Throughout the year I have received e-mails about the column.Most of the responses are in the form of a quick note explainingwhat the reader enjoys about the column. Others detail what partsof the column the reader enjoyed. Some even get personal; Once Ireceived an invitation for a date. In another, I got a quitedetailed explanation of a young lady’s physical desires.
Through it all, I have enjoyed hearing what everyone has to sayand have been open to suggestions. I stated from day one that theidea of the column was to spark interest in the student body and,more importantly, to put a few smiles on a couple of faces.
However, I received an e-mail during Thanksgiving break lastsemester that makes all the other e-mails look poorly drafted andwithout much interest.
I will now dissect the reader’s e-mail in an effort toprove that somebody is taking life way too seriously and failed tocomprehend the fact that the column shouldn’t mean anythingto most people. I just wanna make ‘em smile.
I have not edited the e-mail’s storyline. I feel now isthe best time to share it with the rest of the world. Thereaders’ responses put a smile on my face and proves thateven the least interested of students still take the time to followthe column.
“I’ve been holding this in all semester, butI’ve got to say it. Who gives a s—? I mean, really. Youmanage to, at least once a week, tell us absolutely nothing andspend half a page doing it.”
(The column is actually almost two pages double-spaced and isregularly over 1,000 words. Print shrinks on the paper, so it onlytakes up half a page. It takes me over an hour to write, whichtakes away from all of my “Saved By The Bell” reruntime.)
“You tell us you don’t want to talk aboutyourself, and then you talk about yourself at every chance youget.
I don’t want to know about your family or how much youget paid to ref intramural games. No one cares about the process ofediting a package on Avid.”
(Actually I love talking about myself. That is why I have acolumn named after myself that is only about myself, where all Itry to do is share things about myself. I just don’t expectpeople to understand where I’m coming from.)
“And Christ, the one-liners you try to load into everyother sentence are just not funny. They lookdesperate. You look desperate. Go get a girlfriend. Ormaybe that’s not such a good idea, and then we’d behearing about your favorite new sexual position everyweek.”
(I think your argument is more desperate that a 10 cent hookerstanding outside an erectile dysfunction clinic. Not to mention Iload less one liners into my sentences than clowns packed into afunny car at the circus. Between you and me, I’m still avirgin, so your last point is moot.)
“The main thing you’ve forgotten in your columnsquest is that no one on this campus gives a s— about anythingother than themselves and the money their parents shove up theirass.”
(I would agree with you on this point except for the fact that Iconsider myself an expert on checking out asses around campus. Iknow for a fact there are plenty of nice asses that don’thave large amounts of money shoved into them – at least notthat I can see through the jeans.)
“People here, or at least the people I know,aren’t interested in culture, social progression orideas.”
“But then again maybe they read your column because youdon’t provide any of those.”
(Whoa tiger, culture is my middle name. Ok, it is really John,but it could be culture. If I were a warrior, my name would beDances With Culture Face.)
“A few weeks ago I tried to submit an article onsinger/songwriter Elliott Smith’s suicide. This was animportant issue to me, and to a lot of people, because Smith wasone of the most talented (though not currently well known) artistsof his generation.”
(I’m curious to understand how an issue can be importantto “a lot of people” when the person is “notcurrently well known.” Wouldn’t you have to know of himto care about him?)
“I was informed that since it had been two weeks sincehis death the article was no longer ‘timely.'”
(That is funny — last week I tried to write an articleabout the abrupt ending of the hit Saturday morning show FraggleRock, and they told me the same thing. I was so mad, I didn’teven try to submit my summary of the 1988 Olympic games.)
“I was trying to inform people of a great artist whosework has relevance to their lives. But, apparently it’snot worth printing. But your bulls— is? Every week?”
(I guess now probably isn’t a good time to tell you myb.s. is going to print twice this week. If it makes you feel anybetter, they also pay me a couple of bucks every time they decideto print my b.s. I can’t complain about the paychecks.)
“I’m sorry, but that is infuriating, and I ampissed off.”
“So keep on feeding the meaningless media machine.Youmight fit in just fine as a columnist in some pop culture magazine,informing people too lazy to seek out life for themselves on issuesthat will only further divert their attention from what reallymatters.”
(First of all, I would never write for a magazine unless theypaid me a ton of money and had fresh donuts out every morning.Second of all, I already applied to Entertainment Weekly, and theyalready had filled the janitor position. I hope you’rehappy.)
Congratulations, it’s the American dream.
(I thought the American dream was to own a hotdog stand?)
Obviously somebody was sitting in the Hater Tree all morning andfell out, and then landed in a pile of hater on the ground.I’m sorry that my secret admirer feels so strongly about thefact that I suck. All I can say is that if you need any helppulling out the giant 2×4 of bitterness, I would be more thanhappy. Then maybe we can find some snobby kid to plug the gapinghole with a bunch of daddy’s money.
Seriously, if you can take that much time out of your day tocomplain about my writing, I think you might be better offre-evaluating what is important in your life at the moment and be alittle less concerned about what makes others tick.
I might be leaving this university in the next week, but thatdoesn’t mean I won’t stop trying to make others happy.Try it some time. In the meantime, I will be re-inflating myself-esteem bubble you so viciously burst.
For questions, comments, death threats or concerns pleasee-mail Guy Bellaver at [email protected].
