The Pink Shoe Diaries

isn't it funny how being in the presence of certain people makes you brilliant, and able to say exactly what you are trying to say eloquently and effortlessly? and then there are certain people in whose presence you are reduced to a marble-mouthed airhead (oh my god, whenever i say or write the word "airhead" i think of cheesy efforts to dub the word "asshole" in movies on TV, don't you?). Anyway, my friend Reggie is the first kind of person: when he is in my group in lit class I am a witty volcano of brilliance. we're not even really friends out of the umass boston scenario, but we have weirdly similar though processes, and in the context of american literature we are able to complete each others' sentences and make something like Thoreau's Life With Principles a riot-inducing comedy fest. And then there is P.A, and when I am in his group I can only utter monosyllabic answers and things along the lines of "Me no like Thoreau.". Strangely enough, when both of these boys are in my group, I fluctuate between succinct insight and unbearable idiocy, usually in the constraint of a single sentence. (refer to "Joy Luck Kitchen" incident).