Lies and Untruths

Peter Gillette

I was walking through Downer the other day when a thought, if you could call it that, hit me. Not in the usual sense, the ipso facto hit me, mind you – more in that way how, when you were in fourth grade, “X-Men” would come on but your sister would be hogging the Cheetos, and all you could do was scream.
So, as I pushed past the French toast sticks I realized: Conservatory students are really just crazy reincarnations of normal people. Kind of like those yip-yip aliens on Sesame Street– you know, like where one was pink and the other one was orange. Except not, really.
But, back to the issue at hand. For people like me– people who are English majors – sometimes it is, but more often it’s not an easy thing to come to. And it’s certainly not anything like that “particular” “trombone major” who has trouble with his car, not to mention mine. Hey – did I mention my brain got impounded? Three years ago? Hello?
What I’m really trying to say here is, we’re all together in this pseudo-hip epistemological ball game we call life. And by life I don’t mean just the life your grandmother, your puppy dog, and the immaculately conceived Jill Beck live, but also the life that is uniquely yours, mine, and Peter Fritzell’s – the life we call Lawrentians for Life. So give me some money, please, because down the road we’ll all be as poor as door mice.
I say this because I used to be one of those Phonathon junkies – you know, the types who chew bubble gum and smack their lips at poor, unsuspecting Lawrence relatives who once made the mistake of donating a few bucks to this shantytown we call a university. I have to say, also, that I was one of the top Phonathoners in the business – I mean, I was so good that they tried to induct me into the Phonathon hall of fame – a sort of scandalicious version of ghetto booties gone wild, with just a dash of proletarian panache, if you know what I mean. Let’s just say I pulled more than one shockingly sensual call-in to the Brady sisters down in Fond du Lac.
So, anyway, I like echoes, not necessarily because I had three pairs of Jnco pants as a kid, but more like, in these times of our unsuccessful euphemisms, the ways that we can make a difference in one destitute, peace-picturing child’s life.
The important thing was that, after spending half a decade doing what I thought was liberal arts – are you listening, Jill Beck? – it turned out to be this weirdo make-my-day . wait a minute . okay, I’ve got it: Let’s say I were to be locked out of an academic building, but I had to submit a paper. I think you can fill in the blanks (wink wink).
Hey, do you have any more of those?

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