Well, here we are again. Monday morning. I was in the office both days this weekend working on an appellate brief, so I'm feeling all rested and refreshed and raring to go for the four days of depositions I have this week. [insert hollow laughter here]
The weekend was not a total loss, however. On Saturday night I attended the New York Philharmonic's performance of Mendelssohn's oratorio, Elijah. It was a superb performance all-round, but the real stand-out was Canadian bass-baritone Gerald Finley. After the concert, we (as in my concert buddy Susan and I, not me and Mr. Finley) had a late dinner at Nougatine. When I hopped in a cab to head back to the East Side, I found an empty Smirnoff bottle on the seat. A quick reconnoiter revealed that no one had vomited in said back seat nor did the driver seem drunk, so I continued on home. A classic evening in the Big Apple.
When I trudged home from the office late Sunday afternoon, I sank into a light comfort read, The True Memoirs of Little K: A Novel, by Adrienne Sharp. "Little K," a Russian prima ballerina assoluta in the waning days of the 19th century, becomes the mistress of the last tsar before his marriage to Alexandra, granddaughter of Queen Victoria and carrier of the hemophiliac gene that plays its part in bringing the imperial family to its doom. Good for ballet lovers, Romanov aficionados, mentally exhausted lawyers, etc.