A Smoke-Filled Room

Saw Club Dread last night: Meh. I probably would have enjoyed it more had I sat next to someone who wasn't scared and unamused for half the movie. Nevertheless, it's no Super Troopers.

Afterwards there was nothing doing, so I scuttled over to the Viking Room (V.R.) for K. Elizabeth Bates' birthday celebration.

Which in itself is an odd thing for me to do. I had Fiction Writing with Miss Bates last year, I worked with Miss Bates last year, but I never attended any of the functions she invited me to, fish frys (yes, I know the "correct" plural form) for the most part. To avoid seeming thoughtful, I assured her that there was just nothing exciting going on in my dorm.

As I mentioned last night, part of Miss Bates' social group is composed of the Lawrence Literati, a cadre of writers who churn out, easily, some of the best stuff on campus. My views on this group have always been a bit conflicted. On one hand they're lazy, ironic, and talented, which I like.

On the other hand, their insularity (one, despite having Fiction Writing with me for the past two years, didn't seem to know who I am), sophomoric insistence on sitting together at the back of the room, and cultivated literary pretentiousness is off-putting.

Our Bold Hero has always grouped himself with Pseudo-Literati like Miss Bates, Roy the Effeminate Heterosexual, and The Bombastion. The talented Ronin of the Lawrence literary scene.

Although he has to admit that said literary scene has never read anything of his he'd call "good." My Pseudo-Literati status is founded, largely and regrettably, on an overblown perception of my own talents. And the story I'm working on now (well, today) is too uneven to change that sad fact.

Told The Bombastion, apparently "out of nowhere," that he should use his awesome Adamsesque associative abilities to write a serious story.

Crowding around a smoky table (I love the smell of second-hand smoke in a bar, for the record) with Miss Bates' odd little group, writers all as far as I could tell, I ended up talking to Lawrentian editors.

I remember a heated but congenial argument with the music critic over Shootenany!, the latest Eels album. As an Eels fan I like it, but I don't consider it, as he does, last year's best album (he hates the The White Stripes, if you were wondering).

My critique of Shootenany!? The irony is too obvious, the tone is too "classic rock" —it's a dangerous step away from what made Electro-Shock Blues original and great. That said, I appreciate E's latest effort more, now.

I criticized Representative Man, fellow Fritzellian and a Lawrentian copy editor, for allowing numerous typos and mistakes to appear in every single issue of our college newspaper. The front page article last week had something spell-check could have caught.

That seems to have sprung a trap I didn't know was set. Now I'm trapped in a college organization, albeit one that pays somewhat well. Prized, supposedly, for my meticulousness.

I said I'd copy-edit next term on a trial basis (maximum commitment: five hours a week) and shook on it with the Copy Chief, who invited me to work on this term's Satire edition (one of the reasons I came to Lawrence) as a show of goodwill.

This foiled Miss Bates' plan to have me follow in her size-8 shoes. I still get to write editorials, however, so I don't know how copy-editing is worse than Op-ed work. The only downside may be working under Representative Man next year, and I can probably handle that.

He wanted to found a misanthropy club, not knowing that I'd already founded one (La Resistance) without inviting him to join. I think it's clear which of us understands misanthropy.

Miss Bates and I, as far as that goes, talked about fiction. I talked about fiction more last night than I have over the past year. I passed sweeping, rude judgments on some of the best stories we've read, trying to convince this budding novelist that she is, really, one of the best writers on campus. If not, considering what I've seen…

I rejected her ill-thought reciprocal praise ("Infinity," the best story she's read, is conceptually flawed and in-any-case nothing special), although I've decided to feel considerably honored that I was her first pick for the Bloomsbury Group she wants to found in Chicago.

All this time, we were drinking. The V.R. is very expensive; I decided that last night, glad I'd removed half the money from my wallet beforehand. I had three drinks (less than most) and didn't get much beyond a buzz, but came back almost broke once the bar closed.

Hanging out there would be an expensive habit. Hanging out here is free and often fun.

Still, it was suprisingly enjoyable (albeit, once again, very odd) to hang out with people outside of the usual circle.

Now to write. 12/50.