I'm following the discussion over at Say Something Wonderful and Culture Industry between Eric Selinger, Norman Finkelstein, and Mark Scroggins with interest. When I have something to add, I will; I'm curious about the dimension of the "spiritual" that has been introduced into the conversation, which turns my mind back toward the thesis that Romantic and post-Romantic poetry intend religion by other means. But right now I am crushed, crushed beneath the weight of August-like heat and humidity here in Ithaca, so that I can scarcely think or drag myself outside. I don't know how I survived in New Orleans for three years; I don't know how anyone lives in Florida. Though maybe it's the unseasonableness of the weather that oppresses: in August I'm better prepared for it. The heat's supposed to break midweek, and maybe then I'll recover some vitality.

Emily's in San Diego, coming home tomorrow—and a shout out to my little sister Vanessa, who's been stopping by the blog a little bit. I am going to try and think of a good air-conditioned spot to take a book to.