A series of shoutouts
I'm writing this post a self-consciously, since yesterday I learned that, despite the small number of comments these days, more people than I imagined still read this journal. I feel like I need to be a better performing monkey.
This is a post about yesterday, which was an unusually social day for me.
This is a post about yesterday, which was an unusually social day for me.
- It began in bed. Waking was pleasant.
- I then waited around for a while, because I had a lunch date with Mr. Bad (no negative connotations intended, those of you who know him should understand the moniker), who is a long-time close friend of Katie's and short-time friend of mine. We had arranged lunch, on his initiative, for reasons that were genuine and true but also (although this was unspoken) strategic: to tighten the social circle, make us both more comfortable in one anothers' presences, build some common ground who isn't the person of mutual interest.
So we met mano a mano, for which there are three interpretations, only one of which is "correct," but all of which have a sort of poetic force to them, in my opinion, which makes me want to consider them all valid:
- "Man to man." Like, without chicks around, so that we can get down to real business. Also, without any of the societal trappings (see below) that sometimes obstruct honest communication, you know, "between men." This is what the phrase is commonly thought to mean, but, as Katie is quick to point out, that is incorrect and sexist, because it actually means
- "Hand to hand." Like, in a fight. According to this helpful website, this is meant to evoke "on equal footing." While this certainly not what Mr. Bad had in mind when he used the phrase, it actually makes sense in this context, to me, since all my other interactions with Mr. Bad have been (a) with Katie and, (often) (b) with other people who belong to the same particular social circle in which he and Katie originally met, and from which I feel removed. I'm not sure who is one 'better footing' (or who is 'better armed'?) in these situations, but certainly our positions relative to the social surroundings are not equal. Which means that in fact, in order to establish 'hand-to-hand'-ness, we met
- "One to one," which is what Mr. Bad actually meant, since he thought the original phrase was "mono a mono." I think it fits perfectly in with the rest of them, as should be clear by now.
To make a long story short, we met in a chic restaurant-with-bar that was desperate for lunch-time customers and was presumptuously named India, on account of their serving decent lamb vindaloo, but despite serving was was definitely not naan.
Over the course of meal, after-lunch walk, and ice cream treat, we had a rich and far-ranging discussion, discovered some common interests, etc. Mission accomplished. I worry that I am not flamboyantly or dangerously anything enough for his taste, or the taste of that whole crowd, but we've mutually affirmed that the afternoon was well-spent. Cheers to Mr. Bad! - Afterwards, a talk with Dad on the phone. Mom and Dad, too, worry about my summer employment. But Dad knows how to take it easy and deliver good news. So cheers to Dad!
- Michael Prospect was visiting in from El Salvador, where he does Good Things for the impoverished. The occasion meant it was a great occasion to hang out with the old freshman unit bunch again (known sometimes as Friend Group A, or, to others, the "Toxie Crowd"). Michael was good natured but seemed not significantly changed at all by his experience--it was pretty much exactly old times. (Most of this is actually referring to Friday evening, to give context for the next part:) Melanie and James, my Two Favorite People I've Met Since Coming to Brown (mentioned here and here, if you're keeping track; while it would probably make sense to say that they have been supplanted by Katie by now, I say they're allowed to keep the name) showed up for dinner, which was pleasant.
I was a little self-conscious by the end because I was talking about myself a lot--James was asking me a lot of questions about myself, most about philosophy and my fiction class, which I got excited about answering. Actually, that's Mom's old trick: ask somebody about themselves so that they like you better. I hope that it was genuine conversation and not just them humoring me--anyway, it was great to talk to with.
The question came up about my thoughts on the arts, literature specifically: Melanie studies English Lit, and I've been a math-chauvinist before to her, and I think James was goading me into saying something controversial (?). Why? I 'm trying to remember--oh, it was because I was talking about how I feel comfortable writing in this -ive-ournal medium because it undermines itself, it cannot be pretentious when it's in this amateurish, commercialized bucket. Wait--that couldn't have been the segue to literature.
The reason I'm talking about this is because there was a conversation I didn't get to finish with James because we had already gone to the Wind Symphony concert in which Greg Souza had a piano solo. Two notes- The piece Greg played, "Creole Rhapsody," had been lost to society. The score they had learned it from had been transcribed from crappy 1930's Duke Ellington recordings. I thought that was pretty cool.
