>>> Edited For Content
By staff writer Mike Forest
September 14, 2005
I still have no idea what’s going on in the world. And I don’t even care. I used to spend at least a couple hours a day finding out what was going on in the terra firma around me. CNN was my best friend. Headlines tell you all you ever need to know: “Marines Die”
“Tom Cruise is Crazy”
“Beef is Good”
I still have no idea what’s going on in the world. And I don’t even care. I used to spend at least a couple hours a day finding out what was going on in the terra firma around me. CNN was my best friend. Headlines tell you all you ever need to know:
Do you really need to read those stories? No, you don’t. You know all you need to from the headline. That’s a good tip, kids: News doesn’t matter. Only headlines.
I did hear about that thing in the Southeast. Apparently there was a storm. I tossed a few dollars in a bucket and bought a bracelet. I did my part. So there. Ididn’t even have to write a whole article bout it like SOME people do. I’d make a good Dylan joke here if I had the capacity.
“Fake out your parents. Come home with good grades in everything but racquetball. They’ll be more likely to forgive your MIP later.”
Part of me still can’t believe this is really happening. I cringe every time I pick up a USA Today (Motto: Still not employing Justin Rebello) as I did the other day when I was stuck in the airport. I couldn’t read more than two stories before I went looking for a Maxim…and some peanuts.
Speaking of traveling, don’t get me started on gas prices. You’ve read what I have to say about that already. Or maybe you haven’t, whatever.
Airports are boring. And stupid. I got feet scanned the other day when I was wearing flip flops. I was as naked as I could be in a public place and I was still wanded down. I must look dangerous. I should know better than to go on my travels while looking like Mikey.
Another tip: Don’t give the TSA agent the evil eye and then twitch. Let’s just say it delays your travels.
I’ve got airport security down to a science. I can whip off my belt, shoes, empty my pockets, and take off my sunglasses faster than a bad metaphor can be thought up.
Fuck. What does this have to do with college? Nothing. I apologize. I’ll resume talking down to you. Pretend this is a clever segue.
So by now you’ve skipped your first class and failed your first pop quiz. Ah freshman. Let me ask you something:
Do you feel like a doofus when you pull out your map to find out where you are on campus? Does it make you want to use words like “doofus”? I remember hiding my map when anybody looked my way. I hated not knowing what was going on. So I faked it. It comes from a combination of misplaced ambition and laziness.
“Faking it” cannot be taught. You either know how to do it or you don’t. College is a great place to hone your skills in this regard, but you cannot simply acquire it. Those who never learn end up with real degrees in Engineering or Physics. They actually have to work for their jobs. Personally, I like to make it up as I go along. Do what comes naturally.
Fake out a professor. Blow his mind. Tell him the truth. Tell him that you got so wasted on Friday that you couldn’t move until Tuesday night. Tell him that you suspect there was a monkey involved. Tell him that you probably caught an STD and are really worried about it.
Tell him the truth. So what if he fails you anyway. At least you tried. I did this once and he was so shocked that he let me do an extra paper to pass. I told him if he passed me that he’d never have to deal with me again. I passed.
Fake out your roommate. Don’t be a douchebag, but you can fuck with him. Strip down to your boxers every time he’s in the room. It’s your room too. You have the right to be comfortable. Just sit your ass on the futon and never do anything. Pretend to like a freshman to get her to do your homework. You’ll be fine.
Trials. Don’t tell the truth this time. Lie. Ask Nate for suggestions. This is not my area of expertise.
Fake out your parents. Come home with good grades in everything but racquetball. Call the TA a bitch. Don’t bring any laundry home. Tell them you can take care of yourself. They’ll be impressed and more likely to forgive your MIP later. When you’re home, sleep. It doesn’t matter. You don’t live there anymore.
Faking it is like all the cleverness in the world wrapped up in a big ball with nothing so it all falls apart where it looks like a loose pile of intent with nothing keeping it coherent.
It works. I use it everyday.
Dammit. I’ve got another plane to catch. Where’s my belt?