Sunday, May 10, 2009

By Mother's Day request, reposting link to White Winter Hymnal: http://www.subpop.com/assets/audio/4264.mp3

There was a beautiful rainbow here yesterday:



The power went out in a big, dramatic thunderstorm (I watched it through the screen in the common room, and at first I thought it was snowing through the rain, which was ridiculous, and then I decided it must be hail, and then I finally realized that thousands of petals from the apple trees were swirling by the window), and just as I was leaving the dining hall with my paper dishes and non-perishable dinner, I saw this giant rainbow, a whole one, over the campus. I rushed upstairs to get my camera, and by the time I got back it had shrunk back onto the mountains, but it was maybe even prettier there, though the top of it wasn't visible against the clouds. It was very nice seeing all the dozens of people standing on the hill over Battel Beach, watching it silently.

When it got dark outside, I stole Chris' headlamp from his room and went exploring around campus. Half the student body was huddled under emergency lights, studying. The library was a little pitiful, with people peering at notebooks and working on papers on dying laptops, but I really liked walking around in the dark stacks. I found a very amazing book called "Let's Mime!" I read a few pages of The Handmaid's Tale out on the library balcony, with the headlamp-- it was pleasantly humid. Half of the street lamps were out along College Street, and the rest of campus was just pitch black. Eventually I ended up in a Ross suite drinking hard cider and sitting around by candlelight, trying to move conversation away from the college dining policy and towards miming in Women's societies in the 1940s. We all booed when the electricity came back on, and turned the lights back off.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

A Declaration of Love

I love books in which the author pretends to interview long-dead people. And how, for some reason, they always take on a lofty, rhetorical tone, as if that is how the famous dead must talk. Oh, ye interviews with the dead, would but that I had words to express my ardor. "My eyes cannot see and my aching ears/ Roar in their labyrinths."

Right now reading interview with the Biblical Ruth, in some book about reader-response criticism. Trying to figure out what that is by 7:30 this evening, when I have to give a presentation on my reader-response interpretation of the first three books of Genesis.