I'm So Out Of Here

I got a call on my cellphone today from the director of my dorm (oddly named Matt McDonald, my brother's name) and found out that I'm slated to move into Lawrence Hall at the Episcopal Divinity School in Harvard Square, about a half mile from Lesley's main campus and maybe a mile from the Porter Exchange building, where all of my classes are.

Lawrence is the dorm I was supposed to move into when I first got here, but I've been living in the freshman-designated White Hall since September.

I was excited about this move, because I'll finally be surrounded with people my own age, and when you're twenty, living with eighteen year olds can be a trying experience. Take this, for example:

Now keep in mind, this is my last day in this room.

I'm reading in my bed (Marisha Pessl's Special Topics In Calamity Physics, a great book, by the way.) and someone knocks on the door.

"It's open."
"..."
"Come in, it's open."
WHAM WHAM WHAM
"I said it's open man, jus-"
WHAM WHAM WHAM
"Hold on, hold on..."
WHAM WHAM WHAM

I open the door and it's Duke, an illegal ex-roommate with a grill that says "PIMP" across the four front teeth. He pushes his way into the room.

"Yo Where's Brian?"
"Brian's not here."
"Where he at?"
"I think he's at practice."
"When he get back?"
"I have no idea."
"You take a picture with your computer?"
"What?"
"Your computer take pictures?"
"No."
"Yo take my picture with this money."
"What?"
"Take my picture with this money, Ima show these motheafuckin faggots wassup."

So Duke hands me a disposable camera and pulls what looks to be about twelve hundred dollars and change out of his wallet, then poses, first giving me the middle finger and sneering, then throwing a gang sign (an OK sign turned ninety degrees, exposing the pinky, ring, and middle fingers, which vaguely look like an E, for East Coast, I'm guessing.)

After I take the pictures he alludes to a "faggot that's been sayin' shit to [his] girl" and leaves the room.

Five or so minutes later, my roommate of the last four days, Bryon, is thrown through the door and into his chair. It's Duke again, "Take my picture with the computer bitch."

So after a bit of manhandling, Duke manages to get Bryon to take several photos of him (again, with the money) and proceeds to post them on MySpace.

Alright, yeah, the drug money, the gang signs, the middle finger, the grill, that's pretty gangsta. The photos? Well, that's a little vain, but I guess even gangstas need documentation, but MySpace?

I wasn't aware of the fact that street cred had hit the international circuit via online social networking websites.

Did I mention that I'm headed about a half mile down the road on Friday? The only thing I know about this new hall is that a girl named Lindsay from my Modern Drama class lives there. She says very little in class, is extremely nordic looking, my height, wears a lot of North Face clothing, and has a boyfriend who I am sure is not Duke.

I'm going to listen to Spoon and go watch Sophie Innerfield make her live debut at All Asia.

White people music, you dig?