Dear first day of the semester,

Thank you for taking it a little easy on me. For instance, thank you for sending willing students in the direction of the literary magazine staff, and thank you for arranging for the literary magazine class to be my first and only class today.

Thanks also for allowing me to have good conversations with multiple cherished colleagues. And I appreciate the fact that I was able to help several students find their classes, or the art department office, and to advise them informally on classes they might take to fulfill their, y'know, generals. As the kids like to say. It made me feel useful, and kind, just as I like to feel when I am at my place of employ, and elsewhere--everywhere, really. Today was a good example of that.

And thanks, dear first day of the semester, for helping me see that it would be a good idea for my son to drop me off and pick me up at the curb by my building, so he could use my car in the interim. I might have fretted, but this arrangement meant that I did not have to park on a very very busy parking day. And that meant I could wear my tall shoes, and not whine about it. Much.

I think it would be awesome, first day, if you would share your techniques for staging my day with the rest of the days of the semester. Show them how it's possible to have just one thing at a time happen, instead of an onslaught of crazy. And show them how, when just one thing at a time is happening, even a little bad news or unsettling vibrations are less like a crisis and more like a topic of conversation. Crises are bad, first day, I think we can all agree on this, unless we are revolutionaries, and then crises are opportunities. I get that. But I am not ready for such an opportunity, not yet. Not when the afternoon sun bestowing itself upon me while I waited at the curb is still hot. A hot with an autumnal tinge, but still: hot. Let's have the revolution in, like, October. And maybe we won't need one at all, not if we just take one thing at a time, and have a conversation while wearing cute shoes.

That is all I ask.

Sincerely,

htms

I am not a revolutionary.

--but I don't mind seeing one in a movie.  Today, for President's Day, the historian and I decided to go see Che, in honor of the first president of the United States, who was a revolutionary, too.  Or something like that--maybe we just wanted to see it because we love the movies.  Anthony Lane recommended seeing the films back-to-back--"for full revolutionary flavor"--with a break for a mojito in between, so that's what we did, except it was a Coke and some pizza.  (Anthony Lane: you are a smart ass.  When they make the movie of your life, you will play yourself, because no one's ass is as smart as yours.  No one's.)

I recommend the film, both parts.  It was engrossing and so beautifully made, and it did what such a film should do, which is to make you want to know more about the history.  Also, it didn't glorify, particularly, the central figure, nor did it vilify; it presented him in a rich and interesting context which was clearly quite painstakingly researched.  Even so, the film didn't feel research-y--it felt lived in and vivid.  Quite wonderful really, and I also thought it was pretty brave not to make the whole film arc toward some kind of giant, falsified catharsis.  Because history, and revolutions, aren't like that, no matter how the propaganda goes, or how many Che t-shirts get sold.  (Bonus:  here's a very interesting interview with Steven Soderbergh about this film (via kottke).)

And while we're on that subject, let me pause to say that Steven Soderbergh has made a lot of films that are among my absolute, all time favorites:  King of the Hill (a little seen, fairly early one, set in the Depression, that I think is just splendid); Out of Sight; The Limey; and, frankly, his take on Solaris.  He can go ahead and make Full Frontal (which I also saw) or Ocean's 957, as long as he comes back to make such gorgeous, fresh, brave films as these.