tax, from the originator of the term:
When you're stupid (like me), you end up paying various stupid taxes. When most people think of stupid taxes, something like lottery tickets probably comes to mind. This can also loosely be interpreted as a tax on people who can't do math. Alternatively, an economist would argue that there is an extra utility created by the fun of playing, which is why people purchase them, but this isn't central to the arguement here.
Thursday, January 01, 2004
This one time? At dance camp?
Happy 2004! I am such a geek. I spent New Year's Eve with my grandma, watching the end of Saturday Night Fever on TV, then I drove her home at 9 and got back to simulating. We both liked the dancing part of SNF; the people screwing unhappily in the backs of cars and falling off bridges not so much. Maybe it helps if you watch more than the last 15 minutes.
My grandma's New Year's resolution is to stop buying shampoo for my cousin just because it's on sale. I think my cousin has several years' worth of shampoo stocked away, as it's what she gets along with cheques for significant holidays. I get small shower gel and bubble bath sets, so my stock pile isn't as great.
I decided to go with frivolous but utility-enhancing resolutions I might actually keep. It's all about increasing utility:
- more chocolate (dark, rich, bitter, and fair trade)
- more wine (in rational amounts, most of the time)
- more silly crushes
- more brunch
- more tangoing
Anyway, I was taking a break from Simul8 to read the New York Times online and my reaction to a piece I read, not my oh so raucous New Year's Eve, is why I am a geek. There's an article on dance travel. And it sounds kind of fun. Though Ballroom Dance Camp sounds too geeky even for me, mostly because of the name. If I find an affordable dance camp with more tangoing on the schedule, I will be signing up.
