Cheating on the Real World

I haven’t done this in a while. So this may be a doozy.

That doesn’t make sense.

Because this is a non-time-sensitive, written entry, I have all the chance in the world to change that statement to fit the final status of the post. (Also if we are implying that doozy means lengthy in this context [which it really doesn’t/shouldn’t in any context because: doozy-n. something that is extraordinary. Often used in the context of troublesome, difficult or problematic, but can be used positively as well] then there will be no reason for me to change the statement if, in fact, I reach a point at which I write so much that I don’t feel the need to proofread/correct such incorrect statements. In theory, the only time the statement would necessitate any correction is if this entry does not turn out to be a “doozy.” However, given the current ramblings, that seems to be quite an impossible potential outcome.)

Thank you for your time.

I’m in Washington for two months! I have not made an entry since November 13 of an entire year ago. It would be easy to say something like “I’ve been so busy and now I finally have the time to write an entry.” But it wouldn’t be true. I’ve had time. Ignoring the free time that I had while I have been on the west coast, I had a whole two week break in Virginia where, although I did devote a decent amount of my time to family/friends, I could have spent a few hours writing rather than whatever else I did. Honestly, I’ve sat down to write a few times, but I’ve been distracted by the opportunity to play poker and try to turn free time into money which can be exchanged for more free time. Now I’ll admit the basic fact that answers the whole “why am I writing now instead of poker?” Washington is the only state that makes it illegal (class three felony) to play poker online (I am sorry Mike Hnatowski). I’m in Washington for two months!

All cynicism and rambling aside (just needed to get in a good unfocused rant in before I began) I am genuinely having a good time in this program. I am grateful for having been given the opportunity to find myself in such a place at this awkward get-a-job-or-go-to-grad-school point in my life. Sometimes I feel like I’m kind of cheating on the real world and then I think “this is my real world” then I think “what the hell is the real world” then I think about MTV then I think “why don’t they play music videos anymore” then I think “Alex, Steve, and I came up with an awesome idea for a song parody/music video in the van ride up here” then I realize I don’t want to care about phrases like “grown up” or “real world.” I’m being. And I’m fine with that. La la la. [More Peter-Pan-idealist stuff here.]

I shouldn’t write when I’m tired.

I am going to be in North Bend, Washington until almost the end of February. I am staying in a homey lodge with 21 other members of AmeriCorps (my team and one other). It has a very summer-(winter)-camp-log-cabin feel to it and I am enjoying my time so far. Crossing the Washington/Oregon border was a surreal experience-almost as if the map drawers of the United States scribbled a squarish shape around the rainiest place in the country and named it after the first President. The weather immediately turned from sunny, beautiful skies to gray-overcast, cold-rainy blah as we finished the Oregon Trail (no one died of dysentery…har-har). Our project is an “environmental” one with the Mountains to Sound Greenway which means we will be doing a variety of different tasks ranging from trail building and repair to invasive species removal and, um, “vasive” species planting. I am welcoming the challenge of a labor-intensive, weather-unfriendly project, as the idea of doing something like this is light years away from what I imagined I would be doing even a year ago today. I like that.

North Bend is 29.5 miles east of Seattle; however, due to our “you can only take the van 25 miles outside of the housing” rule, we will have to find creative ways to get a little escape from the wild. We have hopes of renting a car and perhaps traveling to Vancouver one weekend and since I’ve never been outside the confines of the contiguous* 48 states, well I’m not sure where I’m going with this (it could be awesome?).

Anyways. Read the side note. Kinda got out of hand. I am trying my best to keep each of these posts no more than 2000 words and I’m right around that now. (Doozy). I have so much to say about things and things and things and will have tons of non-poker time to write now. Last “thing”—find something by David Foster Wallace and read it. I recommend something from Consider the Lobster. This is a link to one of my favorite essays by him: http://instruct.westvalley.edu/lafave/DFW_present_tense.html. It speaks about a “Usage Wars” or a war between dictionary writers. This sounds incredibly boring. It is worth your time though. It is entertaining and informative and discusses so much about words and language. For example: “The sorts of people who feel that special blend of wincing despair and sneering superiority when they see EXPRESS LANE — 10 ITEMS OR LESS or hear dialogue used as a verb or realize that the founders of the Super 8 motel chain must surely have been ignorant of the meaning of suppurate.”

Read, write, smile, forgive, workout, eat healthy, don’t sleep too much, don’t take yourself too seriously.

Smile smile smile.

This is so much fun.

Goodnight all.

*Embarrassing side note: I learned the word ‘contiguous’ during the 5^th grade Geography Bee. During. It would have helped to have knowledge of the definition of the word prior to entering the prestigious competition; however, when faced with the question “How many states are in the contiguous United States?” I was left to fall back upon my incomplete vocabulary. It wasn’t a stand-at-the-microphone-sweating-all-alone question however. It was a sit-at-your-seat-as-all-the-competitors-answer-simultaneously-by-writing-on-a-sheet-of-paper-and-putting-it-in-an-envelope question. I didn’t know what ‘contiguous’ was so, naturally, I tried to cheat. (naturally?)

(Also, the thought crossed my mind that this question was perhaps not even appropriate for the Geography Bee and, rather it should be a question in the not-yet-created Definition Bee because, well, if you asked me how many states were connected or how many states were not Hawaii and Alaska, I would have been the first one to stamp “48” on my paper and shove it into the envelope before letting any of the other deceitful, potential cheaters steal a glance at the 100% absolutely, positively correct answer.)

