¶ Matins: Kathleen is off to Albany this evening, for an overnight trip. Shame about the awful weather; if it were nice, she could pretend that she was in North By Northwest. As, er, one of the extras — not Eva Marie Saint.

¶ Tierce: Today’s Metro Section (The New York Times’s regional coverage) is full of complicated stories: it’s hard to decide, not so much right from wrong, as who ought to prevail.

¶ Sext: The delightfully inimitable George Snyder writes a bit about the people in one of my very favorite pictures, which is mine, all mine — or, at least, in the neighborhood.

¶ Vespers: God, I’m complicated. Do I go to the movies tonight, and, if so, where; but, if I go tomorrow, then to which one? And what about Friday? Yikes! But here’s the deal: Roman de Gare tomorrow, at the Angelika. Then She Found Me on Friday morning, at the Sunshine.

Oremus…

§ Matins. I went to Albany once, in my Hutton days; the trip was not a success for me in the long term, as I later discovered; the branch manager there, a powerful man in the region, took a strong dislike to me. But I enjoyed the train ride!

For my part, I have a blessedly quiet day at home.

§ Tierce. Ordinarily, I have strong feelings about local news stories, but today my rush to judgment is hobbled by perplexities. Ought Dr William Blutt, an internist who took up investment management for fun and profit, be allowed to consolidate three houses on East 90th Street (ie, will the development of a mini-Stadtpalais on the Upper East Side corrosively intensify the rich-get-richerness that so anxiously contrasts with the generally worsening economic climate)? Having been rather lax about the mechanics of “jumping cranes,” is the City going overboard, leading to unnecessary layoffs at construction sites? What about the $81 million in payments to unassigned teachers? As for the cops charged in the Sean Bell case, is their acquittal the end of an ordeal, or merely the end of the beginning of one?*

The only item in the Metro Section that’s devoid of ambiguity is the report of Cardinal Egan’s belated reprimand of former mayor Giuliani, who took communion at the papal mass two weeks ago despite an “understanding” that he would refrain from the eucharist while promoting abortion. In that story, everybody‘s wrong; and the wrongest of the wrong is prissy tattle-tale Robert Novak, who’s “column” on the matter appears to have goaded the Cardinal to speak out.

* The looming strike at Bloomingdale’s got pushed into the Business Section, but my heart is solidly with the workers.

§ Sext. Not that I can ever keep the Wyndham sisters straight. Is Mrs Tennant also an ancestress of one of the D of D’s granddaughters? It would seem so!

§ Vespers. With Kathleen out of town, and a deficit from last Friday, I thought I’d go to the movies this evening. But there’s nothing showing in or around Yorkville High Street that I want to see badly enough to cut into a quiet weeknight. And I do want to see Helen Hunt’s new movie; I’ve been crazy about Helen Hunt ever since Twister. David Denby didn’t give it the best review in the world, but he liked it, and ended by hoping for more Helen Hunt pictures (she’s the director as well as the lead). It’s showing at the Westphalia, at 7:30 or so — but that’s not in the neighborhood, is it? I’ll end up having a late dinner at the Baker Street Pub, and paying a midnight visit to the storage unit, and — I’ve got to lie down now. And what about this coming Friday? What am I going to see then?

It took a solid twenty minutes to work out. I’ll pop down to the Angelika tomorrow after a late breakfast, and come right home; or, if I feel like it, I’ll go straight to the Museum, have lunch there, and look around. Whatever I do, the movie portion of the day will be minimal. At only a block from the Six, the Angelika is one of the easiest theatres to get to, and pleasant withal. To get to the Sunshine on Friday, I’ll get off at the same stop (Bleecker Street), but I’ll have a hike along Houston Street. As for lunch… You can’t still be reading this!

So: I’m in for the evening! QED: quod erat desiderandum. [Thanks, Édouard.]

Drop me a line at rjk@dailyblague.com
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