Boogie times in Olympia. Watched Eric's Shakespeare class perform A Midsummer Night's Dream, which is actually better with bad acting, as I would not have guessed and you would probably not have guessed either, but Shakespeare knew it. I've been riding around on city buses, the 41 line, going to and from Evergreen State College to see what the art fags are up to on both sides of town. People here buy some strange, diverse cars, and they commonly sing on the streets for themselves and play odd-looking instruments. Eric often plays his harmonica and sings Dylan.

And there is a lake called "Capitol Lake," usually referred to as The Lake or My Lake. There are seals in the lake, who come out mainly at four a.m. and flip around in the water. The town is full of majestic views from on high, looking down great hills and over bridges with epic movie shots onto house tops and lush forests and deep brown dirt. This is essentially Maryland but more compact.

Yet, according to Eric, this town is Death. He still searches for cool people, but so far whenever he's found one it turns out the person is from Maryland. The residents are very wigged out, wear hipster clothing and slouch around being local. Lots of smiles and vacant conversations about happenings. The bars have stylish neon designs and are the kind of place chronicled in indie movies and internet hip-posts. Eric's classes are laughably, cryingly bad. His Blake class has seminars that remind me of the early months of freshmen year, when no one knew what to do and so spouted theories and spoke authoritatively to the open air without conversing. The teacher is a real flake hippy willow chick, who mainly teachers poetry workshops with exercises that mix high school and party games. She doesn't talk much, just nods encouragingly.

I wouldn't mind living here, though. I rather like death. I thought that's what hipsters are supposed to exonerate, anyway.