movement of c

Happy Halloween! Interestingly enough, this candy-fest holiday really does have something to do with feasting. Hallow’s Eve, as it was once called, is the precursor to All Saints Day. On November 1st, Roman Catholic tradition commemorates those people whose souls have been sentenced to purgatory. Like so many holidays we know and love, it’s a day of feasting. What better way to say, “Sorry you’re stuck in nullity forever…”?

I’ve been preparing for Halloween for about 5 days now. Not by choice, but rather by job description. Being a dance teacher of young munchkins, I (disdainfully at times) participate in all the traditions that children know as part of their life. This includes having dress up classes and parties for my classes on the week of classes prior to Halloween, and of course, on the holiday itself. I pass out black and orange goodies and pumpkinface stickers, play Halloween freezedance games to scary songs, and try my best to look unique when it comes down to it.

Today I hosted a Halloween party at Center Stage for my students who normally have classes on tuesday. It was an hour long, and only about 10 kids came. We had a great time, and today I was the Gypsy Queen!

So, feast away young munchkins, and don’t forget to bring me some extra candy!

Sneak Preview!

CAUTION! PLAY WITH SOUND (believe me, it’s really worth it…)

This is my senior tap ensemble class at Center Stage Dance Studio. I’m dancing with them (the only one with the fly shoes). This number will appear in our recital on June 16, 2006 - choreography by Christina Leonard. Enjoy!

Recital Time.(See, Recital 1989) How do I describe it? It’s often known as “crazy” (i.e. insane). Or as my friend said on Gtalk the other day, “Oh snap, so you are in kook out mode.” I have a list-a-mile-long that is actually getting shorter by the day. My productivity levels have gone through the roof in a very physical sense. The digital end of my life lessens as the physical increases. Personally, I like both but there’s something extra special about the physicalities of running around, getting psyched, working the body, spending time with the friends and colleagues, and cleaning dances to be ready for the stage. It is my life, and I love it.

Mostly, recital time always brings me consistency. Alot can be inconsistent in life, whether it be love, relationships, good and bad hair days, splenda or sugar, Pall Malls or Basics… I tend to thrive off the constants, and there are some constants that I have been extra thankful for…the studio being one of them. What would I do with myself? The studio is like my heart and soul, and I’ve always used dance as this emotional release. Not in any super spiritual way, but moreso in the releasing-endorphins-from-movement sense. It’s really effective, I’ll tell ya.

Looking towards the future, things are looking up. I get to do more shows! Melrose Youth Ballet, which you heard about back in December ‘05 Yes, that’s me dressed up as a Victorian mother on stage, but this year there will be no waltzing, no curling of the hair, and no pretending to be prim and proper. Hell no peoples, I’m officially Assistant Director of the entire operation. It took a year of being their bitch to gain their confidence in me, but that’s okay because it’s all in the past. Here I am today with the mad skills of putting on shows, and they got to recognize big C when she brings down the house!

It really was no miracle. What happened was just this. The wind began to switch - the house to pitch and suddenly the hinges started to unhitch.

Today I got this phonecall from a mysterious woman from the temp agency that I supposedly work for. Oh, except for the fact that they never call me. And really, I call atleast every 2 weeks to check in about job openings. It’s really kind of worthless. But today they “found a perfect fit” for me. The person who reccomended me for the position was Joe, the man I met one on one with at my interview at the agency. The position was mostly administrative, working for the Harvard School of Public Health. I like Schools of Public Health personally. They fund a lot of research studies, and often times pay people to participate in them. I did a couple of them myself while I was in college. Also, the one’s I really like are ones that fund programs for the community. But I don’t know much about the Harvard one, I’m sure it’s fantastic. They needed someone to work in the department that deals mostly with “sensitive issues, such as death.” I would be fielding calls from patients/family members and other people who are near losing someone, or have lost someone already. Well, I thought, I’ll hear this one out. All the while thinking, “why me?” I know I’m a sensitive girl, but come on…

All in all, death is something I like to keep in close quarters. It has been ever-present in my life in the second degree for the past few weeks. And my heart can only reach so far, and it has been going out to friends and family for some time, and I want to save the good parts of it that are left to make more round trips when round trips are needed. You know, hearts use flyer miles too.

And to end, with a shameless shout out:

A poem…
March went out like a lion, a-whipping up the water in the bay.
April cries and soon steps aside, and along comes pretty little May!

