Friday, February 10, 2012

except for that one guy

"Well they asked me to read a poem
At the sorority sisters' home
I got knocked down and my head was swimmin'
I wound up with the dean of women"

I recite this Dylan lyric to R whenever he is asked to give a speech or be part of a panel. Last week he took part in a mucus bidness seminar at Boalt Hall, UC Berkeley, as one of six speakers. Of course i attended. Sitting there listening, I didnt know if it was just me or what, but i felt that the speakers were giving info and advice as tho they were addressing people who were already successful, who already knew how to play the game, and who had big bucks to throw at managers, agents, lawyers, etc.
So R's turn comes up, he barely says a few words, and the next sound i heard was an audience of about 100 people bursting into laughter. R proceeded to tell it like it t.i.s., giving real-world advice mostly centered around the idea that things are pretty much hopeless. Delivered in that typical deadpan way of his he had the audience in stitches. A student sitting in front of me was fist-pumping, laughing and saying "right on!" Even the other members on the panel were amused and shaking their heads, like, "yeah, that's the way it is alright."
When it was over the 2 girls sitting next to me stood up, and one said to the other, "Who's gonna do all that? Who has the money to pay for all that? They were useless." And the other girl goes "Yeah, except for that one guy."
U my dog, R!

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