2002-07-22

Let's Fuck With Ian

Hingham High, circa 1987.

Somewhere along the line, we decided to fuck with Ian.

For some reason, Ian desperately craved our approval. His constant appropriation of our carefully-cultivated insider dialect and smug knowledge of all things "alternative" led Holbrook and I to conduct an experiment called, originally enough, "Let's Fuck With Ian."

We were more or less certain that Ian had never actually heard any of the bands whose names he meticulously Magic Markered all over his sneakers and notebook covers. It was our belief that he was merely copying these names from our own respective sneakers and notebook covers. Based on this belief, we formed our plan. We would create a fictitious band name, add it to the roster of legitimate band names on said items, and wait for it to appear on Ian's belongings.

Ian, Holbrook and I shared a first-period Latin class, so we decided to call the band "Gravid Yaks," reckoning that since Ian was failing the course, he wouldn't know what gravid meant, thus further bolstering our exaggerated sense of intellectual superiority. We congratulated ourselves heartily on this brilliant and assuredly hilarious plan, and went back to the more pressing problem of finding someone to buy us beer.

Let me break from the narrative here to clarify a few things. While Ian was probably a dork, certainly annoying, and perhaps deserving of our derision, I want to put things in their proper perspective by revealing a few important facts:

• Holbrook and I genuinely thought we were being cool by incorporating the Latin word for "pregnant" into our fictitious band name.
• Holbrook and I were not only highly visible and enthusiastic members of the Drama Club, we were also members of that special, elite sliver of hell known as Show Choir.

That's all I'm going to say. I leave it to you to form your own opinion based on these facts.

So we strategically scrawled "Gravid Yaks" (as I recall, we used a vaguely Def Leppard-esque design) on our notebooks, and waited for Ian to follow suit. And waited. And waited some more.

Nothing.

Several days passed, and Holbrook and I were growing concerned. So we upped the ante, injecting references to this coolest of bands in our pre-class conversations ("Hey, Lees, how about that new Gravid Yaks seven-inch?!" "Oh, my God, yeah!"), hoping Ian would take the bait. We loudly and eagerly planned outings to see Gravid Yaks at a number of local venues. Getting Ian to believe in the Gravid Yaks occupied every free minute of the school day, and, more often than not, good chunks of the weekend.

One afternoon several weeks later, Holbrook appeared at my locker, grinning triumphantly. "I just got out of Bio. Ian's got �Gravid Yaks' written on his bookcover."

"Wow, man. He is such a dork."

"Yeah."

lisamcc at 2:12 p.m.

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