It’s Saturday morning, and even though it’s Thanksgiving break, Lisa and I are in her bedroom, in NYC, studying.
“Ok,” Lisa stops, looks up and says, “give me a *** symbol.”
“I.. I don’t have one on me.” I say, apologetically.
“NAME one.” she clarifies.
“Are there “*** symbols” anymore?” I say, with air-quotes, “Who’s “Marilyn Monroe” today - Kim Kardashian - oooo - or Kendall Jenner?”
“I read Emily Ratajkowski refer to herself as a *** symbol the other day.” Lisa says.
“Is that the model that said she was groped at a naked photo-shoot?” I ask, as I google her.
“Yeah,” Lesa nods, “but it was a naked music video shoot.”
“Do you think I could model?” I ask, as I pose vampingly. “Be unflinchingly honest.” I request.
“Hhmmmm,” she considers, framing me in a finger rectangle pretend camera. “You’re like Marilyn Monroe,” she says, “in a training bra.” We burst out laughing
“Back to the subject,” Lisa says, “name a guy you think of as a *** symbol.”
“Humphrey Bogart!“ I say.
“Humphrey Bogart?? No!” she rejects him, wrinkling her nose, “too old-timey and dead, besides, he was a MOVIE star - come ON, a real one - SAY!”
Michael Gandolfini!” I offer.
“Michael Gandolfini??” she says, sounding stumped as her fingers google him.
*I make a dreamy “mmmm,” yummy sound.
“Oh, my GOD,” she says, and looks up for confirmation. “Humphrey Bogart and Michael Gandolfini - HONESTLY, you have the WEIRDEST taste!”
I was shocked, “No, seriously, don’t you think Michael looks kind of soft, cute and.. LUVable?”
She groans, “You’re going to marry an ugly man someday - aren’t you?” She pronounces, shaking her head.
“AM NOT!” I responded, throwing a pillow at her head (a pillow fight ensues).
deep university conversations.
