As promised in this week's Scholarly Tabloid, I present another edition of “Southern Discomfort.”

If there’s one thing that gets me through a boring day, it’s trying new ways to add adventure to the most mundane of processes. Maybe it’s my sense of adventure. Maybe it stems from the 12 year old buried deep in my heart or the two locked in John Mark Karr’s basement. Whatever it is – I often just feel the need to do something different.

My most common means of inciting adventure generally involves elaborate strings of lies. Certainly lying to your loved ones is wrong and should only be done on an hourly basis. However the lies I indulge in are the stuff temporary friendships are made of. If you have known me for years, there’s a chance you’ve been lied to heavily and often when we first met. In fact, I think the greatest part of the adventure in meeting new people is deciding when and how I’m going to break the news that I’m not actually on leave from the Peace Corps in Abu Dhabi.

When it comes to my string of lies, the truth is that I am honestly curbing my enthusiasm for a brighter future. I’m often sure that I’ll get along well with everyone I meet or, failing that, promptly extract enough humor to make meeting them worthwhile. There’s something to the art of white lies that almost becomes uncontrollable, particularly when you’re lying to someone of at least moderate intelligence. Fabricating tales in the company of idiots, although entertaining, is hardly even sporting. It’s when you convince Honors Neuroscience majors that a movie theater called “The Palace” actually has an “outdoor moat” and standing guards like Buckingham Palace. How I make such things sound truthful is truly the mystery that eludes those who know me.

In the end, the web of deceit often leads to a humorous “boy who cried…something” syndrome in which few can discern my sarcasm-laden demeanor from my sincerest of candor. If you’re wondering if this has affected my love life, the answer is clear: of course not. Perhaps I am like the Soviets whom Winston Churchill called “a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma” on this very day 68 years ago. Perhaps the honesty I display lies in laughing about what matters little and diverting attention to what matters most. Nah, no one will believe a line like that…