It occurs to me that I haven’t posted anything longer in the last few days. I haven’t kept you up to the minute with my fabulous up-to-the-minute Fellowship life.
Nothing personal. I’ve had my nose in the Russian book — I think I’m caught up, but that’s a matter of opinion — and my head in the clouds, these last few days. Yesterday I walked around campus marveling at this dense bolus of a place, so packed with facts and theses and interesting people, although all I could really do was woolgather a bit. A few weeks ago I got an e-mail inviting me to a lecture on lesbian erotica in Urdu poetry. Yesterday I confronted a tub of vegan chapstick at a coffee shop. Then I ate a hot dog. It all seemed to be part of a big seamless…seamless thing. Whatever.
I continue to be thrilled at being among so many young people. They’re so much fun, the way they blast Radiohead in their retail establishments, so loudly that you have to yell at the clerk to be heard, but who cares? My screenwriting study group meets on Monday mornings at 9 a.m., an hour that might as well be the crack of dawn for these 22-year-olds. They show up utterly bleary-eyed, looking as though they all just rolled out of bed, which I suppose they did. And yet, they know stuff, more than I knew at their age, although they know it in a different context. To them, ABBA is camp retro fun, the creative force behind “Mamma Mia.” I remember when ABBA was just a pain-in-the-ear on the radio. I consider that perhaps ABBA sounds better when the other choices on the radio are Beyonce and hip-hop, rather than late-career Led Zeppelin and the Ramones. (Am I remembering correctly? Retromania gets me so confused.)
Now it’s 10:50, time to shuffle off to class again. I’m in the computer center at the graduate library. I want to stand up and make an announcement: Please treasure every moment. It doesn’t get any better than this.