I hate it when I lose my sense of humor. I�ve been stressed out about everything lately: doing my taxes, my dissertation, AJ's birthday, my dissertation, making home repairs, my dissertation. Oh, and did I mention my dissertation? Not to mention a couple of other hoops I need to jump through before I can finally get that diploma.

When the sense of humor goes so does most of my ability to appreciate the things that are going well, the beautiful things, anything poetic in everyday life. Yesterday when I was out for a walk, a Great Blue Heron leapt up in the air, rippling the air over my head and landed by the stream a few steps beyond. These are incredible birds, enormous and powerful and surprisingly graceful in the air, given their disproportionate bodies. The heron is one of the last birds to leave in the fall and, save the robins, one of the first to return. So this first sighting of him should have made my heart leap on several accounts. But instead, I was worrying about being out for a walk when I should have been taking the time to work on our finances. I didn�t think about the bird at all until I was lying in bed last night.

Fortunately, today I am working with my archival stuff again and finding wonderful announcements like �At Huber�s Museum the usual number of strange freaks is on exhibition.� (New York Times, December 15, 1903, pg. 5, in case you think I make this stuff up.). Just what is the usual number of �strange freaks?� Is there such a thing as a freak that isn�t strange? Huber�s Museum was founded in the late 19th century, essentially as the urban answer to the circus sideshow with a little vaudeville thrown in. Harry Houdini did some of his earliest performances there. Most notably, Huber�s is often attributed with being the site of the invention of the cinema industry. The 10 minute short film The Great Train Robbery was first screened there in 1904, the first public screening of a motion picture. Located in the Times Square area of New York City, Huber�s managed to stay in business until 1976. I guess that explains all the strange freaks in Times Square. Only these days we call them tourists.

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