Losing a little neighborly love
Bailey Porter archives
Memo to Cupid: Thanks for nothing
Tom Anderson archives
I'm happy just to dance near you
Gloria Diaz archives
Decorating the temple
Valerie Rojas archives
Remembering a four-legged friend
Nila Priyambodo archives
Learning to cope with change
Nicole Knight archives
Tragic tales from the
John Patrick archives
If what the Beatles sang about in their classic ditty “All
You Need is Love” is true, then I guess that makes me a bum.
Okay, I’ve got a family that has always stood by me through thick and thin, plus a tiny collection of dedicated friends (at least, that’s what I call them…) seemingly willing to offer similar support.
But there’s still someone missing from the equation.
I know this probably isn’t much of a surprise to anyone, but in all my 20 years, 10 months and eight days on this giant ball that spins through space, I’ve never come across a woman who has openly shown interest in me.
I know, I know, you’re all thinking, “Oh boo-hoo…Get over yourself, you effin’ pansy!”
As a matter of fact, I’d like to get over myself, too.
Thing is, that’s not particularly easy to do when you’re bombarded with idealizations, propaganda and other stinging reminders of your inherent social inadequacy (many of them inadvertently served-up by one’s peers) on a daily basis.
At times the instruments of manipulation mass produced by Hollywood and all the other brainwashing specialists of the world make me physically and emotionally sick.
I mean, who wants to be reminded that they’re probably doomed to become a binge-drinking, chain-smoking and unwaveringly cynical old hermit? I know I don’t!
Worse still, pop culture has also managed to warp the collective mind of modern society into placing physical appearance and social performance ahead of more important stuff like intelligence, humor, loyalty, sensitivity or, God forbid, similar interests.
In other words, the overwhelming majority of our species judges proverbial books by their proverbial covers.
All too often it seems people think they’re picking up the human equivalent of an award-winning novel, only to find out that they’re actually reading an anthology of essays on the history of analytical trigonometry.
And to think most people wonder why divorce rates seem to be climbing every five minutes.
Oh, and lest you assume I’ve never gotten close to first base, I like to think I had a shot at a whopper of a base hit very recently.
Trouble is, I hesitated too much and got tagged out as a result (by a mutual friend, no less).
I suppose I should have expected the outcome, being that I am the designated benchwarmer and all.
No, I haven’t heard anyone ponder if there’s something wrong with me (yet), nor has my family spoken about it in my presence in anything heavier than light banter or the occasional one-liner.
Naturally that will all change once they get their heinously overprotective mitts on this little rant, and the quagmire that is likely to result will make those in Vietnam and Iraq look like really long victory parades.
I know I probably shouldn’t be complaining about something as trivial as this, but frankly I’m getting fed up with being the homely academic overachiever that’s only good for the occasional chuckle or tutoring gig.
I’m ready to be more than that.
Is finding one special person really that much to ask?
Tom Anderson, a sophomore journalism major, is arts editor of the Campus Times. He can be reached by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.