Mesa de Conversacion

Currently listening to At the Chime of a City Clock by Nick Drake. Excuse the Drake inundation, he's beautiful. Music, food, and my mother are my fool-proof remedies.

The ecclectic group of students congregated at the Mesa de Conversacion. The Jesuses, the Judases, the Marys and the Peters, present, ready to drink the blood of culture and eat the bread of mazapan.

The first boy was a Global Studies Major. With hazel brown hair neatly slicked back (clearly he had put on too much gel that morning), a rosy porcelain face, and a sufficiently firm handshake, he introduced himself in a manner reminiscent of the uberconservative Republicans he had been conditioned to idolize all his life. "Hi, my name is Josh." He flashed a smile, a mouth full of straight white Orbit teeth.

The second boy was a Spanish major, Public Policy minor. Small-statured and dark-skinned, he looked like a true Mexican Boy. "Hola, me llamo Diego," he slurred in a low, sultry voice. He was taciturn, but when he did speak, we all laughed.

The next was a girl, a big girl from Chile. She had long, silky light brown hair, wrapped over her broad shoulders and down to her hips, covering the flabs of fat protruding from her shirt. A Psychology major, she hoped to probe the minds of others before they hers. She was insecure. Well. We all were.

Then there were the History Majors, the Music Majors, the Film Studies Majors, and of course,

the Science Major.

A Judas among saints. Patronized, looked down upon as a betrayer of the Arts, the Feelies, the oh-so-pragmatic actors and tears. The Science Major did not make any sense to the disciples of...Culture. The spilt salt proved it. "El Campo Sur?" Diego growled and gave a thumbs down.

"I like nonsensical lyrics and plastic hamburger phones," the future doctor stated flatly. "I like red berets and thick-rimmed unprescribed glasses. I like plaid jackets and pale skin. I like to go to stupid museums and bike when I'm high. I like ironic tees from overpriced faux-vintage stores and I go to improv shows recreationally."

Suddenly, the others nodded in approval. "The Science Major is a progenitor of culture," they whispered amongst themselves. They appointed the Science Major the seat next to the prick elephant.

A progenitor of culture, indeed.