Okay, so you think I’m going to start writing about how for the past 2 weeks I’ve been drinking Astragalus Root tea, taking vitamins, and getting in touch with my non-mechanical side?? Well I just did. So here we go…

Words spoken to me recently, that I just can’t get out of my head!

“I am NOT putting my knee on that ground! My knee has no cartiledge.”

“This is just TERRIBLE. You know, I’ve been on Broadway…”

Sassy retort from unnamed person in background…“Yea, Broadway in Everett…”

To a 2 year old boy in his carseat, referring to me who was trying to squeeze my ass past his monster truck blocking the exit to the gas station….“Some people are just plain stupid, buddy!”

But in all honesty, the reason I haven’t been blogging for two weeks is because I have been busy in Michigan, living my double-life. Not as Cbear, but as the real me…Official Christina. As you can see, I incorporate my many East Coast talents in to this life as well. However, whenever I decide to go to Michigan and live out this part of my life, I have to be sure to wear my dual-colored mod wig.

I’m always grateful to get back to the East Coast after a journey like this. Here I can converse with my good friends at Carousel, even when they are telling me about the lack of cartiledge in the knee, or claiming that I “kicked Sophie out of the dance”. Never would I!

It’s been 5 days since I watched any night-time episodes of Roseanne. Well make that 4.5…On Wednesday afternoon, I did manage to catch a few minutes of the Weekday 2pm showing of Roseanne on local channel 14, UPN-38 for standard cable. But Nick at Nite has replaced the sporadic late night viewings of Roseanne with a spattering of Mad About You episodes. Personally, I’m not too crazy about that show, and I miss big Roseanne and Dan taking over the tube at night. So, last night I had this great dream.

I was in some kind of studio apartment, and was giving two men haircuts - they were sitting on the couch. They were worried that I’d make them look to feminine, and were complaining…and in walks Roseanne herself and gives it to ‘em good. I loved it. Later on, I was fixing to make some cookies but I found a bag of those Girl Scout Macaroon-style dumplings and ate some of those. This older man had come in to the apartment with two ladies, and was getting ready to set up shop - sleeping bags and all - in one of the extra rooms. I said, “um, you do know that this is our apartment, right???” He responded, “well yea but I’d love to show the ladies around here instead!” Roseanne was standing next to me, and we walked out offering to “bring them some cookies” so they’d feel right at home. And for some reason, we were laughing hysterically. ..

Just call it Roseanne withdrawal. In a way, it’s probably good for me…

No, this time it’s not about Bird Flu. This cat didn’t come from Germany, and I doubt it’s been having sex with any birds in Melrose. Center Stage is perched on the hill. To the left of our studio is a woodsy area that goes high beyond the houses. “The studio cat” as we liked to call her was familiar with the hill for many many months, and as children shuffled in and out of the doors of Center Stage, “the studio cat” would make a daily ritual of coming down off the hill to greet everyone…

Day after day alone on the hill,
The cat with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still,
But nobody wants to know her,
They can see that she’s just a fool,
And she never gives an answer,
But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in her head,
See the world spinning around.

Last summer was the first time us dancers came to know the cat. It was Summer Dance Camp 2005, and seeing as I opened the studio each day and directed the dance camp, I came to know the cat and so did the children. In the summer we leave the door open to the studio to let in fresh air (we don’t have air conditioning, and dancing for 6 hours in the summer heat can lead to…well let’s just say we need fresh air!). The cat would mosey in and out of the studio each day, peeking through the door in to the dance area. The children were wild, “the cat! the cat!”

Summer came and went, and our little friend would come around less often. You would think when winter hit that we would see this little face no more…but no! The Studio Cat spent the winter outdoors, visiting the studio…but somewhere getting fatter? I don’t know exactly what it was, but a couple of weeks ago I snapped. I couldn’t watch this muchkin kitty be homeless anymore! The Studio Cat started following me to my car at night, perching itself on the door trying to peek in the window. I even heard stories of it jumping on to the back of people’s cars before they would be driving away! Some would say, “It’s feral”…but I say, “this cat needs a home!”.

Enter the fiasco….

