I’ve been longing for weeks now to pull together a huge post of cool links (while simultaneously updating “Sites to See”), and went so far the other day as to sift and prune my lengthy list of bookmarks in preparation for the Great Elsewhere Posting. But is this it? No, this is not it. Nor am I holding forth on recently consumed high art, for the good reason that I haven’t consumed any, at least not in the past couple of days. I got back to New York late Tuesday afternoon, and Our Girl showed up on my doorstep eight hours later. All I’ve had time to do since then is catch up with my accumulated snail mail, stay on top of the incoming e-mail, tinker with my theater calendar for January and February, and embark on the gratifying process of showing off my co-blogger to a select list of blogbuddies (as well a few culturally challenged no-blog types).
The one gainful thing I’ve managed to do is finish writing my next Commentary essay, which is about the letters of classical composers. I tried to write it in Smalltown, but my mother shifted into Full Distraction Mode With Deflector Shields when I spent a whole day writing my “Second City” column for this Sunday’s Washington Post, and the most I could manage after that was to read two relevant books, draft the opening section, and think through the whole piece in my head. In fact, I wasn’t able to get down to serious business until…well, er, one a.m. this morning.
First, OGIC and I watched a DVD of Near Dark after returning from Blogdinner No. 1 (we’re soooo into vampires). Then we listened to music and talked nonstop for a couple of hours (we’re still getting used to the simple pleasure of being in the same room). Then I sighed deeply, arose from my comfy berth on the couch, bid my guest farewell, took a scaldingly hot shower and a stiff dose of aspirin, and retired to my office. Four hours later the piece was done, after which I ascended to my loft, fell asleep instantly, and awoke without benefit of alarm at 9:30, wrenched into consciousness by what sleep specialists call my clock-dependent alerting (that’s what wakes you up at two in the morning the day after you fly to Europe). I found in my e-mailbox a note from the editor of Commentary, asking me what the hell I was doing sending him pieces at five-thirty in the morning (of course he knew–that’s just his way of being polite) and promising that he’d send me back galleys to read and correct later today.
That, my friends, is journalism.
As for my previous Commentary essay, a paean to Haydn, it’s in the issue that was just mailed out to subscribers, and I’ll be posting a link in the right-hand column as soon as it becomes available on the magazine’s Web site. In fact, OGIC and I will be posting quite a bit of other fresh stuff in the right-hand column between now and Monday–look for it. In addition, I’ll make her sit down at my desk sooner or later and blog about what a great time she’s having. And I do solemnly swear that the Great Elsewhere Posting will materialize at some point in the next few days.
For now, though, it’s back to living in the moment, or maybe slightly behind it. Our Girl, who was previously asleep on an inflatable bed placed in the middle of the Teachout Museum, is now making interesting sounds suggestive of potential wakefulness. We’re having lunch with an old friend–OGIC’s first boss in New York and my first book editor–followed by more schedule-tinkering and mail-answering, followed by Blogdinner No. 2, followed by more conversation and music and DVDs. Nor would I be even slightly surprised if a nap takes place somewhere in there. Sounds like a full day to me.