- The first thing played in the concert was "Quartet in C Opus 8 Number 1," by Johann Christian Bach, ELEVENTH son of J.S. (fuck!), and was played by a saxophone quartet. If you guys ever get the chance to hear classical saxophone, I suggest you take it. I got a whole new appreciation of the genre.
Here was what I meant to say to James: My current attitudes, which tend to put trust in the value of math and philosophy and science but skepticism about the value of art and literature come from very old and deep roots. I'd attribute them to- An originally religious regard for Truth, as metaphysically necessary and objectively true, that evolved from protestant christianity/faith-in-science to fervent skepticism and now to a pragmatism stance that really undermines the absoluteness of the whole endeavor, but that still tries to establish 'objective,' or at least intersubjective, grounds for the comparison between its various products (theories, ideas, arguments), and
- an about-as-deep-running aesthetic relativism, imbued in me largely from Bob Hepner, and fostered in that trip in 9th grade to New York City (I've just discovered that I've mentioned all this before), which makes me want to tell anybody who says "X is a great artist!" that they are wrong, despite my own subjective appreciation of a lot of art.
But my point is that these are old ideas, that still affect my thinking, even though I'd acknowledge them both, in a moment of honest, to be strictly speaking wrong. If I had my druthers, I would get back to this point at a later time. - After the concert, and after some messing around with Epic Diplomacy resolutions (it's still going--just finished Fall 1904! So sorry, if you're reading this, Chie, about your loss. I was rooting hard for you after you took Hawaii), I went to Brenna's birthday party with Katie (I've mentioned Brenna once before, but in a post I'd rather not link to now.) It was, as the rest of the day, good times. Brenna's boyfriend, his brother, and the brother's girlfriend-and-future-roommate-of-K&B were all present. I was, as always, out of place, although this is mitigated by the appearance of Mr. Bad, who showed up as seventh wheel. The brothers are both staunch libertarians (copies of Reason on the coffee table, Piotr), and so inevitably I was drawn into a conversation about rights with the older one again, as always happens, although I've been particularly primed lately because of a discussion on that very topic on these message boards, where I've been making a fool of myself a little lately, so don't read too closely.
- And after cake and ice cream, once the elder brother was too drunk to talk politics any more and Mr. Bad had left, Katie and I moved on to...another party! This one was hosted by My Pal, Foot Foot, who was celebrating, with his roommates, how they had recently driven one of their roommates away by being too messy, according to Foot Foot's girlfriend ode_to_tapirs, who doesn't have a special name yet(!)--do you think she wants one?
You know it's a hipster party when: There is a looping video of a masturbating man being projected onto the kitchen wall.
Katie was disgusted. Frankly, I was nonplussed--on that same trip to New York City with Bob Hepner, we went to this shady little art gallery in SoHo which had nothing but about 12 TV sets with independent, Bohemian artist flicks. One was a documentary about drunk boating. One was a compilation of footage about decorative scarring. Another were hard-core pornographic clips that occasionally cut to a still-life picture of a bottle of ketchup. Mrs. Whitman, the up-tight music teacher who also chaperoned us on the trip, leapt in front of it and barred our virgin eyes with her body once she realized what it was, but only after we had all gotten an eyeful.
Anyway, that sort of desensitized me to that sort of thing, especially in the context of artsy folks doing it for shock value, which was what this was. I even appreciate the sentiment--I have an unpopular, nihilistic appreciation for the not-art shock art phenomenon, you know? It's worth something just to fuck with people's sensibilities, to break culture, because otherwise people begin to get righteous about its authority--start calling social conditioning faith. Then they kill each other over holy land rights.
Some other friends were there, and I want to mention one in particular because he's becoming the sort of best-friend-who-you-never-hang-out-with type. He was quite drunk. We danced a slow dance in the starkly red-lit dance room (the recently abandoned room of the clean-freak ex-roommate of Foot Foot). He, obnoxiously, has not middle name, but he will probably hang out with Piotr, Zach, Juliet and I if they make good on Piotr's promise and visit next weekend, since he is a fan of theirs from Debate.
I miss hanging out with debaters. That was always a rush, although did a number on my self-esteem and drove me to current state of obsessive (some would say annoying, or, alternatively, debilitating) demand for thoroughness and precision in argumentation. I couldn't think fast enough for them, but still sensed their error....
Next weekend will be good times though. I'm looking forward to it already. Because weekends, and the work they entail, and the passage of time they imply, suck my balls.