That’s me. Mr. Post At Night.
Another day at the cafe … another rhyming time. Young love, just not mine — those hormonally imbalanced undergrads who should be studying for finals but who instead gather and ogle each other over non-romantic coffee dates in crowded cafes. Politics, Religion, and Sex (need something for Q, no?) — these one should not discuss on a first ‘date’ but that doesn’t stop these folks who have more or less just met (you can tell by the questions), who then start asking each other about god and all that nonsense.
Fools.
Sure, if you need someone from a certain cult affiliation, then make sure — but you do it before you go on your informal, public-space coffee date, folks. Casanova these folks were not.
Mallory showed up to collect her paper and exam, and questions were answered regarding word order and how to get it right. And from what I heard, evidently Sal teaches a great German 222 course; if I’d known that earlier, I would have arranged to sit in. And perhaps should in the fall. Carla’s 221 wasn’t quite as popular. Evidently Sal’s enthusiasm helps; I would like to think that helps perception(s) of me in the classroom.
Salon.com had a great Cannes-preview by Andrew Leonard, and there are a number of movies premiering or at least being screened there that I’d like to see. Bela Tarr has a new one, as does Kusturica, and the guy who did 2046 is sort of the inside candidate for a major award this year with his newest film, which, if I’m not mistaken, ‘stars’ Nora Jones. Interesting.
I stopped by the library to look again for the Andre Rudolph volume, the table of content to which Lynn game me a week or more ago, but it still hasn’t made its way to the shelves. The pudgy and at best plain but friendly checkout counter person at the library figured it could be because this is one of their busiest times of year, and processing new books is not a priority at the moment. The more attractive and more straight-to-business blonde near the ‘gates’ re-demagnetized my books after I beeped trying to get through — even though pudgy and plain had done them all. Blonde didn’t listen too well, either.
But I’ve skipped ahead a bit. Seeing that the Rudolph wasn’t shelved, I instead looked for “Hamann in general” — and there we have the B 2993 range, up on 6 North (there is no 6 South), and after I found one book that interested me I found a few more. And then one on 18th-century German philosophy, and then Herder, and then around the corner so much Kant … so, a dozehttp://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.create&editor=falsen books later I staggered out of the library. It had rained in the meantime but stopped again, and there were quaint shiny puddles and shimmering bricks everywhere, a sign of Oz or Wonderland magic but without Red Queens and flying monkeys.
I went to the bus stop and waited; I was two minutes ahead of the bus’s scheduled arrival, but I knew that it would be late. 1) It always is. 2) It was “rush hour” so it was more likely to be late. 3) It had just rained, and then sends more folks to the bus and away from walking. A mid-20-ish blonde with less than shoulder-length hair sat in the shelter. Behind me, a few feet away, stood someone I at first took for a guy but I later revised my evaluation after I turned around and met her eyes, which seemed already to be trained on me, a curious and uncomfortable feeling. There was a twinkle there, as if recognition, but this was no one I knew, as far as I could tell, which is why, when she left the shelter a few minutes later because the bus was so late, but stood not too far away, I turned and saw her, now in profile and at a greater distance, and then I noticed the shoes and the style of jeans that were not something a guy would wear.
I remember the incident because the other day I was thinking about Death in Venice (after thinking about some Venice-related poetry), and numerous times in that novella Gustav von Aschenbach encounters red-headed figures prefiguring death, be they dandies or gondoliers, etc., and the uncanny element here was that the look from this unrecognizable person was one of recognition mixed with amusement — though it could have just been a reaction to the afternoon sun reflecting off metal, I’ll never know — and von Aschenbach had similar feelings, almost as if he should know these people.
And so it is that I conclude for the evening, having finished several albums of Smashing Pumpkins. After the “Sneaker Pimps” (no idea …!) I get to Soundgarden. And then only a half dozen artists before I’m done with “S,” which I’ve been moving through more quickly than expected. I might finish the alphabet before I leave for New York.
