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Book club meeting that ends with a fight.... will this last? Will the participants make up, or is the book club done forever? Tune in next week for the next exciting episode of This Diary's Book Club Tonight, being a Saturday night, we will be having a meeting of This Diary's Book Club, discussing A Room with a View. Me: Where were we? You: You were freaking out about Beethoven. Me: Oh yeah, I was. Well, I don't really feel like talking about Beethoven. I've had a bit to drink and my arms are weaky. You: 'Weaky' isn't a word. Me: It conforms to established English morphological rules; everyone can figure out what it means. You: Whatever dude. But you have to say a little about Beethoven because you were totally freaking out last time and now everyone's all intrigued. Me: That's nice of you to say, but really they aren't. You: Okay, just get on with it and stop wasting everyone's time setting this up. These book club meetings are so retarded because you never even say anything but it takes years and years for all of your nothingness to come out and it's really boring. Me: So Lucy plays the piano, right? And she says that she prefers the way she plays to the way other people play, and then she says that she doesn't mean she thinks she's better than other people, she just prefers her own playing. And I play the piano as well, and I prefer the way I play. For example, I really can hardly stand to listen to anyone else playing the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata because they don't play it right. They play it so wrong I can't sit still. I can only sit still when I'm playing it myself. You: You're so pompous, oh my god. Me: You didn't even listen. It's not because I think I'm better, because seriously I suck, but I'd rather listen to my suckiness than someone else's perfection, just because I play it the way I want to play it. It can be played all docile, but I think it's actually turbulent, barely contained. If you listen to the third movement you know what I mean. You: Do you play the third movement? Me: No, it's too hard, although I've started trying. You: Lucy never plays the Moonlight Sonata. Me: I know. And I don't play Chopin. You: Why not? Me: I don't know. Anyway, Beethoven is sublime. His music is terrible and sublime. You: When can we watch the movie? Me: We will be watching the movie very soon and then we will be discussing that in comparison with the book. You: Yippee. And then what will we read? Me: I will announce that at our next meeting. I was thinking about doing a poem maybe, something short, because I'm leaving in four weeks and I'm working and swimming a lot, which leaves little time for bookclubbing. You: Okay. You do realize that this isn't really a book "club", it's just you talking to yourself about books, and you don't even really talk about the books, you start talking about other stupid shit. It's really dumb. Me: Thank you for pointing that out. You: Why are you drinking so much now? Me: I'm not, I just happen to have done this twice this week. That's not a lot. You: No, unless it's two nights out of the last three. Me: Shut up. I'm going to bed. You: You are not going to bed. You're such a stinking liar. You're going to eat frozen yogurt. Me: That's none of your business. All that matters to you is that this conversation is over! You: Fine! It's not even a conversation anyway! Me: Shut up! You: Make me! Me: Okay, I will. There.
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