At dinner with a uni friend tonight we did what students are wont to do at this time of year; express our fatigue, anxiety and dwindling personal confidence by complaining about our colleagues, faculty and institution. There’s little effort towards cohesion (more general exclamations and upwardly inflecting unanswerable questions, like ‘uhmygod, she is just, like, so completely impossible, isn’t she?’) and apparently no requirement whatsoever for accuracy. It must be a sort of ritual.
It’s finals time, and I would like to report that all my projects are motoring along in a timely manner, that I’m entirely confident of their theoretical underpinnings and the visual expression of same, and that I sleep very soundly at night. I would.
Today is Tuesday, but classes followed a Thursday timetable, because this Thursday is Thanksgiving (so a holiday), and the semester is already a Thursday short for Rosh Hashanah (way, way, way back in September). What I’ve learned about Thanksgiving is that there are no gifts, it is a non religious (just colonial) celebration of plenty, there’s always turkey, and everyone goes home for it. It’s a holiday, as in ‘happy holiday’, or ‘the holiday season’, but is altogether different from a vacation. Anyway, the Thursday switch to Tuesday thing confused me rather more than it should have, and I had to cycle home at great speed (so to speak) during the break, to get the stuff that I hadn’t thought I’d need because today was Tuesday. See how easy it is to get confused?
At the end of the day my Prof. wished us all a happy thanksgiving, and then suggested adding Mike Brown to our list of things to remember as we ate lots of turkey. Two hours later P and I exited our dinner café and stepped into the ‘Day After Announcement’ rally, for him.
It travelled along Christopher Street, which is two streets from mine, having come I think from Union Square. Christopher Street is where the Stonewall Riots occurred in 1969, which launched the gay liberation movement. It’s still very gay. Philip Seymour Hoffman lived in it, and Yoko Ono either still does or did. The Oscar Wilde Bookshop was on the corner of Christopher and (by coincidence – it’s 150 years old) Gay Street, but closed a few years ago.
After it passed the streets quietened down. Then there were just a lot of police, standing around.