In Which Five Days Are Accounted For. More or Less.

Back in 2000, when William first came to the Peninsula to visit his parents for Christmas and he and I first got to meet after knowing of one another's existence and having mutual friends for a few years previous, we decided to go over to Victoria B.C. for the day. The day was dark and cloudy as it usually is up here in January and, as the ferry pulled into the pier in Victoria, it began to rain. Not just the usual endless drizzle of the Northwest, but a torrential downpour that did not let up the entire time we were in Victoria. Naturally, neither of us thought to bring an umbrella and we were utterly drenched within a few minutes.

So today (Saturday) William and I went over to Port Townsend, once a major and very dangerous port, now very picturesque and affluent. Within an hour of our arrival it began to rain heavily. Personally, I think William is a magnet for torrential downpours and this may explain all the typhoons Taiwan gets. William was looking to get some photos using his Diana camera and his Holga. We wandered around some picturesque back alleys and he took a few photos, but the rain began and photography soon became pointless. We ended up going to the Uptown area and wandered around there finding all sorts of very cool turn of the century homes in the late Victorian and Craftsman styles in the pouring rain. This time I brought my umbrella.

I had admire William's noble restraint in not buying anything. He said it was really a case of not finding anything he really had to have. I, on the other hand, splurged on the following:

Nights and Days On the Gypsy Trail, by Irving Brown, Harper and Brothers Publishers, 1922.
Amazing! A book about gypsies in Spain between the world wars. The illustrations are thoroughly incredible, documenting a vanished time and people.

I got completely stuck in the chess section of Wm James bookstore and came away with: Chess Praxis, Practical Chess Endings, Fianchetto/Grunfeld and Gambit Opening Reptoire For White. All of which will come in handy, I hope, very soon in matching wits with the formidable Princess Rainy.

We first stopped at Insatiables Antiquarian Books where I at last gave my list of Roycroft books to Karen. Devoted Readers will remember a while ago I mentioned that I'm going to trade my duplicate Edward Gorey books with Karen in exchange for some Roycroft books. Karen had three Roycroft books in the store so I added the following to my collection:

The Golden River, by John Ruskin, Roycroft Press, 1900. This edition features typographical desing and decoration by Samuel Warner. A re-telling of an old Stirian legend.

Justinian and Theodora, Elbert and Alice Hubbard, Roycroft Press, 1906. A drama penned by the Hubbards concerning the Byzantine Emperor Justinian and his consort, Theodora. Featuring gorgeous Arts and Crafts typography and decoratiions ... possibly by Dard Hunter, though he usually included his initials in the design. This is an edition I've long sought.

William and I had lunch in the cafe beside the Rose Theatre. It was a pleasant place, moderately priced and the food was good. I had Ti Kuan Yin tea served in a French press. I've never had it that way before and I'm not sure just what the benefit of a French press is over a conventional tea pot. Anyway. The tea was a very nice oolong.

I took William back home and by now he is over in Seattle and then on to Taipei. It's always good to see William.

Quotable: "I had a breakdown in West Virginia. Not me, my car."

I had no intention of going out Friday night. In fact I was dead tired and not terribly coherant, a state I am frequently in by closing time Friday nights. Despite my intentions, which are often good, I ended up having tea with Christina the Screenwriter and we discussed screenwriting and films. Christina loaned me two books on the subject and talked about Eastern European cinema. It was very interesting but I was so tired that it was a considerable effort for me to focus on what she was saying. Now and then I'm sure I had this glazed, exhausted look as I went in and out of focus.

Speaking of focus, this week I won a Diana camera. I'm looking forward to its arrival and trying it out. I understand that Dr. Fluffy Jones has acquired a Holga. As William, a toy camera afficianado, would say "spread the toy cam love."

Talk of the Town: Devoted Reader and Fortune Cookie Correspondent Princess Rainy sends us the following swellegant and extra-nifty link. If you have dial-up, like me, it may take some time for the image to resolve itself and enable you to work the site. Be patient, it is well worth the time!

Speaking of time well spent, you might want to spend a few minutes at Casa del Ionesco. Be sure to read the essay on Woody Allen's faux London and check the list links: the usual suspects are to be found as well as a collection of the weird, the feared and the endeared.

This brings us to Tuesday of last week and my lunch with my acting teacher, Jace. After a two week holiday break from the class, I felt a distinct loss of energy and a sense of being lost. In what direction was the class headed? Was I condemned to re-enact the same scenes and monologues endlessly? Why was I suddenly overcome with a feeling of dread? It was all very existentialist, very Sartre, very Camus with a touch of Kafka thrown in for good measure, and would have been perfect had I been in Paris. P.A. is not Paris, no matter how much we may try to make it so.

So lunch with Jace resolved many of these questions for me. Jace wants to run the class like a repetory company wherein we are working on several diverse roles at once. This forces us to quickly change from character to character and from one emotion to the next. Once we get our monologues to a certain point we can move on to other material. The loss of energy was typical of a lengthy break, she said, and not to worry as I'd quickly pick it up again. So my questions are resolved and my Kiekergaardian fear and trembling is abated.

Jace suggested after I finish the Iago monologues that I move on to Richard III. This is very flattering since she knows how much I enjoy Sir Ian McKellan's portrayal of RIII. While in Port Townsend I acquired a Dover Thrift edition of RIII and found there is a problem with it: first, aside from the famous opening monologue "Now is the winter of our discontent ..." Richard has no other monologues, just short asides to the audience. To my mind, this monologue has been done. I'm now thinking more in terms of Richard II.

And that concludes the week in review!