Apparently, I Am Secretly a 10-Year-Old Boy.

I desperately want to post something resembling a real entry for (myself and) all of you, but — well —  have I mentioned my life during the school year is insane?  It is.  Until I get a real entry together, allow me to try and compensate with this rather hilarious (and borderline relevant) paragraph from one of the only decent readings offered (care of Susan Orlean) as part of my creative nonfiction class:

If Colin Duffy and I were to get married, we would have matching superhero notebooks. We would wear shorts, big sneakers, and long, baggy T-shirts depicting famous athletes every single day, even in the winter. We would sleep in our clothes. We would both be good at Nintendo Street Fighter II, but Colin would be better than me. We would have some homework, but it would not be too hard and we would always have just finished it. We would eat pizza and candy for all of our meals. We wouldn’t have sex, but we would have crushes on each other and, magically, babies would appear in our home. We would win the lottery and then buy land in Wyoming, where we would have one of every kind of cute animal. All the while, Colin would be working in law enforcement – probably the FBI. Our favorite movie star, Morgan Freeman, would visit us occasionally. We would listen to the same Eurythmics song (“Here Comes the Rain Again”) over and over again and watch two hours of television every Friday night. We would both be good at football, have best friends, and know how to drive; we would cure AIDS and the garbage problem and everything that hurts animals. We would hang out a lot with Colin’s dad. For fun, we would load a slingshot with dog food and shoot it at my butt. We would have a very good life.

Did you catch that?  “We wouldn’t have sex, but we would have crushes on each other and, magically, babies would appear in our home.”  Holy wow, that’s awesome.  I mean, maybe I’d replace Street Fighter II with Super Mario Brothers and the Eurythmics with Sleater-Kinney.  Maybe I’d nix my butt as the target for dog food and just use said kibble to feed an actual dog, and maybe Colin Duffy would be more-or-less female… but all in all, I’ve got to agree: It sounds like a very good life.

It’s not arrested development; it’s just to each her own.

(Read the entirety of Susan Orlean’s essay “The American Male at Age Ten” by clicking the link.)

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