Did You Notice How Smart I Am By My Literary References Question ?

I was at an author’s book reading last night and it dawned on me that I had completely forgotten how annoying people can be at lectures and things. So, I’ve arrived at the 92st. Y to hear this reading and immediately I am devastated that other people have showed up. They’re all pushing to get in and casually dropping the author’s name in conversation as they do so just to prove to the other people, which are touching them because it is so crowded, that yes, they know what’s up when it comes to Orhan Pamuk and they are seriously legit in general and they are also seriously legit about listening carefully to the reading. Also everyone either look a) like a literal manifestation of “intellectual”, b) Jewish or c) both. (OK! Listen, they did look Jewish. Plus, I’m half Jewish so I can say things like this and also David Foster Wallace does it. [I actually think this a really interesting quotation as an aside]. In A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, he writes about his experience on a cruise ship. While he is waiting to board he notices “A lot of the people waiting—Caribbeanish clothing notwithstanding—look Jewish to me, and I’m ashamed to catch myself thinking that I can determine Jewishness from people’s appearances.” Then he footnotes this: “For me, public places on the U.S. East coast are full of these nasty little moments of racist observation and then internal P.C. backlash.” He is right and I am also right with my description so let’s all move on).

ANYWAY so all of these people are bumping and jostling and we finally get to our seats and the thing begins. Here is the first incredibly annoying thing: People nod their heads when they are listening because they want you to fucking know they know. They know what he is talking about and they can’t help but agree. Not only do they agree but luckily there is a question and answer session so they can beyond agree; they can show how much more than know, and this can apply to any question/answer session where the person speaking appears moderately important to the audience. There are two types of questions here and I’ll break them up because I’m rambling:

1. The Fucking Stupid Question. For example, last night someone asked the novelist, who had just come out with a five hundred page novel, is the novel dead? Yes, yes it is dead, but I am doing my utmost to revive it. That’s why I wrote this one million page square shaped thing. I’m thinking, now correct me if I’m wrong, that we could possibly use it as some sort of digging device to try and find the novel, which has been encased in tomb and thrown into an abyss. And I say “abyss” because I’m a novelist and also because I can tell, from you intelligent question, that you understand vocab words like that.

2. The Did You Notice How Smart I Am By My Literary References Question: For example, “When you wrote about X in your new book were you alluding to Dante’s inferno? If so, how do you feel about incorporating Western literature, perhaps even ideologies, in your work? Do you feel this compromises the integrity of your novel’s message? Like, I don’t even know what the fuck I just wrote. I don’t even know if it makes sense. And you know what? People who ask that type of thing, they don’t know either. And if they do know, then there is no point to them asking the question. Honestly, what do they think is going to happen afterwards. Pamuk will come down from the podium and be like, "You, you are fucking brilliant. Do you have your PhD? I am so glad you told me. Let's hang out. What's your skype? Do you skype?"

When he said "sup" do you think he like really meant it?

I remember when we got our first computer. I was sitting in my room and I heard these video game noises and I was pretty stoked because I thought I would finally get to play video games. I was wrong. It was AOL version like 1.0 going crazy as it connected to the internet. This was when screen names started to become big. My first email address was otterpaw@hotmail.com No joke. I fucking loved otters and that was going to be my special email code name. Otterpaw. I think otterlover was probably taken, or my dad was worried that was a bit too freaky for the web. I guess the second you put “lover” things can get weird.

Then I moved to AOL because it was cooler and because not only did I have an email, but then I would have instant messaging too. Otterpaw was taken. Ok, what the fuck? Who the fuck was like “Otterpaw—that is the name for me” unless they were also a member of The Friends of the Sea Otter Club and carried around their club card like they were going to get into Costco later. I sort of want to email otterpaw now and ask them what was up with that? Do they know the kind of trauma the name change caused me? If so, how the fuck do they know about my personal life?

My new email address/ AIM on AOL was Antis, which people called me before I went to boarding school. I didn’t even need any numbers because this shit was so new. I used to come back from school sign in and stare at my buddy list for like three hours wondering if all my crushes would sign on soon so that I could wait the appropriate time and then says “sup” because I certainly wasn’t going to type a full sentence and/ or use punctuation. Then when they did sign on and I’d waited (maybe just a little longer than normal because like maybe I should wait for them to IM me first so I can tell them my that nm is what’s up but I’m obviously kind of busy and engaged in other sup/nm exchanges with various other people) I would IM them. Sometimes I would have six on my screen at once. And we used to copy and past different shit we said in IM. It would be like OMG soccerstar14 look what 6thgrade crush said-copy-paste-wait for analytics. For example, when he said "sup" does that mean is he like generally curious how I am? I cannot believe he Immed, yeah, I know, and it was like almost right after he signed on too!

This post isn’t really going anywhere except that I think it’s amusing that all screen names, and email names, and all of that shit is now just literally your actual name. The creativity has been lost because no one wants to put livingwithmyparentsiscoolbutitwouldbegreatifyouhiredmeandicouldmoveout@gmail.com on their resume.

NOT a Nalgene--bring one of those special ones from Switzerland

I’m sorry that I haven’t been writing in a while. I’ll be honest: it stemmed from insecurities. I’ve started to say shit like, “In my blog,” and to think about “blogging” as one of my hobbies and I sound like a fucking douche bag, but now that I’ve accepted that I’m ready to move on.

I wanted to feel bad about myself Sunday morning so I went and watched the marathon. (Note: do not do this with a hangover. The “cheer zone” is not an ironic zone) So I’m watching people run by and there are some couples running together and some of these people are couples and some of them are matching couples. I was watching at the end of the race so this meant that all of these couples had been running together for like 26 miles. They must be really, really in love. I know this not because they have just shared this physically challenging moment but because I was reading Cosmo and they said that when you begin to match with your partner it means you are totes in love. FACT: Once my roommate, who doesn’t read this so its fine, went on a couples run and was so rightfully ashamed that she LIED and said she was going for a run on her own. Ok, but seriously, I could never ever do that. I feel like the only time you should be sweating with your boyfriend is when your fucking him. Thoughts? Because not only is my really super hot boyfriend not big on matching outfits but it is also I don’t want to be around anyone when I’m running.

To begin with, I’m not big on running or exercising with people in general. Like when people say things like “Hey want to go for a run?” No, no I don’t because, as I’m running, I’m slowly going to start thinking about how fast we’re going, or how fast you’re going, and then I might get a little competitive. In fact, you can probably notice because I am breathing loudly; I’m a “loud breather” when I run and, when I’m thinking about whether or not I feel like pushing myself, my breath gets really fast because I just want to beat you—even though we are OBVI friends—but I’m not really suited in the lung department.

I thought about doing hot yoga once. It seemed like a really good idea until I thought about all the other people. Why did something think like this seem a fun scenario: Hey! Let’s all get into a room and sweat together. And I don’t mean a little perspiration or “glow” I mean let's fucking sweat! Yeah! Let’s be really disgusting! And you, you look like you're about 300 pounds—Ya! You come too! No it’s not a sauna because we’re going to sweat on these special little mats that have been designed just for us. And when we’re done with all this you can carry your special mat in a special case and swing it over your shoulder so everyone fucking knows you do yoga! Also, if you want, bring a special waterbottle (NOT a Naglene bring one of those special ones from Switzerland) and carry this with your mat--or clip it onto your backpack!

I mean there's another problem for me: water. I want mine in a bottle, fucking untouched by human hands, and in a square shape or with special groves for my fingers that will facilitate my grip because sometimes I walk quickly and things slide.