Home Again

Milford, Michigan

Once or twice a year, I head back to Michigan.  Holidays with family, weddings of friends, there's never a shortage of reasons.  I often joke that "you can never go home again."  Things are different now. There are new buildings, different stores, fewer friends around--it's changed.  It's a different place than what you used to call home, and so you can't "go home" any more than you can go back in time.

But I've been spending a lot of time in Michigan in the last year.  More than in the last several years combined.  Sometimes in familiar places, sometimes in new places.  But it's all, on some level, familiar.  There's a unique atmosphere to it, a type of people, an aesthetic to the landscape, that is unmistakably...home?  Not my current home.  But absolutely where I come from.

I grew up in a town called Milford.  There's a Milford in almost every state, and with a few exceptions, they're all variations on the same theme.  About an hour or so from some large city, there's a little town on a river.  The town itself holds a few to several thousand people, but the outlying farms and nearby even smaller towns contribute to the feel of the population as well.  There's one major industry in or near the town.  The "downtown" area on Main Street consists of a couple blocks, and includes a bakery, the local paper, a jeweler, a toy store, and the rest of the collection of restaurants and small shops not yet put out of business by the brand new WalMart two towns over.  The folks who live there pride themselves on their town's obscure--but interesting--history, and on knowing that they live in a great place to raise kids.  They all not-so-secretly believe they are the real town Garrison Keillor talks about every week, "where the women are strong, the men are good looking, and the children are above average."

My Milford was my childhood Mayberry.  I rode my bike with a friend down to the bridge over the river where we'd spend the afternoon with half-hearted fishing lines in the water talking comic books.  We built tree forts in the woods and held our breath walking past the cemetery.  I walked down the street to neighbors near and far saying hello.  My high school's football field on Friday night was the place to be--even if the team hardly ever won.

My Milford has changed a lot in the intervening years.  The population has boomed as the outskirts of Detroit have grown into suburbs of their own, and suburbs of suburbs now reach all the way out to my little town.  The cute little stores are now high-end boutiques.  They even repealed an age-old law against buildings more than two stories tall and have built a few that are (gasp!) three and four stories tall.  Friends and family have moved away.  What once was the kind of place you looked for to live the small-town life is now a trendy spot to go out for dinner.

And yet there is a pull.  Those little familiarities, that remind you why, though you'd never admit it, you did look back over your shoulder as you left.  The way you know where you're going even though it's been ages since you've gone there.  The bend in the road you anticipate out of habit.  The surprising recollection of some neighborhood landmark that was of no significance twenty years ago when you passed it every day, yet you now start at the tiniest thrill of recognition.

It pulls at you gently, almost imperceptibly.  You effortlessly slip into a routine that you didn't realize you still remembered.  The place lulls you in, reminds you of its beauty, discretely hides its faults. Tugs at the nostalgia-laden heartstrings like a conversation with an old friend.  Let's catch up.  How've you been?  You've really changed.  You're exactly the same.

Just when you think that maybe you can go home again, you begin to realize that this place has grown up, too.  Where you once rode your bike to the Dime & Cent store for comic books and plastic swords. you now drive over to shop for locally-made home furnishings.  The ice cream parlor with the high counter and arcade video games has become a restaurant to meet old friends and reminisce.  Other friends prefer the popular new restaurant down the street, though you can't help but see it as the old pizza joint where you worked your first job at sixteen.

Nostalgia and the realization of change are, by definition, at odds.  Nowhere does that seem more true than when looking at your own home--not where you live now, but where you come from.  I can't go home again, not really, but I can visit it in stories, photo albums, and all those happy childhood memories.

The Cass Gilbert Connection

I am by no means an architecture buff.  I enjoy a beautiful building as much as the next person, but am typically more interested in why it was built than how.  I've learned to discern the Federalist and Queen Anne brownstones in my neighborhood from the Victorian brownstones of Park Slope, and to identify some other large trends in architecture through time, but this again is because of their historical context.

Still, I find myself gravitating toward the Beaux-Arts and Neo-Gothic architectural styles, and to one of that era's star architects Cass Gilbert.  There's something about the optimism inherent in these grand structures, as if upstart America really could contribute to the vast architectural heritage of the world, that keeps drawing my eye.