Ari was in Guatemala when my emotions started running wild for this cat. Last Friday I had a steak-filled dinner with Eliot and my family at the Outback Steakhouse. Our waitress was very nice to warn the table of 12 that “We use 17 spices when we cook our food, 11 of which are varieties of pepper.” Music to my ears, I ordered a prime rib valapos or something. It was fantastic. We got one of those onion bloomers, my Papa loves those. When he hears about an onion bloomer, he gets a little crazy in fact. But in all honesty, the Outback don’t know much about 17 spices! Don’t get me wrong, the food was good but it was not 17-spicified! Or perhaps my taste buds have been affected by so much hell at the East Coast Grill (oh but how sweet it is!), and my over-the-top spicings of my own home cooking, that 17 spices might taste like a lot to some people, but to me it tastes like a little pinch of salt. Yes, that’s what it is.

As we left the Outback Steakhouse, Art called. I was on the verge of being meat-delirious. I say delirious and not “meat-sick” because really I wasn’t meat-sick at all. But I had a lot of steak, some bloomin’ onions, lord knows how much rye bread, and a vodka tonic to top it off. So I was delirious, and wasn’t thinking crazy thoughts about the cat. I started the panic and wanted to bring the cat home that night. We got back to Melrose, and Angela and Jonny were asking about the cat (as they were all that day). And a sidenote to all of this was that the previous day I had rang the doorbell of the house near the studio where I thought the cat might have spawned from. Sure enough, Bruno said…”Yes, we do not want the cat. Take the cat.” Turns out his wife is pregnant, cats carry something that pregnant women shouldn’t be exposed to. But I know mad people keep their cats, so whatev.

Long story short, I didn’t take the cat home Friday night. I was delirious and emotional but Eliot and my dear Mum talked a lot of sense to me about lots of issues with the cat. And it’s a good thing because when the time came to ask “the whole house” about the cat, things didn’t go as smoothly as I thought they would. Everyone needed time to ask questions, think it over and consider their significant others reaction to the cat. It was the first time that living with a group of people really affected my ability to act freely. In some ways this felt bad, but in another sense I guess it was the first time that living with a group of people really felt like a second family. Conflict, tension, discussion and resolution…we should have gotten a spot on TLC’s show, Intervention.

Christina we’re here to talk to you about the cat. You have a problem, and you need to face it.

All in all, we got the cat. It’s a she-cat and she came home last night with me after I left the studio. Marcy was here to break the ice last night, and so she is so friendly but sometimes a little too friendly. It all started when Eliot got home from playing tennis. He was petting her in our room upstairs, and she started crawling up towards his face. And nibbling on the ears! In some kind of quest to show her love she loves the ears. If I knew more about her past, maybe I could try to explain this behavior. But we know very little about her past life. Maybe it’s a Portugese cat tradition, to nibble the ears. Her past owners are Portuguese. But here in the People’s Republic of Cambridge, our new kitty is all-American! That’s why we’re calling her Money.

What is this thing called Wordpress? It’s been ages, and yes I do not apologize. When someone (such as myself) has a blog, one tends to think that it’s bad not to write all the time. Well, I had a reality check while listening to NPR the other day. Some man was talking about the blog revolution. I forget his name, but for some reason I want to call him Frank Bruni (but that’s just because Frank Bruni is a protoype blogger, entered late in the game stealing ideas and inspiration from my dear friend Arthur). It’s growing at a higher rate than the population of China. He said, anyone who thinks that someone reads their blog everyday without fail is justr self-absorbed and unrealisitic. Well obviously this man doesn’t know me, Art, Ari, or Eliot.

Arthur is the captain of blogging in both posting and reading. The man doesn’t miss a beat, and I think he should be the one giving commentary on the reality of blogs because he knows better than anyone!

I had such an awesome birthday on Tuesday, but as they say in tha Blandini family, “it’s not over yet.” Biggest thanks to Eliot for sweetness and good food, and Art for seeing the light on the first day of Spring. Since my birthday is on the first full day of Spring, I like to think of myself as a Spring chicken, but maybe a Spring Lamb Steak is more appropriate.

Spring has always been the craziest time of year for me. Since I was three years old, I’ve danced in recitals between the months of April, May and June. Now, being on the other side as a teacher it’s even more insane. My Lexington students have their recital in one week, and to say the least, I feel like they’re not ready. It’s hard being a teacher of students who want to dance but started late in life, and are full of weird teenage juices. Classes tend to be a struggle a lot of the time; friends constantly chatting, little attitude pinches from their hormonal overloads, and awkward bodytypes to beat the band. All in all, I do feel like I’ve done my job as a teacher.

