Ditched poetry class yesterday to watch the Oblation Run. Granted, only 8 out of 32 people showed up in class, and they all seemed to look longingly out the window in the general direction of Palma Hall, making it all too clear that Apollinaire–tales of thievery and pornography notwithstanding–could in no way compete with the thrill of seeing a bunch of naked guys run around campus. And so we upped and left the CAL Building–already a ghost town, as it turned out–to join the full frontal festivities next door, maneuvering our way through the hyperactive crowd getting more worked up by the incessant sirens and drumbeats, parking ourselves in what seemed to be a fairly generous spot from which to view the goods. And view we did, but not to our satisfaction at first. Sure, there was a lot of happiness to be had from the sight of a fire-truckload of masked-and-naked guys driving down the road across Palma Hall, but we wanted Up Close And Personal, not Seen From Afar. And a lone streaker skittering past our wing of Palma did not a memorable Oblation Run experience make. Fortunately, we stuck around as the crowds dispersed–mainly to complain about what we didn’t see, how deprived we were, what a waste of poetry class, what a lame way to end the year etc. etc.–which is why we unwittingly got to enjoy a second round of full frontal action, one naked guy after another running up-close-and-personally past us in the AS Lobby, this time without a too unmanageable throng of screaming undergrads and then some to compete with for full viewing pleasure. Somewhere in the commotion of our own hysterics, I got handed a rose by one of the masked men, a nice souvenir from what we then quickly re-assessed to be an immensely satisfying and successful Oblation Run experience.