Plečnik's Palace

In a few minutes I will be committing mass verbicide, brutally slashing 280 words from an essay to get it under word count. But as a feast before the famine, I come here to blog, to spew out words like there's no limit. Which there isn't. Thank you, internet.

I haven't yet posted pictures of the ridiculously gorgeous building in which I work, so here are a couple of shots taken from the staircase:

It was designed by apparently-super-famous architect Jože Plečnik, Slovenia's pride and joy along with France Prešeren, poet extraordinaire. I haven't seen much devotion to good ol' Slavoj over here. I guess they're all capitalists. Anyway, the building is known as Plečnik's Palace, and it's obscenely attractive. And it even has a coffee maker that spits out €0,30 cappuccinos, sweetened to your specification! Who could ask for anything more?

There were (at least?) two Scarsdalians in the NYT wedding section this week. One was something of a friend in high school (very cool girl), but I haven't spoken to her much since. The other was too old for me to have known (although I knew her sister a bit), but I recognized her name instantly from The List. I know, it's pathetic. But you do something like that, too, don't you? And even if you don't, that's the least of my weird stalking of people I don't/hardly/do know. You should know that by now. But congrats to the now-marrieds! And wish me luck in finishing this thing.

Song of the day, for no other reason than it popped into my head: You'd Be Surprised