Tuesdays with Scott

Newspaper columnists, specifically those who are unpaid, are the most narcissistic people in the entire world. Several times over the years I have told you, “No, fellow SMU students, I do not care what you say about me; I do not care what scathing remarks you might say in reference to my column.” Alas, I was a liar, and a big fat one at that. I do care what you say. In fact, I can think of no greater joy than to hear someone say they truly loved one of my commentaries, or any greater sadness than receiving an e-mail from someone who wants to hang me from a tree by my toenails.

It is a difficult business, writing about what I want to write about, discussing issues in the way I think they should be discussed; all while you, my apostles and violent detractors, look on with careful eyes.

It produces a certain kind of rush – a strange sort of joy/terror that is usually associated with hallucinogenic mushrooms and homemade mescaline – each Tuesday morning when my unhappy mug shot shines through the innards of The Daily Campus. I always feel a bit queasy on Tuesday mornings: it takes longer for me to get out of bed; I spend more time choosing my outfit for the day (i.e. taking the time to smell my jeans before choosing to wear them or not).

Very cautiously, I check my e-mail. Some Tuesdays – those on which I have written a relatively controversial and/or attacking piece concerning our country or campus – I awake with a full mailbox. I receive all sorts of cute and fun messages, some longer than others, which, among other things, accuse me of being: (a) the antichrist, (b) a communist, (c) an individual who was apparently abused as a child and/or is still abused on a daily basis, or (d) all of the above. Though I might laugh to myself on days such as this – when my tiny world appears quite opposed to my continued existence – I am actually scared to go to class.

Here, we arrive at my narcissism, and, I would guess, the narcissism of most unpaid columnists – we actually think people care. We think our commentaries can actually change our audience’s perspective or, in some cases, emotional stability. Though things of this nature do occur from time to time, columnists have this inner belief that the entire world is actually reading their commentaries, that people in South East Asia have formed fan clubs and Web sites in dedication to the overwhelming impact we have made on the world, whether it be positive or negative. Regrettably, we are lucky to have a handful of readers who can actually remember having read our column within 10 minutes of having read it. But we hope, as people do, that one day The New York Times will come to their senses, fire Maureen Dowd or William Safire, and pay us huge sums of money for what we would be doing otherwise for free.

But I am a rational human being; I realize I am only twenty-two and still riding with training wheels through the world. I can hope, at least, that one day, perhaps sooner than later, that you, my blessed boys and girls, will realize how wonderful I really am. With pure humility I have accepted and embraced my genius; I urge you to do the same.

I know it is difficult at times, but you are allowed to laugh.