Weekends

I guess I could also write about my weekends, which tend to be so filled with cultural, social and other engagements that I am exhausted by the time I start work again on Monday. It was the same in London: I feel that I need to spend every single minute of a weekend doing something other than sleeping or watching TV because the five days that follow seem so ominous from Saturday's vantage point. Of course, I sometimes have to work on weekends. The tricky part this weekend (quite like the other night) was to figure out whether when the partner says that he will be in the office all weekend then I am actually required to work or expected to offer that I will come in and/or work from home, or (and this is what I usually opt for) just pretend that this does not affect me. It is a hard line to navigate, especially because the partner in question tends to get to his point in a roundabout way. As he was explainig me about his (our?) weekend obligations he also told me a long convoluted story about different firm "cultures" regarding "door-policy" and I practiced my usual technique of tuning out until I suddenly understood that he was actually chastizing me for closing my door...In fact, I do close my door, but only when I am on a conference call or when I eat my lunch in front of my computer (a thing so pathetic and depressing - not to mention not particularly attractive - in itself that I would rather do it in private with just me and the New York Times online present. Oh well. Policy is crucial I guess. As is culture.

On the weekend we enjoyed culture in an other sense. Saturday night David drove us to New Jersey for the second time to see Kretakor's second performance. And I'll pause here again for a second. Not only did we enjoy Culture as provided by the amazing actors of this Hungarian alternative theater (www.kretakor.hu) but we got to breathe the fine, cold New Jersey air; delve into the New Jersey mind, a topic regarding which our friend Buk Miki had a lot to say. His less than flattering, but seemilngly accurate recurring remarks on the Jersey mind sort of served as the underlying theme of our evening; and enjoy the culinary delights (burgers and shakes) of a real Jersey diner. The next day, Aron and I went to see Cate Blanchett as Hedda Gabler at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (www.bam.org). The contrast with the Seagull performance of Kretakor was huge. The acting was fine, Blanchett had good stage presence and clearly perfected her performance, but there was not a single moment when I could even remotely feel her angst and frustration or when I cared about it. And that certainly is not Ibsen's fault. As with Chekhov, it doesn't (or shouldn't) really matter that these plays were written over a hundred years ago; the themes are still pretty relevant and a good performance (like the Hungarian one) makes you feel for the characters and yourself in the process.

Well, well. I got a little carried away. AND I am wasting my time...I have spent the entire morning compulsively rating movies on Netflix and buying kitchen appliances from Target. Gotta work. WORK!!! (Ugh.) Perhaps I should go see the Three sisters soon...