We'll all float on anyway
I failed to mention that this weekend Rachel (eibheall) and I drove up to Remus, Michigan for a folk music festival. I’ve returned, no worse for wear and with an urge to repeat the experience, minus the pile of schoolwork I tackled while there.
It’s about a six hour drive between the two places. Rachel and I took turns driving, which is good because elsewise I would have become very tired very quickly and likely driven the car off the road. I learned the art of feeding someone a banana while they’re driving and some guy decided he wanted to endanger our lives for no discernable reason and cut us off at the speed of some 75 mph.
At any rate, we arrived around 10:00 and the most immediately striking thing was the sky. The sky was perfectly clear and you could see every star in it, which is a special treat for us residents of suburbia. We then made our way over to the main stages and listened to some really excellent Irish folk music. I really didn’t do all that much as far as activities are concerned, honestly. I had a shit ton of reading to do, so only got to hear a handful of the groups that came. I also did some dancing which was ridiculously fun and totally the type of thing I would like to do on a regular basis. I like how both square dances and contra dances are more social events and less pointless writhing against people.
Anyway, I spent both nights sleeping on the floor a tent which was surprisingly relaxing. I slept a heinous amount, and really felt bad that Rachel had to deal with my mostly-comatose body for most of the trip. I also met her aunt and uncle who are just amazing people with more amazing food. I seriously ate better than I think I will all year at Denison.
The trip back was a bit more tiring. I spent a good amount of it reading how Plato thinks the poet corrupts the soul, which I just didn’t appreciate. It was long, and tiresome, and I think both Rachel and I were happy to be back, if a little sad upon leaving. I know I desperately didn’t want to cut off my Wheatland bracelet. It’s still pinned to my cork-board.
Real life resumes tomorrow. Here’s hoping that the out-of-print Kierkegaard translation my finicky professor absolutely demands we have comes in the mail sometime prior to class on Wednesday.
It’s about a six hour drive between the two places. Rachel and I took turns driving, which is good because elsewise I would have become very tired very quickly and likely driven the car off the road. I learned the art of feeding someone a banana while they’re driving and some guy decided he wanted to endanger our lives for no discernable reason and cut us off at the speed of some 75 mph.
At any rate, we arrived around 10:00 and the most immediately striking thing was the sky. The sky was perfectly clear and you could see every star in it, which is a special treat for us residents of suburbia. We then made our way over to the main stages and listened to some really excellent Irish folk music. I really didn’t do all that much as far as activities are concerned, honestly. I had a shit ton of reading to do, so only got to hear a handful of the groups that came. I also did some dancing which was ridiculously fun and totally the type of thing I would like to do on a regular basis. I like how both square dances and contra dances are more social events and less pointless writhing against people.
Anyway, I spent both nights sleeping on the floor a tent which was surprisingly relaxing. I slept a heinous amount, and really felt bad that Rachel had to deal with my mostly-comatose body for most of the trip. I also met her aunt and uncle who are just amazing people with more amazing food. I seriously ate better than I think I will all year at Denison.
The trip back was a bit more tiring. I spent a good amount of it reading how Plato thinks the poet corrupts the soul, which I just didn’t appreciate. It was long, and tiresome, and I think both Rachel and I were happy to be back, if a little sad upon leaving. I know I desperately didn’t want to cut off my Wheatland bracelet. It’s still pinned to my cork-board.
Real life resumes tomorrow. Here’s hoping that the out-of-print Kierkegaard translation my finicky professor absolutely demands we have comes in the mail sometime prior to class on Wednesday.