So more on Boym: the more I read of her book, the more of a sense I get that many academic books in the humanities are like chill out rooms at drug parties, that is, to a large extent and among other things, their weaknesses are their primary strengths, the comforting rehearsal of familiar references wafting by like an old fashioned love song, playing on the radio.

Also, I don't think I mentioned my experience with the other fed, military intelligence (haha), in my class. On my lunch break on Monday, I was sitting on my car's hood reading the Situationist tract I purchased a few days back and he was across the parking lot, smoking. I got a very strong feeling that he could see into my brain. More generally, the class environment is causing all kinds of doubled or tripled consciousnesses, my various roles in the world brought into intensified contrast, mild panic, what the hell am I doing here? I should be (or am, simultaneously) making love on a mountaintop; writing a sonnet; baking cookies; telling jokes; curled up in a fetal position in a warm, dark place; hanging with Peretz; talking to my mom about life; playing a video game; maintaining a web site; monitoring server logs; reading; sleeping; dreaming.

Anyway, I'll come up with a time for the first book group soon, probably at E & J's place, let me know if you'd like to join in, we'll head for the mountaintop after, if you'd like.