See, one of the most valued steps by dancers is a pirouette. This word is translated to “spin” and this is where the dancer spins around on demi-pointe or pointe on one leg. The other leg can be in various different positions; the standard one being retiré, also known as passé, where the knee is to the side and the toe is pointed against the opposite knee.

All of my students in Lexington could not do a pirouette at the beginning of the year. For the past 6 months in class I have always made it point to practice the technique and the progression to which a dancer can exucute this step, which actually is not as easy as it looks. Students fall over, bend their legs, and tend to do weird things with their arms. One of the hardest things about this turn for a dancer is “spotting”. Spotting is when your eyes and head focus on one point in front of you. While turning you want to keep your eyes and head on this point for as long as possible. Since we are not owls, there comes a point where you have to look away, and that is where the concept of “snapping the head” comes in to play. A split second is all you have to regain that focus, and this is what makes a successful turn. And it is absolutely necessary to spot correctly if a dancer is ever going to complete a double, triple, or even quadruple turn. Your eyes can’t look at anything else except that point, or else you will lose focus and get dizzy, and therefore lost your balance.

All of my students can now execute a single pirouette, and correctly for the most part. However, their hormones and their bodies fight me in making corrections. It’s been a hard year with them, and I only hope that they appreciate what I’ve done. See, they really do like me. They love the fact that I’m young and they can talk to me about their boyfriend, or failing that test in school. And they like how I choose good costumes because I know what they like. But sometimes this lack of an age-gap can work against a young teacher. It’s very hard to define a line of authority, so instead of trying to something like that, I try to reinforce the idea of simple respect for one another, and get across to them that we are all working toward the same goal; improvement in dance, and a clean and rehearsed performance. I do have faith in them, and really the proof is in the pudding. Dress rehearsal is this weekend, so we’ll see how it goes.

In other news:

Ari is in Guatemala building a security fence around a local school…I miss you Ari! Read her pre-trip thoughts at Stubborn Lion.

More bird-flue cases, now hitting the Holy Land.

My cousin owns a tanning salon. Last week in exchange for computational technical assistance, I got a free tan as compensation. Fine by me! He swears by the benefits of healthy tanning, and some agree. Sun is life! (and sometimes death).

It’s a Snowday, and a Sunday. My internal clock arose my sleeping self around 7:30 this morning, and as I emerged 3 steps to the window, I could see the savior sending down the snow, now able to give me 3 more peaceful hours in my cacoon. No, I didn’t leave the house to go to my grandmother’s house for a memorial mass and no, there is no rehearsal for Carousel today. It’s one of those days, chilling with the boys, jamming on the machines, and listening to John Legend singing about the reality of the situation right here and now…

“We’re just ordinary people, we don’t know which way to go…”

And seeing that, we ain’t going no where! We’re sitting in the kitchen, plugged in to life support, strapped to our machines. Taking care of business, like there’s no tomorrow. And really, I’m asking myself, will there be a tomorrow for my small life? Many factors ensue…

*Will Melrose cancel school?
*Will Newton cancel Preschool?
*Will the JCC stay closed?

Even though we’re all trying hard, we can’t find the answers on the internet! The answer could be all yay, all nay, or some of this and some of that. Just gotta wait it out, and plan as if tomorrow is booked like usual. Can’t depend on weather, that’s for sure. And can’t depend on selfish wishes, that’s for damn sure.

Right now things are very internalized. Not a lot of external reflection on the things going on in life, which for me is a good thing. There’s an element, a big one, of uncertainty for my future with work and money. Just grinding through a couple more weeks of creative movement mish mash, and then loads of time will free themselves up. Gonna freelance for a while, try and pull in some business, learn some new skills and just stay close with my family and friends. Maybe I can start up my own segment of Ok Public, which is called Dance Web Space. It’s going to be a website for dance studios to order web hosting and/or request their design to be done by yours truly. I want to learn how to offer templates for people to build their own site off of, and also contact the committee of the Dance Teacher’s Club of Boston to request a table at the March meeting for information and a friendly face.

I will need a knowledgable spokesperson for this table, and really I might be the best match. I also need a tech-guru to back me on this project if it’s going to go anywhere. It’s going to be a big project, but hopefully worth it!

