We’re experiencing turbulence, but don’t worry
I didn’t always dread flying, but I do now.
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I didn’t always dread flying, but I do now.
I have recently come to terms with the fact that I will probably never be a secret agent. While I would never reject a job offer from the CIA, the reality is that high-stakes baccarat, flashy gunfights and beautiful Russian women who happen to be double agents won’t be part of my future — at least, not any time soon.
I am a city person — I pay attention in taxis to make sure I’m not being ripped off, I roll my eyes at people who walk too slowly, and I sometimes find myself saying “youse” instead of “you.”
When people ask me what I do in my free time, I tell them I’m a radio jockey.
Skepticism and doubt can be just as healthy as optimism. Never has this been more apparent to me than last summer, when I received a phone call from the National Alopecia Areata Foundation saying a cure for alopecia was close at hand.
One evening at the end of summer, my three best friends and I were parked in our usual spot outside the ice cream parlor, listening to the final notes of “Build Me Up Buttercup” fade into an uncomfortable silence.
For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a Hollywood film director. My adventures in show business began at age nine when my sister and I used a handheld camera to recreate the greatest movie we had ever seen. That movie, “Dinocroc,” was a universally panned horror film about — you guessed it — a dinosaur-crocodile hybrid.
It’s at least an hour too early in the morning and my calculus professor is explaining three-dimensional functions in a calming, rhythmic voice. The classroom becomes a Panera, and my professor tells me I’ll need to go to Boston Market to get the mac and cheese kids meal I want. I begrudgingly eat the vastly inferior Panera food as my professor’s face looms in front of me.
My friends and I sit around a table at Newcomb, listening to Lance Bass throw his career away as he announces the next hit pop song from 2006. The familiar beat of “The Sweet Escape” kicks in, and before I know it, Gwen Stefani is “acting like sour milk fell on the floor” all over the dining hall.
Sometimes a deep anthropological idea will hit me in the most unlikely places. Is “deep anthropological idea” a huge exaggeration? Probably. Do I call it that because it sounds impressive and doing so boosts my ego? Yes.
It’s 5 a.m. and a man as wide as he is tall is yelling Spanish curses in my ear. I’m tired, sore, soaked to the bone and more than anything else humiliated by the fact that I have no idea how to use a lawn mower. I have just begun another day at Rolling Hills Country Club.