Weekend so far
Mar. 1st, 2003 02:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quislibetOn Friday night, J. and I diagnosed our "kitten" -- who is three years old, but whatever -- as suffering from Feline Occasional Tachyphagioemetic Disorder, meaning, according to our pseudo-medical neologistic whimsy, that every so often she eats so fast that she pukes.
(Possible treatments include heating the wet food or stirring some dry food into it.)
Yesterday night we walked down to the Russian Aid Society on Pickering Wharf. About two years ago we took a six-week swing-dancing course and so ended up on the mailing list of the instructors, a husband-and-wife team of dance-teacher-and-DJ, irrespectively, and so knew that they were going to be providing the music for some sort of dance. As we have been meaning to go to one of their dances for two years, without scheduling success, we took the opportunity presented by the fact that there was one so nearby on a night we were home.
There were 14 people there, counting the dancing duo; it turned out to be a fund-raiser, open to the public, for a Russian Orthodox church. The "public" turned out to be just us; everyone else except the DJs was from the church.
The priest -- who strangely reminded me of Klae, somehow -- and his wife had also once taken a class from the same people. They were really the only others there who danced much, in between seeing to the refreshments table. Everyone else looked really sullen and unhappy to be there (one guy worked on his laptop) and apparently didn't like the eclectic mix of swing and rhumba tunes; at one point, J. noticed a couple of people trying to plug in an aging jukebox, which, alas for them, had a too-frayed cord.
Likewise, the priest and his wife, along with the DJs, were the only ones who deigned to notice us.
But we had a decent time anyway; not knowing anyone, and with no one apparently caring to know us, we could dance incompetently, even by ourselves, without being too self-conscious. Also, the desserts were good, especially the pumpkin cake-roll thingy, although the savories were kind of alarming, like the jellied mystery meat cubes that, J. discovered unhappily (almost causing her to mimic in some small way the vomitous antics of Kitten), turned out to contain small but unappetizing chips of bone.
(Possible treatments include heating the wet food or stirring some dry food into it.)
Yesterday night we walked down to the Russian Aid Society on Pickering Wharf. About two years ago we took a six-week swing-dancing course and so ended up on the mailing list of the instructors, a husband-and-wife team of dance-teacher-and-DJ, irrespectively, and so knew that they were going to be providing the music for some sort of dance. As we have been meaning to go to one of their dances for two years, without scheduling success, we took the opportunity presented by the fact that there was one so nearby on a night we were home.
There were 14 people there, counting the dancing duo; it turned out to be a fund-raiser, open to the public, for a Russian Orthodox church. The "public" turned out to be just us; everyone else except the DJs was from the church.
The priest -- who strangely reminded me of Klae, somehow -- and his wife had also once taken a class from the same people. They were really the only others there who danced much, in between seeing to the refreshments table. Everyone else looked really sullen and unhappy to be there (one guy worked on his laptop) and apparently didn't like the eclectic mix of swing and rhumba tunes; at one point, J. noticed a couple of people trying to plug in an aging jukebox, which, alas for them, had a too-frayed cord.
Likewise, the priest and his wife, along with the DJs, were the only ones who deigned to notice us.
But we had a decent time anyway; not knowing anyone, and with no one apparently caring to know us, we could dance incompetently, even by ourselves, without being too self-conscious. Also, the desserts were good, especially the pumpkin cake-roll thingy, although the savories were kind of alarming, like the jellied mystery meat cubes that, J. discovered unhappily (almost causing her to mimic in some small way the vomitous antics of Kitten), turned out to contain small but unappetizing chips of bone.
