notes from all over
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Saturday night the three of us went to see the final performance of Aeriosa on the walls of Vancouver Public Library. There were three performances: one inside the library courtyard, and one on each side of the courtyard, in the open. Aerosa is a troupe of dancers who dance while on a harness suspended from somewhere high.
I've been to the building numerous times, i knew it was unusual, i've looked at it, and i've noticed it, but i never saw it's beauty before last night. It is beautiful indeed.
Reminded me of a missed gargoyle dance at the New Haven green what, eight years ago.
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Max also made me watch the Dark City. I am unhappy about the happy end, and am annoyed with several minor incongruities (humans need sunlight in order not to shrivel up and die, what about muscle memory, can that be injected too? why is the whole experiment dependent on the good doctor, why didn't he kill himself rather than lose his memories, what would happen to Strangers if he died?), but overall i enjoyed it. But then I enjoyed the Matrix too, and this is supposed to be far superior to Matrix...
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Am re-reading "Two Little Savages" -- got the book from Vancouver Public Library on a whim, for nostalgic reasons -- and it turns out that in English Эрнст Сетон-Томпсон is actually Ernst Thompson Seton.
I loved "Маленькие дикари" when I was a child, I adored the drawings and the detailed description of the methods used by the boys in the tepee. In Russian the book was abridged, and when I was nine, I thought it a crime against humanity. Some little things in the abridged Russian version made little sense (who is Biddy, why was Yan sent to Sanger, why was it difficult for him to collect money for that Canada Birds book he so wanted, etc). However, now that I am reading the original, I am less inclined to fault the translator/abridger -- the book tends to be too whimsical at times, and a lot of obsessive detailing sometimes is way too much.
The book is unacceptably racist by modern standard. The Savages in the title are obviously the imagined Noble and not-so-noble Indians, i.e., the Native Americans, or, as Canadians call them (and EST was Canadian after all) -- the First Nations. At first, I winced, now I merely move on.
I read it while G. takes her bath -- we've switched: it's now I who gives her the bath and M. who puts her to bed. It's been working fine until today, when G. rebelled and deftly pointed out to us who really runs the show.
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I filed my claim with the American Express, but haven't managed to send them the supporting documents -- I need to collect the warranty documents from my in-laws and save the receipt from my AmEx account, which I can only do on the other laptop that M. lets me use. Somehow I am in no hurry, there are plenty of other things to take care of first...