It's through this that the Woolworth Tower has always been my favorite skyscraper in New York.  Completed in 1913 by Cass Gilbert, and paid for in cash by Frank Woolworth (all $13.5 million), it has always struck me as the most beautiful of of the major skyscrapers in New York.  And in a show of levity typical of Gilbert, there are little details hidden in plain site on the tower. There's a gecko scaling one face high up on the tower, for example, only visible with a good pair of binoculars and just the right viewing angle. Gilbert made beautiful buildings, and found a way to keep them fun as well.

When I first moved to 90 West Street, a stunning neo-Gothic building in its own right, one of the best features of my apartment was the view east to the Woolworth Tower.  I was surprised and excited to learn that 90 West was also one of Cass Gilbert's buildings.  Built it 1907, it was actually the precursor to the Woolworth Tower, Gilbert used it to test some of his Gothic stylings.  Like the Woolworth Tower after it, Gilbert played with the design of 90 West,  adding Gargoyles with his relatives' faces.  It was really through living in this building that I begun to learn more about Gilbert, and to appreciate his style.

I've since learned more random connections with Gilbert.  He was named for an ancestor of his, Lewis Cass.  Cass was governor of the Michigan territory (before it became a state), American Ambassador to France, US Senator for Michigan, and Secretary of State.  To understand his impact, I need only consider that my own mother lives just off of Cass Boulevard, and for many years worked in the Lewis Cass Building in Michigan's state capitol.  (In fact, there are a myriad of places named after him.)

In my travels, I've begun to pay more attention to buildings in particular.  And I still find myself drawn to Cass Gilbert's buildings across the country even without knowing about them.   The US Supreme Court Building, the state capitol of Minnesota, and many buildings around New York have all drawn my eye.  They are all Gilbert's.

Recently, I flew to Saint Louis to help launch a new Chapter of Mu Beta Psi.  One day, we went to the Saint Louis Zoo, which sits in Forest Park just down a hill from the Museum of Art.  I enjoyed the zoo, but kept looking up at the Museum.  My last day in the city I had some time to myself, so I went back to the park and walked around the Museum.  It felt so familiar.  I asked the gentleman at the information desk if he knew much about the building itself.  He replied, oh yes, it was built in 1904 for the World's Fair by Cass Gilbert.

Of course.

Now I find myself looking for them.  There are quite a few, but I will see as many as I can.

Traveling Vicariously

A friend of mine is currently on a cross-country trip of a lifetime. Her office shut down, her Brooklyn lease expired, she bought a car and started driving. At the send-off party she had a little book for people to write suggestions in for destinations. Maybe she'll hit them all, maybe she'll find some little town somewhere and start a new life.

I've always loved to travel, and I do so whenever I can get enough free time and money simultaneously. But to really cut all ties to a home and set off across the country alone is both admirable and frightening. The kind of thing we only talk about doing.

As my friend swung up through New England, and west through Ontario, she found herself in my home state. Following her Twitter updates, I saw she was minutes away from my mother's house, and helped orchestrate a bed to sleep in that night. I suggested she head through da UP and got to Houghton, and sketched out a true Copper Country Cruisin' route that took her through many of the best sites of the Keweenaw.

The strange thing is that it made me feel...what? Is this homesickness? I can't say I've really felt it before, but I suddenly have this incredible longing to ride a bike around Milford. Or to build a bonfire on the shore of Lake Superior. Or to just drive long and far, through all of the familiar sights of a place that was once mine.

My friend, meanwhile, has crossed the Mississippi in Minnesota and is headed to "all points West." She blogs about her adventures here.

Passing The Torch

I just returned from Houghton, and my Fraternity's National Convention. This was a big event for me, returning to my alma mater for the first time in years and passing on the gavel to the next National President.

It's been two years since I was first elected President, and it's been a busy two years. I accomplished several of my goals, from obtaining insurance for the Fraternity to completely over-hauling the policy structure of the National Office. I've missed a few, a Travel Incentive Program that doesn't yet support the service aspects of the group. At the end of the day, though, I think I left the organization in a better state, with a more functional National Office and a clearer sense of the goals necessary to move forward. People have asked me what my "legacy" will be, and I'm not sure how to answer. I suppose, so long as the Fraternity is insured and March 14th, 2009 is the approved date on the policies I fixed, then I'll be happy that some of the more important work was worthwhile. Two Chapters bear my name on their Charter, which I'll freely admit, is pretty cool. I've offered to continue advising the new President, and I'm confident that the organization is in good hands.

