Winter Redux

This morning there were snow flurries. Last week it was 65. The constant about New York weather seems to be its ability to screw with me on a weekly and sometimes daily basis. I want June. I need June. Please send June.

In other new and exciting news, I got some new glasses. Two pair actually, and both have the correct presciptions in them. For the first time. Ever. See, the thing is that I have actually needed glasses for about 4 or 5 years now, but when I went to Sears so many years back they succeeded in a)giving me pink-eye so badly that I ended up the ER and b)giving me the wrong prescription and being mean to me when I went back to get it fixed. So I kept the glasses (with the incorrect lenses), and wore them on the rare occasion that I felt I could stand the headache that came with them. But now the world is beautiful again, thanks to health insurance and a really great eye doctor. I was literally stunned at how well I can see now. It's quite fabulous. But I had no idea that so much dog fur had settled in the nooks and crannies of my house.

In Greenpoint Neighborhood News, we seem to have some sort of a local Guerilla Theatre group. A Middle-aged Polish Man Guerilla Theatre Group. Of which all them members/performers seem to be drunk by about 9am. But they really enjoy hanging out in large numbers by the dog park and lately they have taken it upon themselves to sing, dance, and (the kicker) play the harmonica. (I use "play" lightly. Really they make the kind of harmonica sounds that I used to make as a 7-year-old who thought she was playing the harmonica.) Occasionally one of the members/performers will wander over the the dog park fence and then Jack takes it upon herself to berate the aforementioned with extremely loud large-dog barks and taunts. It really is a sideshow of glee for all involved.

I'm still playing the cello (well, still studying the cello) and still not very good at it. My main problem is a complete and utter lack talent, follwed closely by my inability to just relax and breathe. Lame, especially since I spent so many years in school learning how to breathe (yeah... acting school really prepares you for the real world.) I do have a good time plugging away at trying to learn the thing (the cello that is, and I have named her Misty. Because she's a cheap girl with a shiny finish, kind of like a stripper. Or a My Little Pony.)

This concludes our update.


Editors note: My husband gets credit for the "Guerilla Theatre" joke.