Lessons from an Author of My Childhood

"Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night's sleep again and they will SPEND THE REST OF THEIR LIVES WANDERING blearily around a loveless landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in their hearts, that they will remain unloved forever. The best thing to do in these circumstances is to wake somebody else up, so that they can FEEL THIS WAY, TOO."

-Lemony Snicket-

5 little words

Yesterday, as I sat in my public speaking class, located in the tiniest room that exists in NYU's Silver Center (what I frequently imagine must have been a closet back in the day), I wondered how I was going to make it through my fifth and longest (2 hours and 30 minutes of pure agonizing torture, to be specific) class of the day. The thought was quickly interrupted when the Stern-suited Asian in front of me thrust his desk chair backwards, inevitably crushing every fiber of my right leg's being. Even loudly and obnoxiously yelling "OUCH" - not just to elicit a response, but because it actually hurt like hell - could get him to notice the human being he just assaulted via furniture unit... But that's not what I'm getting at.



We were to finish presenting speeeches about objects we "like". You may be asking yourself, as I was, why couldn't we seem to finish presenting these impromptu, three minute long speeches during the previous class? Why, there were only about 20 students, and the class is 2.5 hours long.



You see, every so often, the professor feels the need to interject and tell "just a short little story", usually pried from the depths of his former career as a lawyer, but most frequently, these stories are no where near my definition of "short", nor do they have remotely anything to do with whatever was being discussed in class... But that is also besides the point.



Almost everyone had given their speeches, and everyone's object had varied from one place or item to another. It was 7:00 and there was just 25 minutes of class left when at least one more speech was needed to be given, and I realized I had devoted the last two hours to doodling in my notebook. So I decided to volunteer. The speech I gave is nearly irrelevant, other than five little words I considered to be the most insignificant part of my 180 second speech: "this might sound cliche, but..."



Little did I know, but this phrase would throw the class into utter mayhem. When my speech was over, the class began giving constructive criticism. I was about to be home free, when one overly-analytical nursing student decided to open the Pandora's box of critiques and call into question why I used those five little words. Soon enough, war had erupted. Students were yelling at students, the professor was yelling at students, students were yelling at the professor. Allegations were being tossed around that I was insecure, I had belittled myself and my argument by prefacing my concluding statement with the warning of a cliche; others claimed that my preface was a smart and necessary move in an effort to appeal to all audiences and add more legitimacy to my statement. But while all of this mayhem and conflict surrounded me and my speech, I couldn't have cared less.

Morals of this story, however: 1) it seems to be the smallest, least pondered over of our actions and words that carry the most weight 2) people will care more about your "intentions" than you do 3) sometimes you need to read between the lines of the things you say and do to learn more about yourself and last but not least 4) I am and always will be an instigator of conflict, regardless of whether I'm making a conscious effort or not.

So Long Sweet? Summer

Today marked the first day of classes and the longest day of my life in the four sweet, blissful, do-nothing months that formed what I liked to call the boring-est summer ever (no offense Gary, my suit selling coworker who wanted to take me out on a date to Red Lobster - I'm sure our romance would have blossomed and made my summer more riveting, had Macy's of Cherry Hill provided me with more working hours).

But before I even comment on the events of today, I would like to provide a final closure to summer 2010 with a list of the top 3 most disgusting things I had to do within that period of time... I guess I can't complain about summer being boring or I'll get slapped in the face with grotesque tasks such as these.

#5: Not showering for 4 days in a row while cohabitating with thousands of hippies who usually don't shower for weeks in 110 degree, 90 percent humidity southern weather in the outdoors. Also known as "Bonnaroo". **Disclaimer: this may be on the "Most Disgusting Things I Did This Summer List", however it does not mean I have any negative feelings towards it. And I will definitely be doing it again every year for the rest of my life, God and gasoline willing.

#4: Having to use port-o-potties at Bonnaroo in Tennessee and Dave Matthews Band in Camden. I would say "never again" but I know this is an unrealistic promise to make myself, though it is one out of my best health interests.

#3: Clean out old loose month-old Wawa shorti hoagie meatballs rolling around the floor of my car, courtesy my munchie-plagued shotgun holding bestie. That's the thanks I get from being designated driver. I managed to play it off to my GRANDMOTHER WHO DISCOVERED THEM as "dirty rocks that must have fallen into the back seat when the windows were open"... Yep. The meatballs were that old. Hey, Morgan Spurlock - at least you know Wawa meat is more natural than Mickey D's!

#2: Plunging my hand into a public restroom toilet. Let me back that up before you think I'm completely and utterly repulsive and think twelve times before shaking my hand... It was necessary. I had to retrieve a key I dropped it in that I needed for work. Yes, my life is a joke. I just feel kinda bad for whoever had to use the key after that...

#1: Hand-washing someone else's vomit out of my bed. And by "bed", I mean the sheets, the mattress cover, the pillow cases, the throw pillows, the comforter, oh... and even the headboard. Definitely going to have to avoid Japanese restaurants for a loooooooooong time.

Well there you have it. You officially feel better about your mediocre summer of being a summer camp counselor, and I officially feel like I need to take a bath in acid. Rest in pieces, summer 2010.