I’m baaaack. Yes, I graduated in May, but I just can’t seem to escape this place. I’ve been clicking my ruby slippers together and saying, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home,” but so far, nothing has happened.
Speaking of home, I have chosen to spend the summer working here in D.C., instead of immediately fleeing to my homeland California, the land of dry heat. This probably proves that I need a psychiatric evaluation, but what the hell, I have never really done things that make sense.
Well, in the three and a half weeks since graduation, I’ve saved the world approximately three times from the devious schemes of Dr. Evil and his feline accomplice, Mr. Bigglesworth. I built a computer software empire to rival that of Microsoft, but that fell through after I played too many games of Solitaire. I won Powerball, but lost the winning ticket. I became a nun and took a vow of silence, but renounced it after I realized that I couldn’t talk. I was the one who really scored the winning goal that sent the Washington Capitals to the Stanley Cup Finals. I had it all, but I gave it up; now I live in a van, down by the river.
Oh, so you don’t believe me? Fine. I’ll make something up that will be a little easier for you to swallow.
I rowed my last race for GW last weekend and I’ve moved up to Adams Morgan. It’s pretty weird to quit crew and school cold turkey. I’ve been in school since I was five. Crew has been a constant part of my life for the last four years. Now my days consist of watching a lot of television and updating myself on what’s happened in the last four years. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.
Did you know a new “Love Boat” TV series has been introduced? Very high quality. It’s fascinating how your taste in TV drops when you have a remote control in your hand and no desire to leave the couch.
Speaking of lowering standards, what are the Spice Girls going to do now that Ginger Spice has left? This is the biggest musical catastrophe since the Monkees broke up. They should have open auditions for the vacant Spice position. Who wouldn’t want to be a Spice Girl?
I guess I’m The Hatchet’s foreign correspondent now, reporting from Adams Morgan. I still trek down to campus a lot, because most of my friends still live there. Have you ever noticed the bike courier population in D.C.? Talk about people with a death wish. They are a strange breed. The standard bike courier outfit consists of a few layers of spandex, all clashing patterns – sort of like what the Cirque de Soleil performers wear. The more tattoos, the better. Top it off with a complete disregard for traffic laws, hygiene and life, and you’re set. Hmmm . maybe I’m on to something here. Perhaps I should apply.
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