I need stats, stats stats! Got to get some support behind the idea, show people that a website for their dance studio will do great things for their business. Is this true? Umm, yea. Center Stage has grown a little bit this year, not sure if it’s exactly from the website (which desperately needs a redesign…in the queue), or because of our bomb-ass dance lessons but the site gets mad hits every month, and I know it’s a great resource for our students and parents to check the monthly schedules, newsletters, updates, snow cancellations, all that jazz.

Plus, with such great prices and wonderful services from Ok Public, you can’t go wrong. $2.95/month….dayam.

Key to survival in a life out of the 9 - 5: Get niched.

Okay, so it’s been a while. I’ve been in this funk…just a matter of not having enough calcium, or perhaps enough sleep?

Yesterday, a case of the Mondays. In the words of Arthur Mullen, I served 90 people yesterday. Except instead of serving, I taught 9 classes throughout the day, ranging from 9:30 am until 8:30pm. In a somewhat successful effort to drag myself from the warmth of my cacoon, I woke up Monday morning and went through the usual routine of making coffee and getting ready. I even managed to put some clothes in the wash (the finale of a 24 hour process I had started Sunday afternoon).

When I arrived at the preschool 15 minutes early for my class, I realized I forgot to get the house boombox from Ari, which she took on the retreat she was leading for her students. Since the boombox that came from the company was broken, I had to teach 4 creative movement classes without music. Well, it was creative alright. We sang songs such as Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes (with the untraditional reprise, Eyes, Ears, Mouth and Nose), Itsy Bitsy Spider, and If You’re Happy and You Know It (Clap your Hands), among others.

4 classes in a row singing these songs, please don’t ask. After this marathon of nothing less than sheer ridiculousness I headed over to the JCC for my next order of business, 2 Baby Ballerina classes. I stopped at the Sub Shop to get a chicken salad sandwich, which was so great!

When I teach creative movement I generally dress kind of schleppy. I don’t wear my dance clothes because I’m usually rolling all over a church hall floor that is not very clean. So I had this t-shirt on, one I’ve had for atleast 8 years that has a little baby dawl tiger on it. It’s that soft gray material, the poly-cotton blend. That stuff is the best.

Anyway, when I go to teach ballet at the JCC or dance classes at the studio, I dress nice. I wear leotard and tights, I do my hair, I look presentable. I’ve learned over the past few years that the more put together a dance teacher looks, the more students admire that teacher, and want to keep looking at you when you are demonstrating steps. This is good because it keeps their attention and makes them want to work harder so they can look like you someday. Self-absorbed? Yes. Reliable Method? Heck yeah!

I came in the JCC, grabbed a Jewish Advocate and went in to one of the many secret conference rooms to eat my sandwich. Ahh, peace. A few minutes before my class was starting I headed to the bathroom to change in to my dance clothes, freshen up, etc etc. What’s this? No leotard or tights in my bag! Gosh darn, they’re hanging in the laundry room drying from the previous night’s laundry adventures! I had to teach my two ballet classes in those grungy black pants and that t-shirt which I have been wearing for the past week.

See, I have this obsession of immediately getting as comfortable as possible as soon I get home. I’ve been like this since I can remember. When I was little it was church, then dance, then family gatherings, then anything! No matter if it’s 10am, 2pm, or midnight, the first thing I do is go in my room, change in to sweatpants and some kind of super soft sweater or shirt, and put on new socks. Anyway, the tiger dawl shirt is my favorite shirt to change in to when I get home so let’s just say I wear it a lot and sometimes sleep in it.

So, I looked like a schlepp for my ballet classes. Okay, so I made up for it by teaching them kartwheels, which was super fun. The appearance thing is a big thing for a dance teacher though, it’s an image.

Luckily my last session of classes was in Melrose so I ganked some clothes from my mom and my sisters since we are the dancing family.

On my way home last night I had to return a phone call. The mother of one of my ensemble students called the studio and left a message that she needed to speak with me specifically. Her daughter, let’s call her Raj, is one of my top students but I have been very hard on her this year. She gives me about 80% in terms of her body, she executes steps but doesn’t always complete them with that extra OOMPH that it takes to make a good dancer. And her face is what I call, A Dead Fish .

