Or any other dried fruits you prefer:
* I've been sleeping better since last week's run of really bad insomnia. Still getting up in the 1:30-3:30 range for a variety of reasons (most of them four-legged), but able to nurse myself back to The Morpheus Arms with it rarely going more than an hour or so.
* My gmail notifier is still notifying, despite last week's supposed date of death for what may have been the world's longest beta test. I've yet to see an announcement that the boys of Mountain View have changed their minds, but for now, I'll take it.
* I mentioned two prominent former Rochesterians in these words in the past week or so, and their careers came to an unbelievably bittersweet intersection in and near New York on Sunday. Renee Fleming grew up in a suburb on the west side of Rochester; Philip Seymour Hoffman, in one on the east side. I'd have guessed Renee was younger (she's actually my age; PSH was born seven years later), but they both quickly transcended the local offerings, although he participated in the New York State Summer School for the Arts as Emily would later do, and she attended the Eastman School for graduate studies. Sunday night's Super Bowl effectively began and ended with Renee's absolute nailing of the Star Spangled Banner; nothing that followed came close in terms of passion or professionalism. Earlier in the day, we were blown away with the news of Phil's tragic passing. There have now allegedly been arrests, and will be much retrospecting and hand-wringing. One fact told as much of the final tale as any: police found, not only syringes and heroin, but addiction-treatment medications in his apartment. Clearly his was a struggle that never ended, and that went down to that final fateful day.
* Not an update in any recent sense, but news is news: Cabin Pressure's final live taping will take place in London on February 23rd. Not only is that bittersweet in its own right, but our tribute movie for PSH's passing was watching him in Charlie Wilson's War. There's an early scene where Hoffman, as the unconventional CIA operative, presents Tom Hanks's character with a bottle of Talisker, quoting Robert Louis Stevenson's reference to it:
The king o' drinks, as I conceive it,
Talisker, Isla, or Glenlivet.
The bottle is bugged, of course. No word on whether Douglas managed to steal it.
* And last, I have no update on when the hell I'm getting out of here. Another Stormapocalypse! has been promised, affecting the entire region eastward to where I have to be at this time tomorrow. So far, it's been little more than a piffle, but forecasters are still saying it's just delayed. In the next hour or so, I will make a call (on the trip, as well as to my sister) on whether I'm heading out late this morning or assy early tomorrow morning; one way, I'll be in Rochester this afternoon and Binghamton tonight; the other, straight to Syracuse tomorrow morning and then Binghamton tomorrow night.
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