When I mention I'm an English major, I often get either a dismayed look that says "You're wasting your parents' money" or a, "Oh, so you want to be a teacher?"
(Firstly, I get free tuition because my mother works at Rutgers-Camden, so there's no money being wasted. Hi Mom! Secondly, I don't want to be a teacher. I want to be a professor. GOD. YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND ME.)
Luckily, my mother was an English major, and so she was both delighted and not at all surprised when I announced that I was going to go live in New Brunswick and read books for 4 years. Instead of being like most parents, who would say LOL NOW GO MAJOR IN BUSINESS, she was like CAN I BORROW SOME OF THEM?!
Which brings me to my story:
I saw Spike Lee speak at the Livingston Student Center last night. AND HE CHANGED MY LIFE.
I love writers. I am one, technically. But we can be SO UNBEARABLY PRETENTIOUS, and think we know more than we do. Or sometimes, awful "writers" will get very rich and famous after writing a series of sub-par books about sparkling vampires, and think that this means they are qualified to comment on real literature. Success does not equal talent.
And so it was for these reasons that I was a little hesitant about dragging myself all the way to Livingston to see Spike Lee. Also, (full disclosure) I had never seen any of his movies. But the siren's song of extra credit lured me away from my warm laptop, and so I managed to arrive just in time to get a seat in the lecture hall.
OK. So my friends and I are sitting there, we're waiting, we're waiting, and after some boring introductions, Spike Lee comes onstage. Thunderous applause, yada yada. The man had not been speaking for 30 seconds when he notices some guy filming him, when they had SPECIFICALLY SAID "No video recording" just a few minutes earlier. And you know what Spike Lee did? HE CALLED HIM OUT. He called him out so hard that the guy got booed out of the lecture hall.
I fell in love.
(Metaphorically speaking. Spike Lee is a little old for me.)
After that crowning moment of awesome, I borrowed paper and pen from my friend Alyea to take notes, because I strongly suspected that this man was brilliant, and that I should record his nuggets of wisdom for my own edification.
I just loved listening to him talk. He was so real, so raw; an intellectual without being ostentatious about it. And he way he spoke about film...it's the same way I feel about writing. He loves it, just as much as he would love a person. "I didn't choose film," he said. "Film chose me."
And I was like OMGGGGG I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN SIR. ALSO CAN I BORROW YOUR BERET PLEASE THANK YOU.
Not to compare myself to Spike Lee (which is exactly what I'm about to do), but I really could relate to a lot of the things he said. His parents exposed him to lots of culture as a child--plays, museums, symphonies--in the hopes that he would become a well-rounded individual, and my parents did the same. And although they didn't really understand why the hell anyone would want to pursue a degree, or a career, in filmmaking, they supported him anyway.
Last night, Spike Lee said, "Parents kill more dreams than anybody." And I am so fortunate to have never experienced that. My parents never told me anything other "You're going to be the best at whatever you do." And "You're so weird." And also "Brush your hair and put on some nice earrings, for God's sake."
I love you guys so much.
But not as much as I love Spike Lee.
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