The Precision of Poetry and the Passion of Science

Wow. Just got out a talk delivered by Azar Nafisi (because this is the sort of thing you do when your options are Nafisi, genetics and a 9 PM showing of Collateral) and that was really cool. She talked about the importance of imagination, the need for activism, and about how all women should dream about Mr. Darcy while I scribbled notes under an obliquely explicable and serendipitous note, "the scientist as hero, saving the world one damn chromatography column at a time." If people are interested, I can type up a more complete report, but right now I'm headed home. (By way of the library, of course. They've got a copy of Lolita in Tehran in tonight; the next change I'll have to get it is probably Monday. And I am totally out of high-priority bedtime reading.)

I'm ridiculously delighted to have those notes in the notebook they're in, because I only found it this afternoon while I was cleaning. It was in the same bag as a missing stack of bookmarks and - this made me laugh in delight - the key to my bike lock! I can bike to school and be sure I can bike home now!

I also vacuumed, so I'm feeling comfortably virtuous. Tomorrow I spend time with mom selling my weed pile to the used book store, and after that I'll probably feel obnoxiously righteous. Or possibly just mad. I'll also have closet space again, so I don't think I get to grouse too much.