MoLinder is leaving. Moving back to San Diego in three weeks. I am deeply distressed. I am mildly deeply distressed.
So now whenever it's just the two of us hanging out we just get fucking wasted and yell at each other about politics or something way less significant and way more tangled in bullshit and false, undeserved superiority. But we agree on everything so shouting is fucking futile, yet inevitable, and nothing ever makes sense.
Since both of us are tenacious, zealous, and wise as hell, mostly our conversations go like this:
"I just feel like such a...like, an asshole. Because I'm all like, yeah, I fucking read that book and it sucked. But I don't want to hurt people's feelings, but then I almost DO want to hurt them so they'll fucking learn how to discern good literature from crap. And the writing is awful, and the story is lame-"
"You know what? That's bullshit." MoLinder is mad.
"Why can't people ever give us stories we've never heard before?" I am drunk.
"Who says shit has to be new to be fucking quality?" We are both drunk.
"Do you know how hard it is to create a story that hasn't been told?"
"That's why I like Stephen King."
"It's fucking impossible."
"Because knows, he understands, that reading is for enjoyment."
"Yeah but, 'member when you were fifteen when all stories were new, and then you took all those crap lit classes that taught you archetypes-"
"Read because you love to read, not because someone found a fucking deeper meaning. Because you know what? Deeper meaning? Metaphor? Is CRAP."
"-but BOOM. Life ruined. You will never be original because now you know all about fucking rhetoric and tropes and shit."
"And I'm a Lit Major."
"Tropes ruin my life."
"You know why I like to read? Because it's fucking fun. That's why. And that's why I like Stephen King, and I don't give a shit if that makes me like mainstream or whatever."
"But I want to identify with it, I want it to mean something."
"So you won't read anything that isn't like, important. You're a fucking elitist."
"No, that's not it. Well, yeah, I'm an elitist."
"HA! See! Stephen King would spit on you. He sees through your lies."
"I hate elitists. Because they're all, 'murmurmur, fuckin' some French shit. Ohmygod, David Eggers and some author no one's heard of.' You want me to name-drop some shit? Because I will name-drop fucking elusive cultural references all over your ass. Not when I am drunk."
"But I don't mean like, important to society, I'm talking important to me and my values which include but are not limited to ONE! movies. And TWO! beer."
"Ah, yes. Okay."
"So take something like fucking Twilight. I know, I know-"
"See, it's just fun, man, you know? Stop hating on it."
"I hated it so much I threw the book. But like, you hate East of Eden and that's one of my favorites."
"I fucking hate Steinbeck. No. No, I just fucking hate East of Eden. Fucking Cathy? Is a bitch. And the whole Cain and Abel thing-but you know what? You cannot compare the two, they are not the same type of book. Twilight isn't like pretentious classic literature where people are all, 'whoa, themes and deep shit.' It's just easy and fun."
"What, like your hatred of East of Eden has more validness or whatever than my hatred of Twilight? I read that book because I watched the movie."
"I didn't give a shit about Steinbeck, it was all, 'Oh, James Dean, you're so dreamy.' James Dean was my fucking R-Pattserbin or fucking whatever, except like, dead for forty years."
"Whatever, Cedric Diggory is hot."
"Plus, I promise you that more people have read Twilight which automatically makes it more culturally significant."
"That's just sad."
"It's true." I pause to drink my white russian. It is 4am. We both have to work in four hours. "So I am totally right."
"I have no fucking idea."
"Ahhh. When in Rome."