I keep meaning to post a quick overview of what we've done since the start of the weekend, but as I put it off the list of things to mention becomes longer and the task of reporting more daunting. I'll just plunge in, like a dog into April snow.

Friday evening, as I mentioned before, █████ and I went to a stage production of Fahrenheit 451. At the theater bar before the show, █████ ran into an old coworker of hers and her new husband, who were there to see the same play. (There are three theaters at 59E59.) A lovely time was had catching up, and everyone in the impromptu party seemed to enjoy the show immensely.

Saturday █████ and I braved the wilds of New Jersey to call on ❦asphalteden and his multiadjectivial bride. (Don't worry! They're all appealing and impressive adjectives.) The evening's debauchery has been ably touched on elsewhere (WWMD, indeed!), but let me add that █████ and I were so full by the time we left we could barely walk. Good thing there are trains.

Sunday was a whale of a day. It went well for █████, but for me it was one step forward, two steps back. We had a perfectly delightful time with Ella at Astoria Park in the morning, but in the early afternoon, while █████ was out and I was trying to get my Fahrenheit 451 review written, there was a colossal misunderstanding with the bathroom fixtures, and a rather unappealing tide began encroaching on the hallway. The worst part was, just as I was slapping down a towel to keep the foul brew from engulfing the pantry, the toilet gave a satisfied gurgle and suddenly the contents all drained away. It was as if the porcelain god were flipping me the bird.

Fortunately █████ arrived home shortly thereafter and rescued me from the mess.

So it was doubletime on the review after that, because I needed to turn it in before █████ and I left to meet ❦bobhowe and ❦steelbrassnwood in the city for a movie and dinner. I finished about fifteen minutes late, emailed it to Scott Edelman, and printed copy for █████ to read on the train. Stuffing the printout into my shoulder bag, I gave myself a nice paper cut.

(As I feel sorry for myself here, I am reminded of the Mel Brooks observation something to the effect that tragedy is when I cut my finger, and comedy is when you fall down a manhole and die.)

At the Lexington station, we decided to transfer from the R to the the 4 or 5 express so as to get to Union Square the quicker. Of course, when we made it down the stairs to the 4 train, the conductor announced that due to some ass-scratch or another the line would terminate at Grand Central, and that for service further downtown we should go upstairs and transfer to the N or R. Argh! So we hauled our butts back upstairs and hopped an N on the same line we'd just left. Falling farther and farther behind schedule.

From Union Square we set out for the theater at Second and 12th. At least that's what theater we thought we were going to. In reality, the movie was playing at 12th and University, as the man in the box office helpfully informed us. We called Ken, who left our tickets for us at the correct box office.

Tired, we nonetheless made it to the theater where Ken and Bob had saved us seats while the previews were still playing. Whew! And Neil Young: Heart of Gold was indeed a film worth rushing all over Manhattan to see. Transporting.

Dinner consisted of comfort food around the corner at Cedar Tavern.

Monday evening was a lovely, quiet one, although I was sad to discover bits of cork in the Balvenie Single Wood I'd poured myself to sip as I read this week's writing workshop submissions. And Tuesday evening was an enjoyable jaunt down to the South Street Seaport Museum for a NYRSF reading with Gregory Frost and Robert Freeman Wexler. Over dinner and beer afterward, I had a very nice conversation with ❦rajankhanna and Rick Bowes, and you can't beat that with a baseball bat.

And today, snow! I took my Ella out back in the light rain before leaving for work, and within moments the drops began to be interspersed with little fluffy flakes. Within a minute or two, it was full-on snow, and Ella bit happily at the flakes.