L'Esprit d'escalier

L'esprit d'escalier, the elegant French idiom attributed to Diderot that translates roughly as "I shoulda said," doesn't exactly apply to those little jokes I make to myself when there's no one around to hear (or sneer at) them, but it's a similar situation. The "wit of the staircase" refers to the realization of a wonderful retort that you've thought of after you leave the party or whatever and are descending the stairs, presumably to go home. It doesn't actually apply to the marvelous witticism that occurred to me one day, when a bus driver announced what seemed to sound like, "Next stop Lexginton Avenue." Regrettably, there was no one with me to whom I could say, "I think he means dysLexington Avenue." What a loss. Today wasn't quite as good. The driver just sang out, "Lex is nex'." Better than nothing.

Rosaline, or, When I'm Right, I'm Right!

Perhaps one of the hallmarks of maturity is to realize that the person who is wrong needn't always be told he's wrong. Experience as a copy editor has made it a habit with me to insure correctness, but the other person in an unwritten discussion doesn't always have to know that he was wrong, wrong, dead wrong! 

Yesterday, shortly before my ballet class, a fellow student and I were discussing the ill-advised—at least I think so—New York City Ballet production of yet another Romeo and Juliet. To make matters worse, they insist on calling it Romeo+Juliet, perhaps to distinguish it from other (better) versions. Among other infelicities of the production, the hideous scenery displays a house that an astute New York Times critic likened to Fred Flintstone's cave. Anyway, the subject of Romeo's infatuation with the usually unseen Rosaline came up. My classmate, who claims to have a PhD in theater, mentioned that Romeo has been having sex with Rosaline, and that she appears onstage and has some lines. As a former English teacher, I did not recall either the appearance of Rosaline or any lines attributed to her. I checked my copy of the play when I got home, and saw that I was right. A little googling also revealed that the only dramatic version in which she makes a physical appearance is the Zeffirelli film, although some directors of the staged play or the ballet may put her in as an aloof walk-on or walk-by.

Romeo specifically comments that the unseen Rosaline is guarding her chastity as if she were a disciple of the goddess Diana.  At most, he has been stalking her. And, as we all know, he immediately forgets about her when he catches sight of you-know-who at the Capulets' ball, which he, masked, has crashed. I was reverting to type, ready to correct my classmate today, but he didn't show up, and I thought better of it anyway. He seemed so positive that he was right. Better to leave him with his illusions and not make yet another enemy.

Rosaline is mentioned by name as "fair niece Rosaline" in the invitation to the Capulet ball (I, ii, 81) and shortly thereafter by Benvolio, who, urging Romeo to go to the ball, states: "At this same ancient feast of Capulet's / Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, /

With all the admired beauties of Verona. / Go thither and with unattainted eye / Compare her face with some that I shall show / And I will make thee think thy swan a crow." (I, ii, 86-92) She is mentioned in the Act II scene with Friar Laurence. When the Friar questions Romeo about her, he says, "I have forgot that name and that name's woe." At the beginning of Scene iv of Act II, Mercutio, not knowing of Romeo's change of affections, refers to: "...that same pale, hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, / Torments him so that he will sure run mad." And that's the last we hear of this lady.

There, I got it off my chest without humiliating anyone. Doubt that Mr. Wrong (or anyone else) will even read this, or even care. Trivia is my middle name.   

The Miraculous Mac

Like most Apple aficionados, I'm just crazy about my Macintosh. I kept my past two Macs for about five years apiece before they gave any trouble. Four to five years seems to be the life of most computers if you want to keep up with the moment-to-moment changing world of technology. My present Mac is now five; thus, I tremble with every little quirk that it might show—very few though they are. I'm at the ready to buy a new one, but so far so good.

When updates automatically arrive, I dutifully install them. Sometimes, when they take a longish time, I start to worry if this is the end of my Mac's life as I know it. But the computer (not to mention all of those brilliant geeks out in Cupertino) is much smarter than I am. Everything always comes out all right in the end. At least it has so far.

This morning I was notified that my "Time Machine" backup hadn't backed up in a week! Disaster! I clicked on the TM icon to back up and received info that (a) it wasn't backing up and (b) I needed to install new items including the latest OS X update. I dutifully installed all updates. Having been warned that it would take some time, I waited patiently. When it took a really long time, I began to wonder. I know that the Blue Screen of Death is primarily the prerogative of P.C. users, but when my screen turned an unusual shade of bright blue I began to tremble. Not to worry, the "regular" blue finally appeared and then—sigh of relief—the comforting old Aurora Borealis screen saver appeared with all of my friendly old icons. Whew! At this moment, Time Machine is still backing up, not that there was anything really important to back up. My great unwritten American novel takes up no space at all.

As far as Time Machine not backing up for a week, I tried the commonest, and least practiced, DIY routine. I unplugged it and plugged it in again. Success! Its little blue light went on, and all is serene once again. At least for a while.