Stacy Horn

I’ve been compiling a list of books I need to read which can’t be taken out of the library. You have to use them there. The list is so long now I’ll have to live at the library for a month straight. Seriously, it’s insane. What’s more insane is each book might only provide one tiny fact or quote, and I’ll spend a week for what might end up being a paragraph or two or three.

I took these pictures the other day, on my way home. A storm kept threatening, but it never quite happened. This is 13th Street, there’s an organic supermarket there.

This is 7th Avenue. I’m almost home.

Looking north on my roof.

And looking south! I loved the silver of whatever these things are again the gray.

I am so seriously disappointed about Alex Wong. I’m sure he’s feeling even worse. For those of you who are not watching So You Think You Can Dance, and you’re missing the best thing on television if you’re not, Alex Wong is one of the dancers and he injured his foot and had to leave the competition.

The important thing is that he exists at all and that he will get better and be dancing again. But God. He was a pleasure to watch. That is just such an understatement. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a dancer more. He was at a whole other level. Oh man, I don’t want to wait three months to see him dance again.

Oh! While we’re on the subject, would a dance company in New York please give him a job so I don’t have to go far to see him?

The routine that threw my love and admiration into the stratosphere is here. [Ack. It was taken down! I’ll see if I can find another link.] He’s a ballet dancer, and something about seeing a ballet dancer do hip hop as well as any hip hop dancer I’ve seen just made him beyond irresistible. He also seems like such a decent, lovable, good hearted person. Sigh. Oh, the bad luck of it! Well, again, he’ll be dancing again, and I will have the chance to see him again. I will focus on that. We love you Alex!!

How we’re faring: we’re hot. Way hot. Pretty m’f’ing hot. Normally my cats seem oblivious to the heat, and they’ll hang out in the bedroom even though only my front room gets air conditioned. Not so these past two days. They’re pretty much staying where I am, which is the coolest spot in the house.

I can’t tell if the birds are drinking the water I put out, but I just went to the roof and dumped what was there, put in fresh water, and moved it to a different spot (it was no longer in the shade).

I love the sneaker pile in this picture. The blue sneakers are new, the red ones old. (I would love to get some new red ones, though.)

I put a pan of water on the roof for the birds. Okay, yes, it’s a litterbox. But I swear it was only used a couple of times, by the fabulous guest cat Rusty. It’s clean. I promise. I put bird seed around it so the birds would learn that it was there, but hours later the seed and the water is untouched. And I know they saw me, the minute I showed up on the roof a few came fluttering over, so it’s weird.

You can also see how much my building slants. It’s not just the roof. My apartment is like that!

I’m reading this book, “Choral Masterworks: A Listener’s Guide,” by Michael Steinberg. In the first essay in his book he has this wonderful poem by William Bronk. It’s called The Conclusion.

I thought
we stood at the door
of another world
and it might open and we go in.
Well,
there is that door
and such a world.

Isn’t that a great poem?? I loved it. Thank you, Michael Steinberg!

Okay, back to work now.

This is a picture of a blue house against a blue sky, taken … somewhere in the city. I really should note where I am when I take pictures.

It’s a billion degrees out and I’m hiding out inside for the most part. I just checked. 102. As if 102 isn’t bad enough as it is, it feels like much more. I should put out some water on the roof for the birds. I think I will.