Anatomy of a Reading

Set-Up: Ornate rug. Dusty thick tomes in handsome dusty brown shelves. Pseudo-antiquated chandelier hanging overhead. Non-functional fireplace with marble framing. Portrait of a dead old white man.

Speaker: Bespectacled man of ambiguous age and articulate voice. Fair-skinned and stoop-shouldered, he adjusts his glasses with long, delicate fingers as his other hand makes scholarly gestures to an enraptured audience. Medium height, medium build (but on the light side, of course.) Coughs politely. Boring as a pile of rocks by the side of the road.

Listeners:

Male Professors - Shaved or unshaved. Grey streaked hair with distinct noses. Dark tan blazers over black turtlenecks. Blue jeans. Glasses. Portfolios in one hand, coffee mugs in the other. Majority of coffee mugs will have witty quote by a famous dead author.

Female Professors - Hair varying (though usually short or in a bun). Rich red hued turtlenecks with polished wool coats. Either smart, slim slacks or bright swishing skirts that sweep the floor. Glasses. Sensible heeled boots. Portfolios in one hand, coffee mugs in the other.

Thoughts: I don't really understand the appeal of readings. Why is everyone so stiff and quiet? The speaker isn't particularly exciting, but his voice does sound nice. There's something so fake and smarmy about attending a reading though. I feel elitist just sitting here. I don't even know what he's reciting half the time. I suppose afterward everyone will clap softly, and the wizened professors of this fine institution for higher learning will surround the mini-celebrity--cum--Robert Frost Fellow, asking lofty questions in measured, murmured tones. Is this what I should look forward to becoming?