Tonight I had to interview a young Italian writer for a new article about, well, young Italian writers. He was late though, but he made up for it with a great excuse: "I was at the bar and after two glasses of wine I briefly forgot about our appointment." And when he leaned in for that kiss-on-each-cheek thing (omg, Italians actually do that?!), I got a pleasant whiff of wine and cigarettes. Also, he was wearing a red handkerchief as a headpiece. Oh these writers; will this be me in a few years? Sounds awesome.
Our topics of discussion included dialectics and the literary canon. Two years ago I would've thought that "literary canon" referred to a heavy piece of artillery that fired all those extra copies of War and Peace at enemies. Ah ha ha, not anymore. That Davidson education is paying for itself.
And when he made a passing reference to graffiti-artist Banksy I was able to nod along in recognition of that name, even if I only know who he was because of my familiarity with the website "Stuff White People Like."
So as we were chatting over espresso in the Guibbe Rose, this smarty-pants writer was telling me all about how the big shots of futurism would come here and write manifestos on the napkins. But not so much anymore -- now it's just a tourist haven. A sly smile from Smart Guy as he confides,"You and I are probably the only intellectuals in here."
Me? An intellectual? Well I guess you're right. I did solve a brain teaser yesterday in less than three minutes.
Now can we please discuss the latest episode of Gossip Girl? This whole Chuck-and-Blair thing has got me in the mulligrubs.
Bonus post on my host brother's views on theology:
"I believe in God, just a different god. I believe that I am a god."
"What if God was gay? I think God and Jesus Christ were boyfriends."
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