Sometimes I wonder if the entirety of the admittedly silly but nevertheless enjoyable film “This is the End” wasn’t just a setup for the Backstreet Boy’s reunion announcement. We were talking about that a little at the shop the other day (okay, mostly about the Backstreet Boys), getting to know the musical and other tastes of our new mechanic, a guy named Matt. He and I have similar all-over-the-place tastes in music, which is nice. But in any case—

Semester starts today. I’m on the train at Park Street, watching the program group chats spin up again, wondering if I’ll be late, trying to chill after my hurried and late morning appointment, one or two other things. “All Killer, No Filler” is about through and for sake of the narrative I should put on the Backstreet Boys, but I won’t, will instead play something else kind of up and fast and vaguely punky and that’ll be nice. I’ve already had to tell the story about the white sport coat I wore performing “The Shape of My Heart” as a small child once this week.

There was the different bus this morning—one of the weekend busses. Couldn’t tell you why but it wasn’t crowded; I took a later bus than usual.

We haven’t gotten any pre-reading or emails or a syllabus from our new workshop prof, whom nobody’s yet taken with and is therefore more or less unknown. I liked her book. I kind of like that there wasn’t any pre-semester materials, as much as I like getting my books in order, trying to guess at the first class and the next and the work and the vibe and the work. The guy who just got in across the train from me’s reading Michael Crichton, and I’ve got Leonard Michaels in my bag, and we’ll see what the day will bring.