Academia

My friend recently graduated from college, a college he didn’t really want to be in, a degree he doesn’t really felt he earned and his own complacency was only aided with the angst he’s basked in since I remember him. Regardless of his feelings, spending four years developing your mind and learning is a beautiful, beautiful thing worthy of celebration. I’m in the mindset that earning money is easy (not that there is ever enough to live comfortably or that working is easy) but being able to spend time challenging yourself, pushing your intellectual capacity, growing is one of the hardest yet rewarding things a person can do. Graduation from a university deems, at least, a small recognition. (Note: I know that this also carries more than its share of classicism)
I arrive, homemade chili in hand (delicious homemade chili) and as I walk up the stairs to his very small studio above a bar, I can hear the bass from the music penetrate the floor. I think about how this is contrasted by the quiet I find in my own home. We eventually settle and realize that we are missing one key piece, celebratory champagne.

We leave the thumpa-thumpa of his apartment and walk to the co-op downtown. This brings an air of nostalgia and a subtle reminder of change. I buy the champagne, making small talk with the attractive hippie chic man scanning my groceries, a practiced keen wit perfected with time and practice. I shove the bottle in my purse and we walk back to his apartment. As my boots hit the hardwood floor and echo, I hear Jay-Z “99 problems” push its way through the thin mahogany.

Fast forward to an empty champagne bottle and The Beatle’s “Thinking for Yourself” with his ukulele solo of “I will Survive” and the thumpathumpa of Lady Gaga. I think his neighbors must hate us, they must hear everything. There is an old man next door who was pleasant with suspenders. He must hate us the most.

Here I must mix in a conversation about the ignorance of American culture. He yells, “Vice magazine represents all that is wrong with American culture!” and I slur, “Yessssssssssss!! YESYESYES!” and fall back into my chair with a predicted stupor.(See post about Vice magazine)
http://gogorunifyoucan.blogspot.com/2009/11/oh-romania.html