Liz had tickets to the Cloud Gate Dance Theater of Taiwan last week, so we went to dinner and then the show. It's hard to believe dancers have the same muscles and tendons I do. There wasn't much music per se in this performance, it was a lot of very slow controlled movement to a faint rhythm or wind blowing sounds, for example. I feel like I'm lurching around like Frankenstein.

At dinner, Liz was admiring the excellent hair color job I got in Minnesota. "It's kind of reddish gold," she said, "and with your blue blouse and glasses, your eyes really pop, and, well, all in all, you really look like a member of the master race." See? Now that's all I was going for, I never liked the fakey bleachy look.

John Miras and I had a lovely afternoon together Sunday, starting with brunch at a little Mediterranean place around the corner with garden seating. He seems to be digging his assistant district attorney job, and it's everything he ever dreamed of: the juvies, the hookers (one woman was picked up turning a trick on the way to the courthouse), the kids who shove sausages down their pants and make a run for it. He says that almost invariably when defendants are offered a choice between two days of community service or ten days in jail, they choose jail. It was unseasonably warm, so we walked down to the library, then sat on a bench in Prospect Park for a while just visiting. Such a nice boy.

I did not, however, care for the movie portion of our afternoon, "Eastern Promises". The "Russians" sounded like a bunch of Count Choculas.