But for me, I don't think I'm ready yet to leave a legacy. There is so much more work to be done for this organization to really get into a position to affect positive service in the music world. Lynn, also no longer a National Vice President, and I are focusing our efforts now on the Alumni Association. Some of you reading this may be hearing from us soon. I get the feeling that I'm in this for the long haul, and that's a good thing.

This Convention was a homecoming for me, in a few ways. It was wonderful to preside over the Convention at my home Chapter, and fitting that I come home to pass on the torch. It was also the first time I was able to spend real time in and around Houghton since graduation. Sure, I made a brief visit a couple years ago, but spent about 24 hours there, and most of it in someone's house. This trip was different.

Although the events of Convention didn't start until Thursday, we flew up Wednesday. Our flight connected through Minneapolis (as all flights to Houghton do), and they almost didn't let us leave that airport citing bad weather in Houghton. We eventually took off with the very real possibility of redirecting to Marquette should the winds at Houghton continue gusting above 60mph. It took three tries at approaching the landing strip, but we did land in Houghton and were off on our adventure.

We went into town, and met up with an old friend of mine John. John and I met back when I used to have lunch every Friday at Marie's Deli and he would be playing the harp. Eventually, he would join me for lunch, and we became friends chatting about everything from music to astronomy. I hadn't seen him since graduation, and we had a lot of catching up to do. He also adores opera, which helped he and Lynn get along just fine.

Thursday began as Wednesday ended; we had to finish our preparations for the meetings and business that is conducted at Convention. But afterward we headed to MTU's campus to meet up with some others. In true Tech tradition, we borrowed some cafeteria trays and went sledding down McNair Hill. Then it was back to the hotel for some time in the hot tub before heading back out for dinner at the Bass (Ambassador) and drinks at the DT (Downtowner Lounge).

Friday was meetings, meetings, meetings, and Saturday was one big long meeting--both extremely relevant to Mu Beta Psi, but not for our narrative here.

Sunday, as everyone was leaving, we decided to take a drive. Another time-honored Tech tradition is to go Copper Country Cruisin'. So, we piled a few other visiting Brothers into our rental car and went up US-41 and M-26 to Copper Harbor. It was exhilarating to be back, and I was amazed once again of the stark beauty of the land there. As we drove along Lake Superior, with waves frozen mid-crash, I fell right back in love with the UP. It will likely never again be where I live, but it will always be my home.

The Holiday Traveling Show

Occasionally, this blog sits around for a while. Generally I'm either distracted by shiny objects elsewhere, or simply can't think of anything about which to write. Not this time, though. Things have really just been a whirlwind of activity.

Lynn and I spent Thanksgiving in Michigan, flying out there for about four days. We were lucky to spend some time with some of the Flemings in Ann Arbor, and visit with them a bit. Thanksgiving dinner itself was at my mom's house (a first, since we've always had a big Soave family dinner) with several members of a new branch of the family. The next day we had dinner with some of the Soaves, and soon after flew back to New York.

Christmas was similar, as we found ourselves out with Lynn's family for Christmas, and up in the Catskills to my dad's place the next couple days. Fortunately, we had a brief layover in Connecticut on the way back home where we enjoyed the whole house—empty—to ourselves. Don't think I'm complaining, though. These holidays were our first as a family, and to spend them with all of the extensions of our families showed us just how lucky we are.

All the while, and in between, we've also played host to several friends who've come to visit or have been passing through the city. Many of Lynn's singer-friends have come to town for the audition season, and several others have been through just to say hi and spend some time with us. November and December have been an almost continual progression of traveling and hosting, and what could be better than friends and family at this time of year?

The stats:
Families visited: 5 (all out own!)
Friends hosted: 7
Distance travelled: 1,750 miles

The fun continues as we'll be up in Boston for New Year's, and then off to Killington for some fun in the snow!

Yes! Michigan

I don't generally dwell on the state I've left behind. It was a great place to grow up, and is still a great place to visit. But every once in a while I like to check in and see how things are doing. And I couldn't help but notice this little piece of news coming from dear old Flint, courtesy of the Detroit Free Press.

Here are some of the highlights:

Flint residents now have to watch their butts because Police Chief David Dicks is on the lookout.

Dicks, who took over the department last month on an interim basis, announced that his officers would start arresting people wearing saggy pants that expose skivvies, boxer shorts or bare bottoms.

....

