Never Enough Time

Sally Rhine Feather (the daughter of J. B. Rhine, the head of the Duke Parapsychology Laboratory) mentioned this book to me, The Price of Altruism: George Price and the Search for the Origins of Kindness by Oren Harman.

I was immediately curious because George Price had written about parapsychology very early on and got into a nasty exchange with Rhine. Price was particularly, shockingly hostile. I mean, okay, don’t accept their experiments but come on. A book with “kindness” in the title along with the name George Price was just so “does not compute” for me. I read the first few pages and got sucked in. Then I skipped to the section about Rhine and got even more sucked in.

There was an interesting revelation. Price said he really went after Rhine because he thought Rhine was religious and these experiments were somehow a backdoor to bolstering religion. Rhine was not religious however, he was something between agnostic and atheist. Price apologized many years later, they started writing each other again, and apparently Price lost it again.

Anyway, complex guy, sad ending, looks like a truly fascinating story. When will I be able to read it?? I’m doing a week long focus group-like thing. I’m going to be going through a new website, answering questions, helping find problems. It’s 8 – 10 hours a day for 5 days. (Must be a humongous website.)

Finney. A complex cat. Loves me, but also loves to bite me. (Not hard, but still.)

belly

There’s Always a Sad Story

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Yesterday during choir rehearsal we took our break in the Honor Room. The last time I was in here it was undergoing restorations and everything was covered in tarps. I’d wanted to take a picture of this boy’s name: Harry C. Smith.  While exploring the Grace Church archives I’d come across two small articles about an ex-actor named Harry Chancey Smith who was found strangled in his bed in a rooming house on the upper east side in 1949. Someone had handwritten across the article that Harry was from the first class of Grace Church choir boys, from 1894-1898. So of course I researched his story. I’m not sure if it will make it into the book, it’s not relevant, but I just had to know.

I’m guessing that Grace Church will be preserved as long as there are humans to care for it. Which means Harry’s name will stay on this wall, going through periodic restorations, long long long after anyone who remembers him is gone. I wonder if any relatives remember him. He was the most famous boy in the country at one point.

Here we are, taking a break from A Sea Symphony.  Guess how many people glanced at the names behind them.

rehearsal

Busy Weekend

I got a temp job for next week (yay!) so I have to accomplish in a weekend what I would have accomplished next week. Okay, it’s not possible, but I have to try.

Question: Do you think the average reader knows who Jacob Riis was without having to google him?

Looking into the window of a shoe store. I love windows that kinda don’t make sense, that are filled with objects the owner likes or have sentimental value. Or maybe the owner was just, “we have a window, we have to put stuff in it, what do we have lying around?” I should have walked up and focused on that bottom shelf. Maybe I’ll do a series of windows like this.

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Feeling Blue

I’m heading back to the prosthodentist so they can take a mold of my teeth. At the moment I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. What can I think about instead? Fringe is on tonight. The trailer for a movie called Battle: Los Angeles looked amazing. The book is going well, if a little slowly.

I noticed I haven’t been taking a lot of pictures when I go out. I think I’m finally getting sick of the snow, which is just dirty and ugly now, and there’s garbage everywhere because pick-ups have been impossible for so long.

chair

93 Perry Street

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Here’s that building I posted about two posts down, but in 1937. I grabbed this from the New York Public Library images database. Or was it from the new Museum of the City of New York one? I don’t know! I’m losing my mind!

I blame my teeth. I do so much worrying about how much it’s all going to cost and how awful it’s going to be I have no brain cells left for anything else.

I keep discovering that many of my favorite composers were practically infants when they wrote my favorite pieces. I just started researching a 16th century piece and the composer was 28 when he wrote it. Twenty-freaking-eight.

I don’t know a lot about the 16th century. I trying to find out what life was like for the people who originally sang this piece, seminary students I think. I’m hoping to find a book like: What Life Was Life for Seminary Students in the 16th Century Written Expressly For Stacy Horn Because We Thought She’d Need it Someday.