Tuesday, February 25, 2003

“Before you dispense any more wisdom,” you inquire, “can I ask you a question?”

“If you must,” I groggily reply with eyes half-closed. “Wait a sec. How the HECK did you get into my house? And who are you?”

“Well,” you continue with some trepidation, “I’m your favorite gentle reader. I just wanted to know how your paper went.”

“How very considerate of you! I’m glad you asked.”

While typing my five-pagéd abomination yesterday night, my thoughts turned to you, dear reader, and how you were faring with your own hopes and struggles. But only for twenty-something seconds. Having said that, let’s turn to more important matters, shall we?

“We SHALL!” you concur.

You will agree with me, I’m sure, when I say how much we need a collegiate Book-It! program. Those who have forgotten this abominable program, shame on you! Shame, gentle reader, shame. Do you not recall the glory days when your mom signed off a dozen books—books that you didn’t actually read—so that you could get your too-small pizza? Do you not remember when all of Pizza Hut froze so that you could slowly, dramatically receive your ill-gotten gains? I enjoy reading SO MUCH these days, bless that program.

And shouldn’t we all get pats on our backs? Let me tell you how my night went. I rolled out of bed at about 2:30 AM this morning, but not before going through this debate. It will sound familiar to you, I swear.

“Well, self, it’s time to work on that paper.”

“But self! You deserve some more sleep.”

“I do deserve more sleep, don’t I?”

“You do.”

“Wait? What am I saying? Get behind me, me!”

Right about now is when you smack yourself with the business end of a mouse.

After doing so, you feel sorry for yourself. Sorry and hungry. While you usually eat healthily, you opt to shamble over to the vending machine, which at this hour looks like Evanston’s finest cuisine. You pop in your Wildcard and scan the selection.

“I’m going black-tie tonight,” you tell yourself, making sure to press the 1 to the 6 to the 2. “Pop Tart™ it is.”

How pathetic. You can leave now, gentle reader, and soak in the pleasant pathos of the night. I will make it up to you somehow, mark my words! Let’s go to the Art Institute sometime, okay?