some kind of communion

The big news, of course, is about football. Yesterday Cal scored its first big-game win in nearly a decade. It was with glee that tens of thousands of fans stormed the field when the Farm team conceded with eleven seconds left on the clock. It was not nearly the excitement that would have resulted had we won two years ago, when the game went into overtime for the first time ever. When we finally lost then, the sadness was nearly tangible as the dejected Cal fans walked slowly out of the stadium. This year Brandon and I watched from Tightwad Hill, running down to the Stadium with two minutes left, when the Tightwad folks were massing there, and the score 30-7 in our favor; and this crowd bust through the security fences and into the Stadium. With victory imminent, I knew that I, too, had to rush the field. And there was sufficient excitement for this massed throng of Cal Fans, maybe ten thousand strong in a sea of blue and gold, the whole student section in an impromptu mosh pit, to tear down the goalposts, heavy steal constructions that never-the-less yielded to the arms and bodies of jubilent Cal fans. And these goalposts were carried out of the stadium, rushed down Piedmont as a battering ram, down Bancroft, and ultimately set upon the steps of Sproul Hall -- the crowd knew instinctively that that was where these goalposts must be set.

The stem of the goalposts arrived a bit later, was cleaned affectionately in Ludwig's fountain, and then, with the cries of "To the Bear's Lair!" it was carried there. At this point it was almost as if the crowd didn't know how to celebrate the victory, and it dispersed. Meanwhile the Cal Band paraded down Warring, turning back to march down Piemont again, with its own enterage. The odd thing about the game was that it was almost as if the victory were pre-ordained. With victories early in the season it was already proclaimed that ``The Bears are Back!''; and even before halftime, Jen remarked to me, ``It's so weird that we're going to win this time...'' This was, after all, the 20th anniversary of The Play, so perhaps it was just about time. In any case, the parties died out around one, and there was no rioting like after the victory over UCLA in 2000. Football may be a stupid sport, but there's something to be said for school pride, whatever its source. The Axe is here now.

Enough about football.

I had an enjoyable Friday evening as well, enjoyable in its understated character. Having basically done an all-nighter on thursday night, I came home after Scandinavian R5B to take a long nap and wake long after dinner had finished; Allegra and Sarah had made Hallah (sp?) for shabbat, and I've come to enjoy quiet friday night meals of bread with olive oil and red wine. It's easy to feel at peace when sitting on the floor and eating such a meal.

In the morning Sarah and Jen and Courney and I sold parking for the football game again, with considerably better luck than last time. We started selling parking spots for $35, but the eagerness with which these were taken motivated us to raise the price to $40 and then to $50 -- in the end we made nearly $400 and had to turn people away because we filled the lot. Sarah painted a huge yellow sign saying `` Parkin' '' which I think helped tremendously. It was fun, and I enjoyed the chance to work with Sarah. She doesn't seem quite so standoffish towards me anymore.

Saturday night I enjoyed a hot tub with Haley and some of her friends from her meditation class, who were telling `spiritual stores' (some of which were particularly wonderful) and listening the vaguely arabesque ballads of Dead Can Dance. And Chris sang a Scottish song about the `snows of France and Holland,'' which was particularly beautiful too. ... I don't know if it was Raiders of the Lost Ark or the Khurdish folksongs, but I was struck with a great desire to return to Arabia. Maybe I'm fascinated by the costumes, or the desert, or the traditions of simple hospitality, but the lure of Arabia is strong.. I imagine returning there, changing my Western clothes for the Bedouin robes, camping with the nomads for a few weeks, under brilliant stars and the arid desert wind:

I would wander, too. First I'd have to pay my respects to Scandinavia, visit my friends there; speak `hopelandic' in Reykjavík; see Alice DJ in København and camp out at Christiana. Wander up through Göteborg and Värmlands, red houses and snowy fields. Across the Baltic to Estonia, wander down through Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, --- down to Arabia with those Polish math students --- Slovakia, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, Anatolia, Arabia, gathering friends all along the way -- Tony and Martin and Erik and Fatima and Stina and all the other Swedes and `Swedes', and Meelika from Estonia, Kristina in France, a cadre of Germans and a handful of Yugoslavians. And then somehow we'd get to Beijing to see Andrew, Jade in Japan...

Spring break?