Life post-election is predictably, yet strangely, normal. Those of my fellow students who voted Kerry (by my estimate about two-thirds) show no visible signs of distress, and those that voted Bush finished gloating quickly. Speaking to Anne Bailey, an admirably liberal white woman, she expresses doubts in hushed tones about Bush's effect on the Supreme Court, but for everyone else it's just another day.
It's suddenly got cold today. Beacon Street is chilly, though warmed by a good dinner, a bottle of mediocre red wine and an unexpected indulgence in poetry reading (Keat's Ode to Autumn and William Blake). My hands are covered in paint from helping Johnny Parker paint a fence. The $20,000 house is another step nearer to being on site (hopefully next week). Lou's at lunch today was subdued. We listen to the speeches of Martin Luther King and Malcolm X on my friend's iPod as we drive into Newbern, and wonder what happened to those heady days.
And I've discovered, thanks to some issues of the LRB finding their way across the Atlantic to me, that my Jeep Cherokee was the first true SUV.
It's suddenly got cold today. Beacon Street is chilly, though warmed by a good dinner, a bottle of mediocre red wine and an unexpected indulgence in poetry reading (Keat's Ode to Autumn and William Blake). My hands are covered in paint from helping Johnny Parker paint a fence. The $20,000 house is another step nearer to being on site (hopefully next week). Lou's at lunch today was subdued. We listen to the speeches of Martin Luther King and Malcolm X on my friend's iPod as we drive into Newbern, and wonder what happened to those heady days.
And I've discovered, thanks to some issues of the LRB finding their way across the Atlantic to me, that my Jeep Cherokee was the first true SUV.
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