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Shnirele, perele, gilderne fon
This post comes in two parts.
The first: I am incredibly pleased with last night's reading. Insofar as I can reconstruct from memory, I read "Di Vayse Pave," "Kaddish for a Dybbuk," "Of Chasing After Yesterdays," "Sheydim-tants," "Postscripts from the Red Sea," "Madonna of the Cave," "Martyrology," "Wisdom," "Tzaddik," "Shnirele, Perele," and "Postcards from the Province of Hyphens," all out of A Mayse-Bikhl except for the first and last; Richard Michelson read a cycle of his autobiographical adult work from Battles & Lullabies and a pair of YA poems from Animals Anonymous and I liked both very much. People wanted copies afterward. (Of the two international envelopes![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
erzebet mailed me, I sold the contents of one entire and one additional copy went in trade for Michelson's collection.) People wanted their copies signed. This even happened with people I didn't know—negothick had met me at the train that afternoon in New London, nineweaving joined us for dinner at a slow but tasty pan-Asian restaurant called Red House, and then teenybuffalo, cucumberseed, ap_aelfwine and hans_the_bold all turned up to the reading. I ended up singing "Shnirele, Perele" in the after-conversation, which may have impressed a Hadassah board. There was a small afterparty at Negothick's, with more singing. I stayed the night at the local Marriott and read some essays from my awesome book of An-sky before bed. I am in a lot of pain, very tired, and still quite happy, I wrote to strange_selkie. It's even Connecticut in autumn and I don't want to kill myself right now.
The second: I write all this from Hartford Union Station, where I am stuck until nine-fifteen [update: nine-fifty-five] because we missed the two earlier buses due to a toxic combination of traffic and miscalculation and I cannot even do any of my work online, because the official free wireless refuses to let me log on. The morning was fine—I caught a ride to Newington with Teeny, spent the afternoon with Hans-the-Bold, the Jurassic trackway of Dinosaur State Park (where I bought a book about ancient fossil hunters for my cousin Tristen), and Indian buffet at Bombay Olive. We talked about television, politics, bad philosophy. I recommended him Donald Kingsbury's Courtship Rite (1982). He almost showed me Slave Girls from Beyond Infinity (1987). And I ran out of pain threshold about two hours ago, when we were walking around downtown Hartford in the misting rain. I had to pay double for my ticket because I hadn't bought it online. I don't know why Connecticut wants to keep me—we really don't have good history—and I hate the feeling that I cannot even have an ordinary day to follow a good one; I know it's not reprisal from the universe, but the rest of this sentence deleted for irrational.
I am glad of all of this trip but the getting home. Seriously, I am now sitting on a bus—with wireless—delayed twenty-five minutes and now fifteen minutes more, waiting for the very last connection of the night and I am still in Hartford. I would be self-medicating with the Klezmatics if I could use headphones. There have got to be better ways.
[edit]
Just after one in the morning, I got home. And now I am going to bed.
The first: I am incredibly pleased with last night's reading. Insofar as I can reconstruct from memory, I read "Di Vayse Pave," "Kaddish for a Dybbuk," "Of Chasing After Yesterdays," "Sheydim-tants," "Postscripts from the Red Sea," "Madonna of the Cave," "Martyrology," "Wisdom," "Tzaddik," "Shnirele, Perele," and "Postcards from the Province of Hyphens," all out of A Mayse-Bikhl except for the first and last; Richard Michelson read a cycle of his autobiographical adult work from Battles & Lullabies and a pair of YA poems from Animals Anonymous and I liked both very much. People wanted copies afterward. (Of the two international envelopes
erzebet mailed me, I sold the contents of one entire and one additional copy went in trade for Michelson's collection.) People wanted their copies signed. This even happened with people I didn't know—negothick had met me at the train that afternoon in New London, nineweaving joined us for dinner at a slow but tasty pan-Asian restaurant called Red House, and then teenybuffalo, cucumberseed, ap_aelfwine and hans_the_bold all turned up to the reading. I ended up singing "Shnirele, Perele" in the after-conversation, which may have impressed a Hadassah board. There was a small afterparty at Negothick's, with more singing. I stayed the night at the local Marriott and read some essays from my awesome book of An-sky before bed. I am in a lot of pain, very tired, and still quite happy, I wrote to strange_selkie. It's even Connecticut in autumn and I don't want to kill myself right now.The second: I write all this from Hartford Union Station, where I am stuck until nine-fifteen [update: nine-fifty-five] because we missed the two earlier buses due to a toxic combination of traffic and miscalculation and I cannot even do any of my work online, because the official free wireless refuses to let me log on. The morning was fine—I caught a ride to Newington with Teeny, spent the afternoon with Hans-the-Bold, the Jurassic trackway of Dinosaur State Park (where I bought a book about ancient fossil hunters for my cousin Tristen), and Indian buffet at Bombay Olive. We talked about television, politics, bad philosophy. I recommended him Donald Kingsbury's Courtship Rite (1982). He almost showed me Slave Girls from Beyond Infinity (1987). And I ran out of pain threshold about two hours ago, when we were walking around downtown Hartford in the misting rain. I had to pay double for my ticket because I hadn't bought it online. I don't know why Connecticut wants to keep me—we really don't have good history—and I hate the feeling that I cannot even have an ordinary day to follow a good one; I know it's not reprisal from the universe, but the rest of this sentence deleted for irrational.