In dance class a teacher has to come up with code words for things. There’s no time to say, “let me see the energy in your face!”. Instead I say, “Jonny, Dead Fish!”. Just hearing this makes them smile, so really it works like charm. Raj is a seriously Dead Fish and I have been working with her continuously for 2 years at trying to pull this energy out of her upper body.

So, when I heard that her mother called the studio and asked for me to call her back, I was thinking that Raj is unhappy in class because I’ve been so hard on her and I’m going to have to go through this long explanation-teacher-speech thing to her mother. Oy vay. Well, I left a message and she called me back this morning. Her reason for calling is even better than the Dead Fish issue.

Her mother wanted to know if she could miss her two dance classes tonight because it’s her brother’s birthday and they’re having family over the house. Raj was scared to miss because I’ve been cracking the whip in class and telling them that if they’re absent, I’m not taking time to re-teach things and it’s their responsibility to be in class and I need to see 100% from them. ROAR!

Well, I’m not really a mean tiger. I just play one in the studio. I called her mom back and told her that it would be fine, but I’m very glad to hear that Raj is taking class so seriously. If she’s worried about missing material, she can come 10 minutes early next week and my assistant can go over the new choreography with her.

Problem solved. Now, if I could only put some life in the face….

Last night I was teaching at Center Stage, working with my top tier munchkins. My brother Jonny is 11, and he has grown up in the studio dancing with a group of students who are, to say the least, very advanced for their age. This is the 3rd year in a row that I have been teaching their Ballet and Jazz classes, and these kids have that edge. They just want to get better, and it’s always a pleasure to work with students who have the drive and understanding of what it means to progress in dance.

This year I stepped up the level of their classes a lot. The past couple of years there have been a few different levels mixed in the class, and to play it safe my choreography generally reflected the weaker dancers. I didn’t want to risk having a number look bad in a show, so I made the dances somewhat easier than what the more advanced students could actually handle. This year, the first day of class I gave them “a talk.” Dance teachers, I know you know what this means.

We’ve extended the barre in ballet class to include everything from plies, to frappes, to ronde de jambe en l’aire. Really, their execution of technique has just sky rocketed. Every week we discuss the meaning of pulling the heel forward, and now when they are doing their fondu coupes, I don’t see anymore sickles! (or as anatomists might call it, a supination of the foot).

Supination is ultimately an inversion of the foot, so when a foot is supinated, the sole is rotated medially. This puts strain on the outer muscle of our foreleg, and in dance can both cause cause cramping in the sole and also look very ugly.

This is a supination, see the angle?

Pronation is what we are going for in ballet. When the foot is pronated it is everted so that the sole of the foot is turned laterally and it is fully stretched. Think of it as an extension of the foreleg, as opposed to a branch that sticks off.

Pronation. Doesn’t that look better?

Anyway, that’s my lesson in anatomy for the day. I really want to go back to school for physical therapy, because this stuff just fascinates me. I loved anatomy in high school. All of the terms and just connecting the whole body in a physical sense really aids in awareness of the self, especially as a dancer. And also, I love working with people’s bodies. When I’m teaching these classes that I’ve been talking about, I am literally kneeling on the floor next to their feet and legs, and moving and rotating for them to help them to FEEL the difference between certain technical aspects of dance. Usually once they really feel it, they smile and look at me, as if to say, “I’ve never felt anything like that before!”. I love it!

Choreography is moving along quite smoothly so far, getting ready for this year’s recital in June. This year our theme is “In the News.” My mother and I designed the show to be categorized like sections of the newspaper, so all of our songs fit in to these sections. My classes are spread throughout the show in sections such as “Health and Fitness”, “Classifieds”, “Sports”, “Weather”, and “Current Events.”

Newspapers have been a big part of life, but have slowly grown to dissuade me from reading them. In college I majored in Journalism, and I chose this major even before I was involved in The Student Underground. Then after college I just kind of lost the drive to be writing for a newspaper. I do like reading them sometimes, but I guess it’s all part of my attempt to escape what some call reality and create my own a little bit more. I like writing though, and that’s why I have this blog.

I do appreciate good articles though, and especially would never diss the New York Times for 3 reasons.

1. Ari pays for a weekend subscription of the Times, and I must admit, I like it sometimes.

2. Art might disown me.

3. Sometimes friends get talked about in the NYT, like today!