re: my student loans

Dear Sirs,

Regarding your recent letter on the subject of my tardy payment of my student loans, I would like to present to you the reasons for the lack of past or future payments.

First, and most importantly, is the Mayan calendar. According to their ancient wisdom, which was further reinforced by a John Cusack-lead blockbuster from Hollywood, the world will be ending in 2012. I doubt the fine writers in Hollywood could possibly get that research and interpretation wrong. They never do. So, assuming the Mayans were accurate keepers of the calendar, we all have just over 2 years before catastrophe and bad CG effects end us all. By this point, I will have made little more than a dent in the near-70 grand in loans it took for me to achieve my two degrees. Further, since the world will come to an end, it's unlikely that the money I would pay you would do you much good (given the world not existing anymore and all). Additionally, the small pittance that you would recover from me in that time would be something akin to whale hunting with a BB gun. Sure, I may hit the target, but no one's likely to start calling me Captain Ahab.

Further, let's say that the End of Days comes along and I do actually survive. I'm assuming this would be the case because and only because I DO plan on keeping up on my car loan. Let's face it, I don't plan on running from rivers of molten magma on foot. That just doesn't make sense for anyone, and certainly not if they have my knees. So I'll keep up on the oil changes and keep the tank full when December of '12 rolls through town. Now, should I have survived (as I'm assuming Cusack did, because frankly, I couldn't watch that drivel), I have to think that food, water, shelter, and gas to run my death-mobile in this "Mad Max", post-apocalyptic world will be much more helpful than my General Studies degree. As myself and a small coterie of survivors fend for our lives in this new, dangerous, and desolate wasteland, having a Masters in Communication and Information Sciences probably will be less helpful than than a certificate of completion from the 'Paul Teutul Sr. School of Management and Fathering'.

As it happens, even prior to God splitting the clouds, reaching down his considerable hand, and bitch-slapping humanity, my MS is pretty much worthless anyway.

Which brings me to my second point. Since completion of my graduate degree, I have spent almost as much time LOOKING for work as I have ACTUALLY WORKING! So what am I getting for my money anyway? Unemployment benefits? Isn't that just stealing from one hand to pay the other, when you think about it? Classic Peter and Paul scenario, right? In fact, I'm kind of insulted that you didn't think of that in the first place. You are the FRIGGIN' GOVERNMENT, for the love of beef ('It's What's for Dinner', or so Sam Elliott would have you believe). My point is, that in the midst of one of the worst economic recessions of all time... (which, c'mon, just between you and me...it's really a depression, right?....huh? C'mooooooon...) ...my degrees are as worthless as tits on a bull.

Worth less than the paper their printed on.

Worth less than a sense of humor at a Paul Reiser comedy show (he's just not funny).

Worth less than a penis at an Indigo Girls concert.

Worth less than the song "YMCA" at a dance for dyslexics.

Ok, probably crossed a line on that last one, but do you get what I'm aiming at here? Does me no good. I bought into the lie. Go to school, get good grades (well...passing grades anyway; they're never gonna ask), get a good job, be a productive member of society and the capitalist machine. A wife, 2.5 kids, a dog named Spot, and a white picket fence wouldn't have hurt either.

But you and the collegiate system have not lived up to your end. So, I'm calling foul and bowing out until you start coming through for me. I'll accept the studio apartment with no picket fence. Fine. Don't need the wife and kids (but a girlfriend wouldn't kill ya). To be honest, I probably couldn't take care of the dog named Spot, let alone the 2.5 kids (the .5 one is SOOO high maintenance!!). So fine, but a job and that mindless naivete that I had as a kid, when I once thought the lies were the truth, would suffice just fine.

Thank you for your time...and the Government Cheese. It goes great on Ramen.

Sincerely,
-David

Why I went to college...for like...10 years

(note: originally posted to my MySpace account)

For those of you who don't know, I have spent a lot of time and money in college. I'm behind the eight ball on student loans to the tune of 70 grand. I did manage to get two pieces of paper out of the deal, however (a B.S. in "bs", and a M.S. in ICS, in case you were wondering).

When I was in high school, I didn't think I wanted to go to college. I was a sophomore then, and I thought somehow I was going to find my way out of obscurity with my own special blend of awkwardness and social ignorance. I guess I figured I'd be some kind of guitar-wielding, cancer-curing, Statue of David-like, millionaire-about-town; without a great deal of training of course (after all, Pauley Shore could land a paycheck!).

Oddly, it wasn't the realization that being extraordinary means actually offering something extraordinary that made me change my mind on college. I didn't have an Epiphany at a frat party when I was a junior in high school (although, I wish I had, she was hot!). It wasn't even some sort of "Scared Straight" situation at the county jail (I was nary the troublemaker at that stage that I have become).
Post script: did you notice the cool use of the word "nary" in the previous sentence. Yeah. You're rockin' "nary", baby. I know you are.

Anyway, the thing that caused the "one-eighty" on academia and all the such was McDonald's. Yeah. A Quarter Pounder with Cheese Extra-Value meal ("Super-Sized", of course because I was young and I could double that order three times a day and still not top a buck fifty soaking wet!)

You see, back in the day they had ridiculous cash registers at the Sturgis Michigan Mickey D's. Instead of having a normal keypad like you would have on a calculator or a cell phone…(which are actually not the same as a calculator has the one at the bottom row of three keys and the cell phone has it at the top of the keyboard. ….Go ahead, go check. I'll wait….Ok, you ready to continue? OK)….

These cash registers had the numbers in a row, from top to bottom, on the right side of the device. The rest of the keyboard must have had some sort of "U-571", ultra-super-secret code on it. The McDonald's operatives were well trained in this code. So I placed my order. …I did. …Trust me. And the total for the order came to something like $4.95 (I SAID, "back in the day"!!!). I handed the polyester-clad, 20-something cashier a twenty. I could tell that his rudimentary grasp of fundamental math had kicked in; as a slow motion replay of the moment in my mind has him slowly scratching his temple before his eyes gain saucer-like diameter and a smile broadens his face in a moment of absolute clarity. He knew it. He owned it. "A ten, a five, and the 'nick'. I don't need to punch that in. As long as I give the right amount of change and punch it in as cash, the drawer will balance at the end of my reign. I could simply dink that cash button and run my finger aggressively down the numbers on the right hand side of this keyboard, give this strikingly-handsome young man his well-deserved change and continue on with my existence until finally the alcohol and hookers take their ultimate toll, exacting their vengeance and claiming my final breath."

He did just that…..the part about hitting cash and draggin' his hand down the right side of the keyboard…but pretty much that was it. I think. Just the keyboard.

"THHHHHRRRRPP!"

Nothing.

Swiped it again. "THHHHHHRRRRRPP!!"

Nothing.

Dirty-pissed. