The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘SMU’

De Jour of the Week (8/30/10)

Super Elite First Tier Gold Status Contributor

I graduated college, and what’s this!, I found a job!
This was great, for I couldn’t be considered a slob.
Yes sir, I’m gainfully employed and corporate now
Look at my nice shoes and ziplocked lunchtime chow.

I’m all set, I’ve got a handle on this adult ‘stuff’
Then in the mail, my school tells me I’m not up to snuff?
“Congratulations, Dear Graduate, you’re quite the lad,
And gainfully employed to boot? We’re all so glad,”

I smiled to myself and thought ‘isn’t this nice,’
While I paused and looked around my cubicle/office,

“Now that you’ve graduated – you should know,”
The letter continued, get ready, here we go,
“For only X dollars a month you’ll have gold status
“And a kindly-worded thank-you note from some professor emeritus.”

‘Well, ok,’ I thought to myself after some time,
‘X dollars a month, I suppose I make good enough dime.’

Some time passed and I got my lovely note
That professor sure knows how to copy-and-paste dote.

“Dear gold status contributor,” a new letter came,
Would you believe I was happy at first (was I insane?),
“You know, you’re great, we love you, you’re perfect, here’s the thing,
“It’s only X dollars a month more for First Tier, so come on and ch-ching!!”

‘Well, since I can give, I’ll give’ my kinder side gently voiced
I thought of scholarships and grants for kids and tears made my eyes moist,

“Dear, dear, lovely, kind, passionate, giving, angelic sir,”
The next letter seemed not just desperate, but desperater
“You’re so close to the next status level … Elite!
“So get the lead out, and to the bank with fleet feet!”

The letter informed me of a potential thanks from so-and-so
And, though I hadn’t heard of him, it seemed too good to say no.

Reader, I’ll tell you, I went wrong somewhere along the line
I’m not saying don’t give money, that’s all fine,
Just be careful when you donate money or help a little bit
A letter here, an email there, a friendly call – they’ll do anything for a hit.

While you may be smart, with an over-flowing brain that’s celebrated
I’ll tell you, if you’re not being manipulated, you’re being re-manipulated.
So listen closely when I tell you this last fact, and don’t listen with callous –
For only x dollars a month you can buy off me my Super Elite First Tier gold status.

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Du Jour of the Week

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Weekly Wacko (22)

One Part Blind, One Part Awkward

I just went to check my mail, where I had a lovely letter from Whitney. On the way to the mailbox I saw a woman waving frantically at me. I found it odd and was about to respond when I looked closer and saw she was waving at a baby. That made a lot more sense.

My favorite time of mistaking someone waving at me was in college.

The weather was beautiful out, so I went to the student union center and got my favorite thing there – the chicken ceaser wrap from Chick-Fil-A. Man those things are good.  I also bought a milk and a Twix bar. Combine that with sitting outside, my headphones and spacing out and you’ve got a little slice of Heaven.

I’m about done with my delicious meal when I notice a girl calling at me in a very chipper tone. I had taken off my glasses and put them in a case in my pocket, so I don’t take them out first.

I’m wondering who this girl is – usually I can recognize friends by their voices, and why on earth would someone be so chipper and happy while calling out at me? Sure, I can be nice to talk to, but not that nice to talk to.

I don’t think much of it and start walking toward while squinting.

(A good friend of mine, Brittany, loved making fun of me for this. She would see me without glasses and yell “HI BRAD!” so then I’d squint like crazy while walking toward her to make sure it was Brittany. She’d walk toward me and mockingly squint at me while cracking up. Brittany’s a funny gal.)

At some point I realize the girl was looking not at me, but in my general direction. I am about five feet from her when I notice this – and it wasn’t like I could’ve been walking to her, or some other place. There was nothing around her, I was bee-lining to her.

Uh oh.

I turn around and good God I’m a moron she was trying to get a stray cat’s attention. That’s why the chipper tone.

It was a cat call, literally.

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Weekly Wacko

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Weekly Wacko (6)

When I was in middle school some friends of the family paid my family a visit. I got a very nice pullover jacket with “Notre Dame” written on the front.
My mom attributed my desire to go to Notre Dame to this jacket.
Really, I don’t know why I wanted to go there but somehow it made its way to the top of my list.
If anything, though, it was probably the movie “Rudy” (I’m only human).

Junior year of high school came and for spring break I was going to embark on the best, the coolest, the most exciting trip a seventeen year old boy can imagine for spring break!
A ROAD TRIP! With … My mom. Oh. And it was to visit colleges. Oh.
And we would be driving from Savannah, Georgia north to Ohio, then cut across to Indiana, then back down south stopping at 10 – 15 colleges.
Yowzers.

We saw a lot of beautiful colleges, Notre Dame included, and it managed to solidify its place as number one on my list.

I had, and was, taking all the proper (though ridiculous) steps.
I was stretched thin with my extracurricular activities – involved in so many clubs that I contributed meaningfully to probably only one or two. I volunteered twice a week, tutoring elementary school kids. I got good grades. I played sports. I was in JROTC.
I even had the ‘look at how unique I am’ angle on my entrance essay – I was a Military Brat. I wrote a life lesson learned for each state.

I took the extra steps, too. The ones not mentioned by stupid magazines or other people.
When people said, “oh, you’ll get in.”
I said, “oh, I don’t know … I’ve got my fingers crossed though!”
Clearly God/fate/karma/whatever would reward me for this.
By saying I couldn’t do it, I would, naturally, be able to do it.

A teacher asked if I got in, would I definitely go?
“Because I can get you in, but I don’t want to call in this favor if you end up not going.”
If I got in, I would definitely go. But I want to do it on my own!
I made a bigger deal out of this “dilemma” than I should’ve. I knew I would not accept my teachers offer, but I wanted people to know I’d gotten it as I was pretty proud of it.
I even called my brother to ask his advice – and I never spoke to him.
I declined my teachers offer.
While I do regret some big decisions in my life, this was not one of them.

I came home from school one day in the spring of my senior year.
My dad was not home. My mom was not home.
I went and checked the mail – hoping for acceptance letters.
Walking back – there it was.
Notre Dame.
I didn’t tear it open but instead thought of this: me sitting at the end of the driveway, the letter open and resting on my chest, and me smiling because I’d just learned I’d gotten in to my top school.
I do this a fair amount, I visualize something and then I feel I have to do it or I’m convinced it will be bad luck. Being crazy is fun, right?
I put the rest of the mail down inside, then walked casually back to the end of the drive way. I walked slowly because I pictured anxiousness as being bad luck.
I sat and looked around – it was a beautiful day.
After a long minute of trying hard to enjoy how beautiful the day was, I picked up the letter.

I scanned until I found whatever word to tip me off that I didn’t get in. Probably it was the lack of the word “Congratulations!,” or maybe just the lack of an exclamation point at all.
Then I read the letter, I mean I actually read it.
It said some nice things about a “tough applicant pool …,” or some such meaningless sentiment.
Stupid Brad.
Why did you tease yourself all this time? You’re not good enough.
I felt embarrassed for having been sure I’d get in.
It made sense, though. I didn’t get in because I’m not good enough and that’s that.

Eventually I got up and went inside.
My sister had sent me an instant message online.
I typed in, “I didn’t get in to Notre Dame.”
I don’t remember if I sent this or not, but I do remember that I started to cry then. This was a big deal for me at that time (I tried very hard, starting probably around the  time I realized it was not a “boy” thing to do to cry – to never cry).
I was disappointed in not getting in, disappointed in myself.
I am extremely confident in myself – I honestly think I can do just about anything. Anything I “put my mind to.” This is perfect because you can always say, “well I just didn’t really want it.”
I really wanted to go to Notre Dame.
So why, then, if I’m so great, did I just fail?

Just so you don’t think I’m prone to depression let me end this on a high note.
I got into other schools and ended up picking Southern Methodist University.
Here’s the important part I learned enough, and did enough enjoyable things to make it impossible to say if I would’ve had a better experience at some other school.
On the downside, I’ve never been as big a fan of “Rudy.”

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