The Literary Giant

or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Alaina

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Location: West Hollywood, California, United States

Friday, September 29, 2006


Matt leaned into me. "Billy Jock informed me that Adidas has come out with a low-top... Tron sneaker."
He told me about the shoe's velcrow and color combination but I just could not be overjoyed by the news. Unfortunately, it was old to me.
"Not just that," I whispered, "but a Tron track suit, too."

I met up with one of the exgirlfriends of one of my exboyfriends after Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! with Architecture in Helsinki. After forty seconds of nausea, I slipped into a special social mode I can only access when I really want someone to love me. She was also speaking quickly, so I reckoned the feeling was mutual. Inherently she and I have something specific in common, but I assumed we would find pleasant small talk and just leave our respective [but similar] messes unreferenced.

Then she said, "Yeah, so I haven't been to a concert in a month because I don't want to bump into David."
"It can be pretty dangerous."
"Ha, dangerous. You could say that."
This was only the beginning of our broken heart-to-broken heart and I'd already run out of things to say. Anyway, I like bumping into Rocawear at concerts. I'm always drunk and he's always had too many energy drinks. We make fun of each other before the headlining act and then we separate for the rest of the show. It was only twelve hours ago but I've already forgotten why she told me what he said when he broke up with her.
"He said, I've Learned Everything I Can From You, And Now I Need To Go On My Own To Learn More."
"Hey, me too," I yelled, gesturing for a high five.
"I know," she returned with a hand slap. "I thought it was so funny when I found out that he used the same line. It doesn't even make sense, like, I wasn't even upset."
I wanted to say that it was kind of a good line. It's bewildering and confusing, but it also doesn't offend and leaves no room for debate; it stupidly, precisely cuts the string. Instead I said, "So, I hear you owe him money."

[I can't imagine the effect I desired but I didn't get it. I just made her a little nervous. It does sound funny in re-tell, though.]

Saturday, September 09, 2006

American Heritage

Natalie, Tyrell, and I were leaving an eatery when an art student started shouting, "Spelunking!"
"Anthropology Club meeting! Alumni Village!" I generally hate going to The Village, but for spelunking [dangerous cave diving], I would follow the Anthropological prophet anywhere.

Although inhabited by boys, an Alumni Village apartment was conquered by the estrogen-driven Anthropology Club. They then proceded to cook noodles with a lot of garlic for the meeting. I sauntered in, ate three plates of their food and sat on the floor.

The first order of business was spelunking. The three in-charge girls, all wearing long pants in summer, asked for a show of hands for a vote on the trip. They counted an arm from everyone in the room, and the trip was approved. I should have given them my email address and left then; instead I stayed and watched the meeting stumble around from possible museums to on-campus BBQ themes. I only saw that I didn't care about humanity enough.

A girl I had not noticed once for the two hours I'd spent in the apartment raised the necessity for further exploration into Native American culture for the school-wide Native American Heritage Week. If I tapped her, I'm sure a portion of the extracted blood would be of Original American descent. I spoke up with the same thing I say any time Native American Heritage Week is mentioned.
"Yeah, they should serve buffalo meat in the dining hall."
Unfortunately, unlike every other time I've said that, my comment was met with quiet contemplation. And also the horror of Natalie and Tyrell.
"I mean, they always just serve Thanksgiving food. It can't be authentic."
Tyrell recalls thinking, "ALAINA, LET IT GO."
"That's what I was thinking," said the American Indian. "A concentration on authentic foods."

A boy who lives in the apartment walked from his bedroom to the kitchen. He was wearing boxers and tube socks, and yelled, "Purchase Casino!"
I laughed hard and alone.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Gideon Yago On The Street And Project Jay In Yaffa Cafe

An overweight woman was walking toward me on the street, and I was coming at her, too. I had the option meandering around the mini-fenced, dirt bed of a thin tree, or to follow the path right next to hers, stepping neighbor to where her wide feet would land. I chose to get near; by walking close to her, I've decided, I can compliment her: city walrus, it's O.K. if your arm brushes mine because you don't disgust me.

Passing the movie theater next to Webster Hall and, in turn, a slew of girls in layered outfits, Tamara growled, "That NYU girl did not need to walk that close to me."
"Maybe she's just saying you're not gross." That NYU girl would be right.