Retro Bar & Grill’s Grad Student Night held pantheons of personal ideas and their ideal persons—one of whom would’ve gone on and on about personhood and ideation and how they couple—yet for the life of me in that sweet-and-salty mixed bag of karaoke and rapid-fire shitfaced pedagogy my so-called ideas or how they hyphenated your would-be me seemed to run on or off or out—seemed every bit as lacking grasp as every other Levinasian “Other” in the joint—as the straws’ grasp at your drink—as that gaze—as our drowning half-deafened or muted siren song.