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June 22, 2006
From Dawn to Decadence
How quickly politics appear. In less than a week our group of two dozen cleaved harshly into cliques--to the point that the Accomplished Writers had to take a step back from all of us. I think it began with someone's insistence that we needn't travel in packs when heading into the city. Who wants to have dinner at a place that only accomodates groups of 14?
This caused sufficient offense to engender a vicious rumor campaign that two of the anti-big-group students had slept together--and now were no longer speaking to each other. (This was not only not true but 100 percent unfounded--and I should know, since I was one of the purported subjects.)
Other slanders traveled quickly. For example, someone overheard a conversation about spectating at a speed-dating session and reported, mockingly, that the conversants had participated in speed dating. (And you want me to be less judgmental of 20-year-olds? (Yes yes, I was once there too.))
My worry is that the young and impressionable among us might have fallen under the sway of the people who thrive on this kind of manipulation. So, for example, when I recently e-mailed some very nice people among the group to ask for their recommendations for Venice and got no response, I had to wonder what they'd been hearing about me. And whither the inappropriate and inexplicable nicknames that popped up and fell into use even by respectable parties?
The final evening came around and, unbeknownst to each other, two groups had set up rival farewell dinners. Rather than concede anything for the sake of comity, everyone stuck to their guns: One side wanted the whole group to head to a touristy restaurant; the other, smaller group wanted to split off to a nice restaurant overlooking the city. Both sides appealed to the writers for adjudication, and for their favor.
The writers decided they'd just as soon stay home, thank you, which was fine with me. I'd sat conveniently immobile throughout the whole thing, and proceeded to do the same for the next several hours while some of us, Accomplished Writers included, polished off the drinks and hors d'oeuvres from cocktail hour and discussed Walter Benjamin again.
Later, the in-town group came sniffing around the villa for more dirt. I was tempted to burst into the hallway in the altogether clutching an empty bottle of red wine, but I decided I had better things to do.
Some of these parties have now set up a Facebook group filled with inside jokes that, like the earlier conversations, take pot shots at innocents. I'm still awaiting my invitation to join.
Posted by Adam Graham-Silverman at June 22, 2006 06:08 PM