Janet Lyon Would NOT Be Proud

One doesn't typically expect high Modernism and lowbrow humor to find common ground on a radio program like The Opie & Anthony Show, but I suppose I've learned in my life to be prepared for anything. Unfortunately, I just wasn't prepared enough.

As I'm driving to campus yesterday, a discussion about scarves on the show led to (I believe) Jim Norton telling comedian Bob Kelly that he hopes his scarf gets caught in something and decapitates him. Bob responded by explaining that it had actually happened, to the general disbelief of everyone else present.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, listening on my satellite radio, I knew it was true. It was explicitly mentioned in a presentation for a Modernism seminar I took last spring. The only problem? I couldn't remember the person's name.

Despite lacking the key information, I called the show. I figured it would take me forever to get on the line, and in that time I could park my car and pull out my laptop -- and, if I was lucky, borrow a wireless connection in order to look up the name.

I did not anticipate my call being picked up just seconds after I dialed. Fuck. "Who's this?" I told him it was Dave from Jersey. (Yes, I know I was in Pennsylvania. But this state has been on my shit list since I learned that the closest IHOP to State College is in Maryland and that I therefore could not partake in Free Pancake Day. Fuck you, Pennsylvania.)

But when prompted to tell him what I had for the show, all I had was a tenuous grasp. I told him I'd learned in a class that the story was true, that it was a dancer from the 1920s, and that she wasn't decapitated but was dragged to her death. She was friends with Gertrude Stein and her crew, but goddamn it, I wasn't near a computer and I couldn't remember her name.

"Thanks for your help." CLICK. Double fuck.

I just couldn't come up with the name. And for whatever reason, I couldn't get Eudora Welty out of my head, even though I knew it was wrong, because Eudora Welty was a writer, not a dancer. (It also doesn't help that she only died a few years ago.) A few minutes later, the show confirmed why that name was stuck in my mind.

It wasn't Eudora. It was Isadora. Isadora Duncan.

I got an A in that Modernism seminar, too. A seminar that was strongly invested in learning backgrounds and, yes, memorizing names and dates.

Methinks I need to rescind my English snob membership card after this one. Punching out.