jesse, father of david... you know, david and goliath... right, his dad.

I set a goal to wake up at 10 AM on Tuesday. So when I woke up at 2 PM, I showered, got dressed and headed out to the mall. I know that I live in New York City and could go shopping in SoHo and walk down 5^th Avenue and all of that. Meh. I went to the mall. I was just going to Macy’s and the Gap anyway, maybe smell some Cinnabon along the way. And while there, I remembered I love shopping for ties. They are arranged so neatly in their little color wheel. It’s all so sensory. I want to rub my face all over it. But I resist, for the most part.

I am regularly tricked by the salesperson rhetoric. I don’t know why I am so trusting or so naïve, but I sincerely believe they care about my day or are legitimately complimenting my taste. Thanks, I say, with a big grin. I do enjoy the bold combination of lime green and chocolate brown. I feel like it’s a daring take on earth tones. I get a lot of generous nods in response. I wholly imagine when I’m old and alone, I will buy plenty of things sold by door-to-door salesmen and send my money to anyone on TV who seems like a nice young man.

It even happens in the most mundane of interactions. Like getting carded. I get a lot of odd looks at my ID because it is an out-of-state license (and, more likely, because I’m 25 and the picture is a 15-year-old Jesse with a mouth full of braces). So sometimes, they do the check questions. “What’s your sign?” What the bouncer doesn’t realize is that he’s about to get a whole thing about my opinion on astrology. Surprise! “Well, I’m a Capricorn, but I’m not sure how much I believe in that kind of thing. I mean there is absolutely a sense of connectedness we all have, especially to the natural world. And I do think there is something to be said for that. But, can we predict the future based on our birthday and the stars? Well, that I question.” I get a polite nod.

Once, it was, “Oh, you’re from California? So am I. Where did you go to high school.” Oh, that person did not know the package she opened. “Well, let me spin you a yarn about a little place called Archbishop Mitty! Sit tight, Trader Joe’s Wine Shop lady. This will take a while.”

And while we’re on the topic, why do people whose job it is to read IDs all day not know how to read an ID? Like, you have heard of a middle name, right? You might even have one. I get “Jesse Williams” more times than I can even know what to do with. First of all, it doesn’t even say “Williams” it says “William.” Second of all, what do you think that word after that is? My title? Jesse Williams, Duke of Hall. Did you just get lazy? I read two words, no more no way no how! Any words beyond that are lost! (Also, if this were a spoken word piece, this would absolutely have been said using the Emerald City Guard voice, which is a voice I like to pull out every now and again.).

And while we’re on THAT topic, an interaction concerning my name I have more often than “Jesse Williams” goes a little something like this:

Sign-in table person: Last name please?

Jesse: Hall.

Sign-in table person: Hong?

Jesse: …no no. That is not at all what I said. That is what you wanted to hear.

It has happened so often that I start spelling it and adding a “like the room.” To the end. To no avail. “Hall, H-A-L-L, like the room.” “Hong?” Yes, that room we all have. Our Hong room, spelled like it sounds, H-A-L-L.

And while we’re on THAT topic, why do people expect that “Jesse” is short for something? “What do you think it is short for?” I ask. “Jes..s…ica?” Yeah, that’s what I thought. Although once I did say “like from the Bible,” which increased confusion. “Jesus?”

What was I talking about? Rubbing my face on a table full of ties? Yes. So, I love ties. And I bought two. This is about as exciting as it gets nowadays, folks.

full full disclosure: i may have been thinking of joanna kerns the first time

I once had a writing professor who decried the rampant iPod usage in New York City. You miss out on hearing the world around you, she would say. There is where you’ll find inspiration. There is where you’ll find stories. Well, I have been iPod-less for a while (not by choice, but by my clever combination of clumsiness and poverty), so my commute is often subject to inspiration and stories whether I want them or not. The other day, as I headed out to my second ever day of (still fartless!) yoga, I was unintentional eavesdropper to an odd conversation.

The woman next to me was telling her friend about her CUNY School of Journalism application. She complained as she flipped through the pages. “They want us to answer all of these questions. Here, look at this. They want us to identify all of these.”

Well, I felt like I was in it to win it, so I peeked at her list. There were many blank spots. “Look at this, I don’t know who these people are!” The first three were all blank: Judith Miller, Tom DeLay and John Roberts. “Who is this? Tom DeLay. I don’t know who that is.” Now, I don’t necessarily believe that everyone needs to who Tom DeLay or, say, the current Chief Justice of the US Supreme Court are. But surely, the one group of people who absolutely should is journalism students, right? Am I crazy?

Full disclosure: if someone were to ask me who Judith Miller is, I would quickly and confidently answer, “oh, she was the mom on Who’s the Boss?” But, I am not applying to be a journalism major anywhere. And, if asked who Valerie Plume is, I would know. So there.

I mean, different people know different things. She did have something written for a lot of the other terms. For example, for “Derek Jeter” she had written “Yankees” and for “Darfur” she had written “hunger.” She gets points for concision. Too many writers today suffer from an intolerable, over-modified case of logorrhea and pretension—showing off for their readers that they know who Valerie Plume is (as if it is somehow impressive). Touché, subway lady.

But, I can’t help but wonder why she is even looking at a degree in journalism. Is that really what you’re drawn to? I mean, it’s not exactly a degree that opens a lot of doors (says the English major). What is your end goal? Maybe she intends to learn who Maureen Dowd is (another blank she asked her friend about). Maybe. But the way she said it, it was as if no one should care who Maureen Dowd is. Like a high-school student asking during a poetry lesson, “when are we ever going to use this?” (Answer: the ability to understand metaphoric language is essential to all forms of communication; the overarching skill of being able to read, understand, and reiterate the meaning of a text is necessary for any professional job; and engaging the imagination, that is, the metaphoric, allows any and all learning to occur, you little punk). She then took her application, folded it into quarters, and put it back into her purse.

Maybe I am just a big snob (true) and maybe she has some vision in mind in which a degree in journalism will be useful (it’s possible). I mean, there are plenty of celebrity news writers and whatnot that probably have no clue who Samuel Alito is and will happily live their lives not knowing. And they’ll probably make more money than I will and get to meet cool people like Maggie Gyllenhaal or Zooey Deschanel or that guy from Once. So maybe she has a point.

Or maybe, I just need to invest in a new iPod (donations are always welcome).