As the Queen lay on her deathbed surrounded by family and friends with fleeting seconds left in her life, she managed to sputter out her final words, a testament to the young and old worldwide, “That rat bastard Reily Scott is gonna have a sick night at the club because of me.” And so it was.
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Pff. Old news.
If you’ve ventured even two feet outside of your room within the past couple of weeks, it should come as no surprise to hear that the Kenyon Review is beginning a brand new lecture series called “Writers on Writing.” The title is pretty self-explanatory: during the next few months, authors are going to filter through Cheever Room, each talking about their successes and making us believe our dreams are at least at arms’ length. What a great way to liven up our sullen, wintry campus, am I right?
No. I’m wrong. Sorry, internationally-renowned journal that has amassed more subscribers than my Caples double has Asian beetles, but your lecture series is tired. I mean, talks by adults about English? Seven eighths of this campus is crawling with ambitious amateur writers. Reinforcing the old “Kenyon’s-English-Program-Is-One-Of-The-Best-In-The-Nation” trope is no way to go about spicing things up. You want a party? Try hosting one of these series:
1. “Fighters on Fighting.” Stone Cold Steve Austin. Andre the Giant’s grandkids. This girl who hit this other girl with a shovel. Wouldn’t you love to hear how they achieved all they’ve achieved? How their fame has affected their fists and vice versa? No? You just want to give them all lectures on how the popular brand of smack-in-the-nuts entertainment most notably marketed by America’s Funniest Home Videos is slowly destroying our collective sense of human empathy? Yeah, me too. It’d be a cool series, though.
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