The crime, he says, is disorderly conduct or indecent exposure, both misdemeanors punishable by 93 days to a year in jail and/or fines up to $500.

Dicks, 41, broke down his interpretation of the laws as such: Pants pulled completely below the buttocks with underwear showing is disorderly conduct; saggy pants with skin of the buttocks showing is indecent exposure, and saggy pants, not completely below the buttocks, with underwear exposed results in a warning.

While nearly an hour's drive from Detroit, Flint is a pretty dangerous place—far more than Detroit itself. Is this a possible solution? It sort of reminds me of Guilianni's crackdown on drug dealing in New York by ramping up parking ticket enforcement. A bit of an out there idea, but it did have some success there. The article continues:

Flint's not the first city to take a look at policing the exposure of underwear. Pontiac, Auburn Hills, Atlanta and cities across the nation have debated the issue. But Dicks makes the assertion that wearing pants below the waist can give police probable cause to search saggers for other crimes, such as weapon and drug possession. He said because sagging is a crime, it presents probable cause for police to search saggers.

Pontiac and Auburn Hills are both suburbs between Detroit and Flint.

Dicks also scoffed at any suggestions that any enforcement unfairly targets black men and teens.

"This is not a black issue. This is an issue that's all walks of life," said Dicks, who is black. "Many people from different ethnic backgrounds and races are doing this fad."

But perhaps the best part of this article, and the true reason why the Detroit Free Press will always be dear to my heart, is the info-graphic they've created to help visualize this crime.Thanks for that, now I know. Yes! Michigan, the feeling truly is forever.

Clearfield, PA

Last weekend, Lynn and I took a whirlwind road-trip to Michigan and back for a wedding shower. We borrowed her parents car on Thursday night and parked it in the city so we could leave right after work on Friday.

Friday afternoon, we left New York around 3pm. Expecting a ten-hour drive, we hoped to get to the Detroit area by 1am. Then we'd have plenty of sleep before Lynn went to the 12:30 shower (I was to show up only at the end to say hello to the relatives and family friends). The first part of the drive was uneventful, we flew through Jersey into the wonderful (but long) stretch of I-80 through the Pennsylvania mountains.

About a third of the way across the state, and firmly in the middle of nowhere, we got a flat tire. The car we had borrowed was nice enough to have tire pressure sensors, so the light came on and we had plenty of time to get off the next exit before the tire deflated significantly. So, off we went down the ramp of exit 120 and into a small gas station.

Now, of all of the great state of Pennsylvania, there has been only one location that I've stopped while passing through. This particular exit of the interstate has a little local restaurant called the "Dutch Pantry" that has good food and nice service. This restaurant is the half-way point between Catskill, NY and Detroit, MI, and so is the place where my father always stops when driving back to Michigan to visit his family. So, having been on many of those drives myself, I've been there more than a few times. So it was only natural that our flat tire would leave us nowhere else but the exit with the Dutch Pantry, at the gas station right next door.

Having had a couple flat tires in the past (once I lost both back tires at the same time!), I knew I could change the tire and we could go as far as we could on the spare. Opening the trunk, we saw that we had a full-size spare tire and were delighted to think that in fifteen minutes or so we'd be back on our way to Michigan. So, I pulled out the jack while Lynn went to grab us some dinner. It didn't take me long, however, to discover that I was not going to get that flat tire off the car.

This particular brand of car has a special lug nut (one of the five) that requires a special key to get it off the wheel. We did not have this key. We turned the car inside out, but no key. So, we called AAA to ask them how we could get the key to get the tire off. They politely informed us that the car company does not release universal keys, so our only option was to take the car to a dealership. They were also kind enough to point out that the nearest dealership was 120 miles southwest of us in Pittsburgh.

By this point, the sun had set, and hours had passed.

Around 10pm, it looked like all hope was lost. A tow truck was on the way, but it could only take us to Pittsburgh. We had tried calling car rental companies to get us moving again, but on a Friday night they were all closed (and we were nowhere near an airport). So, the tow truck would take us to Pittsburgh, we would stay in a hotel, and when the dealership opened Saturday morning they would replace the tire. Then we would have to turn around and go home, since we would certainly miss the shower.

Hope arrived in the form of John, the driver of the tow truck. He looked at our locked lug nut, and offered the one thing we hadn't considered: to simply break it off. He hammered a larger nut over the locked nut and unscrewed it. After that, our full size spare tire was on and road-ready in a matter of minutes. John assured us this method would ruin the locked nut, but that didn't even happen--it was only slightly scratched.

