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Al Qaeda's new hidedout: not Somalia but Indonesia. Now we will all learn about Indonesia. This is getting more Carmen Sandiego by the minute.
This final semester it's Destination: Marilynne. (Cf. the Idaho Statesman article with pictures of José and Reza.) We had our first workshop yesterday, of sorts—she spoke very eloquently about the purpose of art for ten minutes, then we had a brief moment of awkwardness over who would submit stories for next week, then we left. I helped to relieve said moment of awkwardness by volunteering myself for the chopping block, despite the fact that I have nothing but excerpts from a half-completed novel draft. I wrote them nearly a year ago and they're not good, but I thought I should get it over with since the situation isn't likely to improve. I do feel bad about submitting something which I know to be substandard, especially since Marilynne was all inspiring yesterday, but nobody else was volunteering. I've been telling myself and everyone else that I really no longer care what happens in workshop—now we find out whether I meant it.
The unseasonably warm weather here, surely our last gasp before the planet enters thirty thousand years of ice, means that the storm windows my landlord installed are useless. I have had to prop them open with a coaster, and the only coaster I have is from England and reproduces the scene from the Bayeux Tapestry where Edward the Confessor dies.
On Monday, Uncle Zach helped the Olympic torch on its way to Salt Lake by carrying it through Reno. He handles the pressures of celebrity well.
