Farewell to a Titan

In the Rostan Blogoverse, I'll call him the Titan.

I met him in April 2009 during my own Campus Days, and he "bestrode the mighty world like a Colossus." He was at least a head taller than anyone else (including, though I didn't know it yet, the Tall Guy) and every inch of his body was proportionately long. His face, arms, legs, all long…and he had a voice where once you heard him, you knew exactly who he was and you didn't want to stop listening. He had studied literature at Berkeley, lived in San Francisco, and was coming here to tackle a combination of Medieval and Russian works, usually with Christian themes. That night I went downtown with him and Little Miss Sunshine, and we had a marvelous time eating deep dish pizza. It was one of the periods in his life when he had a beard, but even then his smile just flashed from it.

The Titan and I reestablished our friendship at the first night at Woodlawn Tap in August, the night before the MAPH barbecue. He hadn't changed a bit…indeed the only things which changed about him during that year were his facial hair (the beard came and went, and I was stunned when I first saw it go) and his hair, which would sometimes be hidden by a fedora and was finally cut short. The more I got to know him, the more I cared about him. He was as nervous in some ways as I…I'll never forget going to a post-Thanksgiving potluck with him in Little Miss Sunshine's car where he fretted the whole way about what to write his thesis about. And he was always friendly, always good-natured, and could talk about deep ideas with the most tongue-twisting MAPHers; I could never get enough of hearing him discuss Homer and poetry in the Theories of Narrative course we took together. He was a great guy to watch movies with, a great guy to have long dinner conversations with, a great guy to watch White Sox games with…and as I learned, a hell of a dancer.

Tonight the Titan, having considered Ph. D. programs, writing a screenplay based on Mary Renault novels, or becoming a tea merchant, returned to San Francisco to decide his future there. I had to be at the farewell breakfast at the Pancake House (sorry, Goddess)…Little Miss Sunshine was there, too, and as we started together, we would end together. And I've been to a few MAPH farewells already this year, but the Titan's stuck out. As we passed our last moments for the time being together, it struck me how our friendship epitomized my overall relationship to this program. I was never quite as well-read as everyone, I didn't always understand what was going on, and I never will entirely…the breakfast conversation ended up mixing Christian theology and Lacanian feminism into a stew which remained obscure in some morsels…but I soaked up so many ideas and inspiration and deep, intellectual love. I couldn't have asked for much more, and I certainly couldn't have met many people better than the Titan…and I put my heart into our last embrace.

Godspeed, my dear man, and see you soon, be it with more writing under your belt or striding the mighty seas…

OTHER MAGNIFICENCE

Diego Forlan looks like Charlton Heston with a bit of Klaus Kinski in the eyes.

The only thing more enjoyable than watching Germany win an exciting third-place match with the S.O. is seeing the fruits of the S.O.'s labor: the most beautiful and cuddly indestructible killing machine ever. "EXTERMINATE!!!"

Line from Slate which made the S.O. crack up and which I wish I'd told the Philosophearl: "I don't think LeBron understands that words mean things."

And you know what? I think video games are art, and I'm not going to write an entire post about it. So there!

I can't believe I almost forgot this. After taking my leave of the S.O., I went over to Kenwood Cleaners to pick up my suit...and it turned out their DELIVERY CAR had been stolen with my suit in it. However, they will buy me a new suit. As the S.O. said, "I can't decide whether to be upset or amused or both."