Cyd & Gene's Day, with a Black Squirrel

It was a beautiful day today. Unfortunately, I spent it in the library.

As it was described to me, the climate control system in the library dates back to somewhere near the dawn of time; the building manager is only slightly more recent in origin. As such, on unseasonable days like today, there is no attempt to adjust the temperature to one that people might find comfortable. I was so dehydrated by the end of the day, I had a headache. And then I had to go discuss my research proposal with my professor. (I think she bought my spiel and gave me the go ahead.)

But walking around campus with my coat off was wonderful; everyone seemed to know that this might be it for temperate days for a long time. Even the black squirrel that lives on campus, by the entrance to the library, seemed to be making the most of his/her day. Basically, it was the kind of bright, colorful day that makes you feel like Gene Kelly is going to be singing and dancing around campus with Cyd Charisse at any moment. No sightings to report today, though.

I heard something about "On the Town" on Fresh Air today. It's given me showtune-lust. (I adore Adolph Green and Betty Comden, and I'm not sure why. I don't seem to recall enjoying The Band Wagon that much.) I had the lines "New York, New York, it's a hell of a town: the Bronx is up and the Battery's down" running through my head all day. I hope no one heard me sing it under my breath.

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I finished reading The Truth, and am halfway through Hogfather. HO. HO. HO. I can now finish it with a clear conscience, until about midway through next week, when I will start having an anxiety attack that will last the duration of the semester, because I won't have done anything on the research proposal yet. Until then, the living is easy!

Between the end of my "shift" and my meeting with my prof, and after returning the children's book I had borrowed with the Kelly Link story in it (A Wolf at the Door), I did a bit of browsing in the stacks, and found:

1. A recent book on the prints of Andy Warhol, because I'm attracted to bright colors and pretty pictures; and
2. A book of the translated fiction/non-fiction of Pedro Almodovar.

I got that last item because the New Yorker has a not-too-brief appreciation and defense of his films. Not that I think his films really need defending. In part the article was defending the films from the charge of being too camp, asserting that they have an emotional core that somehow transcends camp. I guess I don't see why a campy movie can't provoke a genuine, positive emotional response. Douglas Sirk movies do that for me, and so do the films of Pedro Almodovar. At least everything since Live Flesh; and a few of his early movies too. Perhaps I need to reread Susan Sontag. Not that I think she knew what the hell she was talking about. (By the way, one of the stories in the book is dedicated to Douglas Sirk; it's titled Scrotum in the Wind. Evidently the words for 'scrotum' and 'written' are remarkably similar in Spanish.)

My dad's back from Vegas; he didn't bring me anything.

Song: The Orb: "Little Fluffy Clouds".