I am glad of all of this trip but the getting home. Seriously, I am now sitting on a bus—with wireless—delayed twenty-five minutes and now fifteen minutes more, waiting for the very last connection of the night and I am still in Hartford. I would be self-medicating with the Klezmatics if I could use headphones. There have got to be better ways.
[edit]
Just after one in the morning, I got home. And now I am going to bed.
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Oh, EPIC suck. I hope you're on board now. I would feel free to take tomorrow off from being vertical.
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The bus boarded everyone and then sat at the station for a full forty minutes officially, closer to fifty or fifty-five by my watch. It was not best.
I will seriously consider your suggestion. I could just use some epic win without an epic fail chaser.
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I'm glad to know what that lovely song was. I'm also glad there were good things this morning, and I hope your cousin enjoys the book.
I'm sorry you're stuck and even sorrier you've been hurting. I wish I were in Hartford so I could offer you help, or at least company. I hope the busses start to co-operate and that you can get home safely and smoothly, and that you can get some good rest once you're there.
WRT the Klezmatics: do you already have and/or would you like some other Susan McKeown tracks? There's a couple of songs on Sweet Liberty (2004) which I think you might enjoy.
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My sincere sympathies on being stuck in the Hartford bus station - I have spent some time there myself, and, well, it's not a place I enjoy, either. Stupid Connecticut.
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I like this assessment.
Thank you!
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Thank you!
I'm glad to know what that lovely song was.
If you don't have a copy already: here. The version I learned from.
WRT the Klezmatics: do you already have and/or would you like some other Susan McKeown tracks? There's a couple of songs on Sweet Liberty (2004) which I think you might enjoy.
I have nothing of hers that isn't from Saints & Tzadiks, A Night in the Old Marketplace, or a single track ("Jericho," which I do like) on a Celtic compilation from the '90's. Hit me.
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Thank you. It really was fun.
My sincere sympathies on being stuck in the Hartford bus station - I have spent some time there myself, and, well, it's not a place I enjoy, either. Stupid Connecticut.
Honestly, I'd have been okay with a flawless trip! So what would be so terrible if I had a small fortune?
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Thank you! I am sorry you were not among them. It was great.
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Also: best version ever of "Oh, I hate to get up in the morning." Though I think the bugler revenged himself on your bus.
Nine
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Most welcome! Thank you!
If you don't have a copy already: here. The version I learned from.
Thanks!
I have nothing of hers that isn't from Saints & Tzadiks, A Night in the Old Marketplace, or a single track ("Jericho," which I do like) on a Celtic compilation from the '90's. Hit me.
"Óró Mhíle Grá"
"Fair Annie"
"Caledonia"
I'd like to give you Tony Cuffe's recording of "Caledonia" as well, but I've got to run and do some household stuff. In a few minutes, I'll see what I can do about that.
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Thank you. It made me very happy.
Though I think the bugler revenged himself on your bus.
I think the bus just hates to go to bed at night . . .
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You would have been welcome. Thank you!
And here's some Tony Cuffe
From When First I Went to Caledonia (1988):
"When First I went to Caledonia"
"Caledonia"
"Otterburn"
From Sae Will We Yet (2003):
"The Water o Wearie's Well"
"Sae Will We Yet"
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Part II: Bleh, damn it, yuck. Travel sucks, especially when wireless fail prevents you from working or connecting to your support network. And pain really sucks. Feel better!
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Nine
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It's as though Ayn Rand herself was in charge of them.
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Thank you! It was wonderful. I want more things like it in my life.
Part II: Bleh, damn it, yuck.
That about sums it up. I want less of that!
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Kind of unbelievably, really. One begins to wonder if they were designed to.
It's as though Ayn Rand herself was in charge of them.
"Who is John Galt and why does he suck at traffic engineering?"
It was great to see you.
PS