With a perfectly fine tire on the car, we were back on the road again. After a long night, we pulled into my mom's driveway around 4:30am. It was more than worth it. The shower was lovely (well, at least what I saw of it), and it was great to see family and friends even if only briefly. All too early Sunday morning, we were heading east again--but with a car full of presents.

Now the car has no locking lug nuts at all, only plain ones that can be easily removed by the wrench in the trunk.

Christmas in (and out of) New York

One of the things I've missed since moving to New York has been the Christmas lights. Sure, once in a while you get the occasional family that rings their windows in lights--but you just don't get the kind of displays a standalone house can afford. In Manhattan, at least. Once again reminded that the majority of the city is not contained in the little island on which I live, Lynn, a friend, and I journeyed out to Brooklyn in search of the famous Dyker Heights Lights.

Walking into the neighborhood from the subway station in Bay Ridge, our first impression was of a typical urban residential neighborhood. The streets were in a grid pattern, as much of Brooklyn is, and the houses were modest middle-income two-story homes. Delving deeper, however, revealed the true character of Dyker Heights: Huge Mediterranean-style villas, brimming to the edges of the properties. Greek- and Roman-inspired statues, fountains, and temples. And Christmas displays that must surely warm the hearts of everyone over at ConEd.



The owner of this house, dressed in a snowman costume was greeting children with mint candies. His wife was dressed as Elmo. He told us that it took him two months to put together this year's display, and that he has to rent a storage unit solely to store his Christmas decorations the rest of the year.





Other folks opted to simply cover every surface with lights.





Street after street of displays like these fill the neighborhood. These few pictures hardly do it justice, but I found myself trying to pick my jaw off the ground and forgetting about the camera in my hand. This neighborhood has grown such a reputation for itself, that PBS filmed a documentary on the Christmas phenomenon. The residents we ran into were proud of their displays, and rightly so. If you ever need a quick shot of good, old-fashioned, exorbitantly excessive Christmas lights, they've got you covered.

Lynn and I flew out to Michigan for Christmas, hoping for a bit more snow and to see the family. The snow was sparse, but the family was not. Merry Christmas.

Round 3: Pinch Hitting for #11 New York DMV, is #26 Michigan SoS

So I find myself wondering, where is this record the Michigan Secretary of State is supposed to be mailing me?

I call up the SoS to find out what the deal is. Turns out that whoever I'd talked to before was on a substantial amount of drugs at the time. There was no record of my call. And even if there was, they couldn't send me the report, they could only send me the application for the report. I still have to pay $8 before they'll print the report and send it. So they faxed the application to me, and I faxed it back to them.

$8 poorer, and still waiting.

Andrew: 0 DMV: 3

A Few Thoughts.

Once again, I'm motivated to update simply by too many people noticing that I haven't. Ah well. Where to begin?

This blog turned one year old last month, with little fanfare. It still feels like it doesn't have much of a purpose, but then even in the beginning I never stated a purpose. Poor little blog, lost in the wilds of the internet searching for meaning in life.

Onward.

I had an observing run at the Very Large Array (VLA) in New Mexico. Pictures can be found here, for those of you who have asked.

Weddings. So many weddings this summer. Why do you people all have to get married? Sheesh. Truly, though, I'm very happy for my friends and family members getting married. And hey, they are more excuses to travel. The current list has two weddings in Michigan, one in North Carolina, one in Florida, and possibly another in Iowa. Add to that a trip to Wisconsin, another observing run, and possibly a conference in Canada, and my summer already seems completely full.

This is the perfect time of year to be in New York. All the trees are in bloom, the weather is warm--but not so warm that you over-heat walking around town. I wish it would stay in the 60's all through the summer.

Work needs to be done. This needs to be updated later.

A Random Walk

Looks like I've yet again let this thing sit for a while without posting. Ah well. I'd like to say that I try, but the truth is, it's still just a diversion from work. So on the rare occasion that I am actually working, it doesn't get updated.

So, since the last post, I've gone skiing at Killington, had Christmas in Michigan, New Years in NYC, gone observing at Kitt Peak, and ran a 420-couple ballroom dance competition--in which I also competed. How's that for a run-on sentence, eh?

