Just got back from the V. Woolf, which was very meta, as it was all done tongue-in-cheek play within a play style: Virginia Woolf originally wrote Freshwater as an at-home theatrical for the Bloomsbury set to lampoon various eminent Victorians, and so this production retained the silliness and deliberately amateur air intended. It was kinda ridiculous - and far from riotous, unless, like the Bloomsbury set, you find Victorian manners to be the most hilarious thing in the world - but a good time nonetheless. There was also a scene involving some anachronistic bunny-hugging and turkey-trotting, which really got me wanting to learn turn of the 20th-C dances.

Both the L and the 7 down, so getting home a hassle.

Now, there's a party but I am not sure...you see, I'm feeling down. I got an email from my dad yesterday - very thoughtful, very loving, very considered - in which he said taht while they're very proud of me and feel me to be a talented writer etc., they've been surprised and disappointed by the tone of some of my work - which is hard to read. You see, I am not uniformly proud of the quality of work I do - it's hard to be, at high volume - and had already been feeling down about this, and wondering how to better it. Then too, I was frustrated, because I've asked my folks repeatedly not to read a site that's quite explicitly not for their demographic. I care a lot - too much - about my dad's opinion, especially knowing how uncompromising he's been in his own work choices, at times to the detriment of his career and financial prospects. I also hate, by the way, communicating via email! It's really the surest way to misunderstanding and bad feeling: all the coldness of the written word, with the impetuosity of unthinking speech.

I also yelled at someone on the subway, which made me feel bad. He was making a big fuss over the little hat I was wearing and kept coaxing me to turn around "just one more time" I guess so he could admire it, while I was trying to decipher a complex set of heiroglyphs about the 7 train's weekend route. Finally he stepped between me and the sign and I lost it and yelled, "Leave me alone, mister!" That was uncalled for. If you're going to wear a jaunty hat, you have to be prepared to deal with the consequences.