No Escape from New York

I did not expect to be asked to go away for part of the so-called "holiday" weekend, but in fact that was an option (although rather uninteresting, as it was a place which has no culture to speak of and there is not even the wonderful presence of nature all around), so without much hesitation I decided to brave it by myself (which is not actually uncommon, given my usual preference to be alone and stare at the walls rather than to spend too much time with bores).  That allowed me to have a rather enjoyable weekend, although one of my lonely friends decided to invite himself over to my place, which was a little stressful given that I usually do not like people in my "space" (not that I am a hoarder, you must realize, but because of my nature), but all's well that end's well.  I chased after Nureyev and ballet (in book and documentary form) all weekend, with snippets of Proust book six thrown in- the narrator my dear Marcel in sheer agony after Albertine has fled the coop.

Now, what's the sense in going somewhere just to "escape" (as most people realize, or I hope they realize, they can never escape themselves).  And what beauty awaits you and I if you but look, look and look around you.  Case in point: the flowers (shown in the following photographs) that greet me once I walk out the building.

green and getting greener.

you can keep washington d.c., but i'll take japan.