The ski trip was wonderful, the perfect end to a semester. Granted more time was spent being lazy by fire (and not being lazy by the fire) than actually skiing, but that was fine with me. I needed to relax and unwind, and I couldn't have asked for a better time.

After that, it was a whirlwind 4-day trip to Michigan and back for Christmas. Not much to report there, beside the usual huge Italian family craziness.

Back in NYC, I met up with a friend from swing dancing to go to a New Year's party not far from Times Square. (No, I did not actually go to Times Square, that would be silly.) It was a nice party, sort of low key, but lots of good people. For the actual count-down to the new year, we went up on the roof to see/hear the Times Square crowd. They fired off fireworks in the square. I couldn't believe it; fireworks being shot off between skyscrapers, exploding next to windows, and raining ash down on the crowd. No kiss on the dawn of the new year, though, as the only one I would have was far, far away.

Then it was off to Arizona for an observing run on a 1.3-meter telescope partially owned by Columbia. For the most part, we had perfect weather, and got lots of good data. As usual, I met some great people there, as well. I love meeting people on observing runs, it's one of my favorite things about what I do.

When I returned, I had only three short days to finish the preparations for the Manhattan Amateur Classic 2006 ballroom competition. I've been on the organizing committee for this since last spring, and preparations began back in June. While there were, of course, major crises every ten minutes, we were able to quell most of the problems and work out reasonable solutions. It was a lot of work, a lot of effort, and long hours. But in the end, the event came off well, and we received a lot of positive feedback from competitors and audience members. When the competition ended, the other members of the organizing committee took me out to nice dinner. Then we went to the hotel room of one of the organizers for an after-party. Oh, and in the competition, my partner and I placed 5th in Silver, which is the highest we've achieved thus far. Good times.

And now it's back to the grind. Today is the first day of class (I like to emphasize that I'm only taking one--and it's the last class I will ever have to take!). Though my class actually starts tomorrow. Nonetheless, there's much work to be done on my research. Data from the observing run to analyze. Officemates with whom to catch up on things. And of course, all my webcomics to read!

Re-establishing contact

Well, it has been a while, hasn't it? I made no promises, stop complaining.

Just got back from a whirlwind trip to Michigan. The highlights:
-My cousin's wedding
-Seeing a branch of my family I rarely get to see
-The longest conversation with my mother I've had in too long

Good things, all of them.

Now I just have to work my tail off to prepare a preliminary defense of my research for tomorrow. After that, it's summer fun in New York City.

Wish me luck.

The story so far.

I've been living in New York City for about seven months now. It's a bit of a change from Houghton, Michigan. Here's a quick summary for those of you not familiar with one or both locations:

Houghton:
-Between 5,000 and 11,000 people (depending on whether or not school is in session)
-Everyone knows most everyone else
-It snows from September to May, and this is normal
-The nearest 'city' is a six-hour drive away

New York:
-Around 8,000,000 people in the city (3,500,000 residents of Manhattan)
-Everyone hates most everyone else
-It snows a few inches at most a couple days each winter
-This is The City, there are no others comparable

I would say I've just about gotten used to living here now. I can sleep through all the noise at night, crowded places no longer frighten me, and most importantly, I can navigate the subway system (a feat many New Yorkers cannot claim, I've learned). My midwestern accent is slowly fading, as well as my desire to return there.

I'm in grad school at Columbia. While it is cool to say that I now attend an Ivy League school, I've come to learn that grad schools are more or less the same wherever you go. There's lots to do, no time to do it, but that's ok because it should have been done two weeks ago. I work with a lot of great people, and while we all have our complaints, it's a pretty good department. I have a nice office that I share with some of the other grad students who came in with me. We're on the 14th floor of our building, and our windows look south across Central Park and to the Midtown skyline. The sunsets are stunning from here. (Yes, we're usually still in the office when the sun goes down.)

I dance. A lot. I've stepped up the competitive ballroom dancing, having found a great partner here at Columbia. We've danced in several competitions already this year and have done really well. I'm also still swing dancing. I've joined a Lindy performance troupe called the Manhattan Hoppers, and I go out dancing whenever I can. I've also gotten into salsa and Argentine tango. NYC is wonderful for dance venues. You can literally dance every single night of the week. I wish I could say that I do, but sadly my work gets in the way of that a lot.

So that's about it, really. I have all sorts of "New York Stories" that I'll probably throw into successive posts here, but I've already written enough in this one. I should be working anyway....