Seconds after the question was relayed I felt as if I was stripped of all my worldly possessions and the only thing that remained was a spectrum of differing degrees of lonely feelings creating blank stares and causing beads of sweat to scamper vertically from my temples to my chin and dive-bomb onto the empty sheet and unfilled envelope on my desk. I had to do something. I was sitting next to one of my best friends, and the corner of my eye prompted my brain that he had indeed begun writing in a cool-calm-confident manner. “Oh, he knows the answer,” my brain said to my peripheral. “Ok, I’m going in sir!” Periph responded. “Best friend to my right” had written the number ‘4’ in takes-up-the-whole-page font. Periph relayed the message and Brain and Hand worked together to complete the immoral act by scribbling ‘4’ on the sweat-laden paper and deftly filling the envelope. Excellent. I did a quick was-anyone-looking-at-me glance and collected myself by wiping the last few shameful droplets from my forehead and putting my hands at my sides. I was one step closer to winning the Geography Bee (or at least I was step in the same direction as “best friend to my right” who happened to be the second smartest person in the Geography Bee and my only competition…come on, I just didn’t know the word ‘contiguous’.)

Moments later, the monitor announced it was time to reveal our answers. We did not do an all-at-once reveal, but rather we started on one side and snaked down the line, each fifth grader tearing open their envelope in a different way and holding their paper up so the world could see. There were about ten of us and I was all the way at the end of the line. The first kid ripped a massive, diagonal tear in the envelope and swiftly whipped out his paper with the number ‘50’ printed neatly in two inch lettering across the middle of his page.

“Idiot,” I thought.

“No, sorry. The answer is not ‘50’,” announced the monitor.

Next to go was this girl I had had a crush on since the second grade. She was rather intelligent, but I was willing to completely alter my opinion on that matter (and perhaps remove the crush) if she also held up an answer as ridiculous as the diagonal tearing kid. She neatly lifted her envelope’s flap and pulled her paper out to reveal the number ‘48’ written in bubbly letters.

“Sigh, whatever, she’s still cute.”

“Correct! The contiguous states are the 48 states that make up the mainland of the United States. Alaska and Hawaii are the only two not included in the contiguous US.”

“WHAT? Oh my gosh. What was ‘best-friend-to-my-right’ thinking! How could he do this to me…MEE? Now we both have the same absurdly low number and everyone will suspect that one of us cheated. I can’t go to the principal’s office. What can I do? Can I somehow add an ‘8’ to my paper? No way. Too many people watching and the paper is the envelope. Thinkthinkthink.” Sweat began to pour off my face. “Why did I cheat? This is going to look so, so dumb. What will my parents say?”

One by one, the students tore open their envelopes and revealed their answers.

“Great--everyone had answered either ‘48’ or ‘50’. ‘50’ didn’t look so dumb anymore. ‘4’ was going to look so stupid. So stupid.” Finally, it was best-friend-to-the-right’s turn. He was still so darn confident.

“Wait. Perhaps…no…was there room on that paper for him to have fit an ‘8’ next to the ‘4’. That must be it! No, no. How do I feel about that? Now I look like more of an idiot and less of a cheater. Oh no, maybe they’ll still think I cheated. But they’ll know I’m just bad at it. Is being a bad cheater good? I’m honestly a good kid. What have I gotten myself into? Why me? Why did everyone else have ‘48’ or ‘50’ and I was left with this lonely situation. And I’m last. How will everyone react? I bet the monitor will even chuckle. I’m funny? Yeah that’s it; I’m making them laugh. Haha. I didn’t know the answer so I just wrote something ridiculous on purpose to lighten the mood a little. They do it on Jeopardy all the time. I’m going to be so popular after this. Maybe she’ll think I’m funny. This could not have worked out better.”

“Scott?”

“Oh, my turn. I guess ‘b-f-t-t-r’ had already answered and he looked pleased so he must have been able to fit the ‘8’ next to the ‘4’. Sigh. Here goes nothing!”

I realized that in my flustered hurry, I had accidentally slid the ‘scarlet lettered’ paper underneath the envelope rather than fitting it inside. “I’m…so…dumb. No, funny. I’m funny. This whole thing is intentionally funny—all the creation of yours truly. Maybe she’ll notice. Maybe she’ll notice.”

I smiled and pull the paper out from underneath the unused envelope.

“Oops,” I blurted, acknowledging the dubious fact of where my paper was placed. With a strange combination of rebellious confidence and maybe-they’ll-still-think-I-cheated fear, I turned the paper over and revealed the lonely ‘4’ so dumbly plastered on the page.

“Ok,” stated the monitor, “Seat 2, seat 5, seat 6, and seat 9 all get a point. The next question is…”

“Next question??? No reaction? No one laughed? No one sighed? This was supposed to be hilarious. She was supposed to notice. Ugh. This sucks.” And there I sat--upset, slightly embarrassed, and mostly confused. Neither “best-friend-to-my-right” nor I ended up winning the competition. But at least now I knew what the word ‘contiguous’ means. (Big deal.) Years later, I realized that ‘contiguous’ wasn’t the point. I had been given an invaluable crash course on cheating, humility, comedic timing, and how much people sometimes just don’t get it. I always get it. Ha.