I find it so frustrating that I, on occasion, regress into these high-school speech patterns. Perhaps you can’t empathize with this little dilemma, you being so sophisticated. But that’s probably not the case, lest you be social outcast or graduate of SPA. In any case, I find I’m reverting to adolescent patois quite often these days, with “awesome” and “dude” being the junior high-isms that have best survived in my adulthood. Some of my friends theorize that I am particularly afflicted, being as I’m from Circle Pines and all–a place they regard as being particularly backwards. But I happen to know plenty of refined, educated folk–many of them writers even–who do this exact same thing. At a meeting just the other day, for example, one of our editors was talking about our upcoming “Restaurant Week Package,” to which another editor responded, “Heh. You said package.” That counts!
My best friend Andrea, a classically-trained singer who has also lived, worked, and dated among the German and French “operati,” says “dude” a lot, just like me. My other friend, Adam, a graphic designer and artist, is probably the most formal person I hang out with. He’ll send you a thank-you note if you go to his birthday dinner. One time I asked him out for school-night drinks, and he responded, “I oughtn’t.” But get him excited about something really manly–say, a vintage BMW motorcycle or a Rick Bass essay–and his eyes glisten as he says, “Aweeeeeeeeeeesome.”
Dude, there’s just one thing worth checking out tonight, and that’s The Spyball, a hip, surveillance-themed fundraiser for–count ’em–five highly experimental arts organizations, most of them being performing arts organizations, my specialty; one of them being the Soap Factory, a kick-ass art gallery that I quite like. (BTW, their 8x8x8 exhibition totally rawks!)
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