M83’s Parent-Teacher Conference
Principal Feldman: “To some extent then yes, I suppose you could say that for a brief period in the mid-’80s I was something of a celebrity in the insular world of architectural journalism, at first for my Dexedrine-addled musings for Wood Design and Building (which, and I know this is just unfathomable now, but back then Wood Design and Building was quite a bit more tolerant of the fading New Journalism tics that might turn a profile ostensibly on Renzo Piano into a 25,000 word treatise on synesthetic Scientologists) and, later, for an “epoch-defining” (the New York Architectural Times Sunday Literary Supplement’s words, of course, not my own) tome on New Jersey diners, perhaps you have heard of it, I would not be surprised, my sizable principal’s income is to this day abetted by hefty residual checks.”
Mr. M83: “Je ne comprends pas pourquoi tu m’as appelé ici.” (I do not comprehend why you have called me in here.)
Principal Feldman: “Presuming you just said ‘heard of it? Christ, I’ve basically got the damn masterpiece memorized, appendix and all!,’ I shall move on. Towards the end of my journalistic career I came to finally understand that less, in many cases, can equal ‘more’—a logical impossibility, you would think, but how about then I put it this way and—”
Mr. M83: “J’ai très peur.” (I am very scared.)
Principal Feldman: “Right, so clearly your boy’s a bright one. Many of these kids here, they’re content to just toke up and chill, which has led to some comforting and pleasant but on the whole substance-less book reports. M83—different story. Just incredibly, incredibly ambitious, and I admire that. But the problem is a simple one, and it is this: Contrary to many of our students’ perceptions, this school’s teachers are in fact autonomous human beings, with their own rich complex inner lives and hobbies, besides maybe Ms. Crawford, who really I could just see sitting there at the dinner table chastising her husband like a kid straggling in five minutes after the bell. And so really, you understand, it’s difficult to expect your son’s own teacher to read a 900 page research paper on magical frogs.”
Mr. M83: Je reste effrayé. (I remain scared.)
Principal Feldman: “I am hoping that you just addressed the whole ‘point of view’ issue, because that is exactly what I would like to bring up next. It would seem your son’s magnum opus is narrated from the perspective of a whimsical eight year old, and the thing we in the teachers’ break room just can’t seem to figure out is, is this an aesthetic choice, right, or does your son literally just think like an eight year old, in which case we had to lay off our psychological adviser earlier this morning but I’m sure I could point you in the direction of a dynamite headshrinker.”
Mr. M83: S’il vous plaît laissez-moi sortir d’ici. Est-ce de l’argent que vous êtes après? (Please let me out of here. Is it money that you are after?)
Principal Feldman: “You tone seems upset, but you’re face is conveying a sense of complete neutrality, perhaps even serenity. Subsequently I will go on to say that as a result of this whole ‘regressive by choice or what?’ debate it is sometimes hard to sink too deep into your son’s essay, because while on a sentence-by-sentence level his prose is just astounding, like really explosive stuff, clear reverence for his forebears and enough good sense to know what to polish and what to ditch, it’s still really difficult to appreciate, as like I said just a moment ago the thoughts that these gleaming sentences are housing would seem to be the thoughts of a nine year old boy unusually obsessed with magical frogs. So: any insight, into all of this?”
