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He who wishes to teach us a truth should not tell it to us, but simply suggest it with a brief gesture, a gesture which starts an ideal trajectory in the air along which we glide until we find ourselves at the feet of the new truth. |
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Wednesday, January 14, 1998
This afternoon I worked on the print version of Anita's Book of Days. This is certainly the longest document I've ever produced in Publisher! Usually I produce Machination, the newsletter of the Seattle Cacophony Society with Publisher (when it's my turn), but that is only four pages! This print zine is probably too long, but I wanted to include various topics, balance the sections, make the pages come out evenly, etc.
I skipped dinner, and went to my first dance class of a new (to me) series, held at the Pro club. This is the athletic club that makes its living off of Microsoft employees, but the dance classes aren't connected to the club. Good thing, because as a contractor, I'm not a member there.
It's a huge maze of racquetball courts, gyms, halls and lobbies. I made my way down to "Studio A." At first I was afraid I was late, because my friend Jon Newman (who had suggested the class) was already inside dancing. But I figured out that he was also taking the class before, so all was well.
The teachers are a well-organized, friendly couple. The class was "Nightclub Two-step;" I still haven't figured out which traditional social dance this is supposed to be based on, if any. It seems pretty simple, though. Dancing as taught by U-R Dancing (the initials of the teachers; clever, huh?) is a more sedate business than the swing and lindy as done at the Century, but there is a place for both styles. The crowd is mostly middle-aged and up, with a few younger folks sprinkled in.
I asked Dave (who I didn't recognize from last October, shame on me!) to take a few pictures of Jon and me dancing. I like how this one turned out!
When we left, it was raining, turning quickly to sleet and hail! It was coming down so hard, I gave serious consideration to pulling off at a friend's house who lives on that street. But by the time I got to the freeway entrance ramp, it seemed to be tapering off.
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