Well, there's lots to report in today's newsletter. Before getting started, I have a question. Can people think of famous European writers, poets, thinkers, artists who came to America, were "inspired" by it in some special way, then returned home? Tocqueville is the best example I know. Dvorak is also a decent one. The "defining visit" though seems to be much more common the other way round: Americans sojourning in Europe. I'm curious to compile a small list in my head so please drop me a note if you have any brainwaves.
Usually when writing these blogposts I self-censor. By which I mean that I assiduously stop myself moaning about work work work, because that's boring for everyone. This week, on the other hand, has seen a phantasmagoria of crazy adventures. So the censor can place his big black marker back in his pocket.
On Wednesday I took the Metro-North down to New York at 4-35. Three hours later we were settled in our red felt seats at the Met - surely one of the plushest opera houses in the world - ready for the curtain to lift on Cosi fan tutte. Now I should qualify my praise for what is one of the funniest, sunniest pieces ever composed with a note of caution and disapproval: the plot is offensive. About as misogynistic as you can get, in fact. You could glean this from the title, which basically means "All women are like that". However, the slapstick is good enough to make up for this (rather serious) shortcoming, and the ensemble scenes are earth-shattering. I bumped into Rowland in the lobby. Didn't get back into Union Station till 2am. A spectacular evening.
Then last night was Steve and Jen's housewarming party. They have a *damn fine* apartment. In its combination of designer furniture and super-high ceilings it's a sort of cross between 5th-Avenue-penthouse chic and Versailles. (Possibly a slight exaggeration.) Altogether extremely nice. I'm a sucker for peer-pressure. Guess what happened? Drinking games are what happened. Something about throwing a ball in a cup from a distance and banging a quarter into a glass. I really don't know. It's all very hazy. I managed to stagger back home, to my mini fortress in HGS. Woke up today in a state of considerable agony - akin to what I image the martyred saints of the early Church experienced. Concentration has, understandably, proven a challenge. I picked up two volumes from the library: Of Rule and Revenue, and Divide and Deal. It's part of a new policy of mine only to read books with alliterative titles. Needless to say, I got through 50 pages of one of them, thought f this, and walked over to Stuart's for high tea - crustless cucumber sandwiches, small finger-cakes, scones with clotted Cornish cream, and Earl Gray in dainty bone china cups. OK we just drank Tetley's. I've never actually eaten, or should I say "taken", high tea. However, since America is positively overflowing with pro-limey bonhomie at the moment, on account of some minor royal wedding (!), now's a good time to play up these British eccentricities.
Thanksgiving break has started. New Haven's emptied out all of a sudden. This is partly because the Harvard-Yale game's being played in Boston this year. There have been a couple of awesome t-shirts designed for the occasion by ever-resourceful Elis. They read:
"Harvard sucks"
-Gandhi
and
Harvard
The Antisocial Network
Brilliant! Should you care to watch one of the greatest pranks of all time - a variation on a similar theme - see here.
On Monday I fly to Chicago to stay with Mike and Sharon. I'll report back in full after the event.
For other reasons too I'm chipper at the moment. The week's vacation will do me the world of good. And I'm excited about coming back to Yale next Saturday refreshed.
Over and out.
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