there are days when i find a moment in which to just reflect and be grateful — to myself, my parents, past educators, natural talent, who or whatever i have to thank — that i have some appreciable level of articulate self-expression. i was in a discussion class today, and listening to one very blond, very talkative, not necessarily unintelligent but completely incomprehensible girl stumble through a jungle of like’s, you know’s, and i don’t know’s on the way to her confused main idea — well, it caused me great pain. i just wanted to stand up, go over to her and shake her violently and scream “SPIT IT OUT!” into her face. it was hard not to actually laugh out loud in the small classroom.
it made me feel bad too, because i’ve heard her make some good comments in the past, and i know it’s not simply that she’s utterly stupid. and she talks plenty and seems very social, so it’s not that she’s shy or just uncomfortable speaking. she’s just awful at it. terrible. and i don’t know if i should feel more sorry for her for being stricken with this problem or for myself for being stricken with the task of forming a part of her audience. a true moral dilemma, right there.
on the opposite page, i must mention again how much i love the fact that my favorite author maintains his own weblog. if ever there were a man who could write about anything, as long as it was in his own personal writing style, and have me eat up every word of it, this is that man. and here he is, writing about conversations he has on airplane rides, and here i am sharing it with you because for one, it’s a good story, two, it’s well-written, and three, i only wish that someday i may be presented with a simlar opportunity.
[after describing the addlebrained conversation two women seated on either side of him are having across his lap]:
“At the end, one of the ladies asked what I did. I said I was a writer. “Well,” she said, “When are you going to be a New York Times Bestseller then?” It was the kind of cheerfully patronising thing people say to strangers they meet on planes. I’m sure if I’d said I was a musician she’d have said “Well, when are you going to have a hit record then?” I think I was meant to shrug and say “One day,” hopefully with a wistful smile, and she would have told me that was the spirit, but I said “Last June,” and then it all turned into a strange exercise in pronunciation when she asked me for the title of the book, and I said “American Gods”. She said, puzzled, “American Guards?” “No, Gods” said her friend, “American Gods,” I added. “American Gourds?” she asked, rather desperately. There is obviously a Texan way of pronouncing Gods that I wasn’t able to do.”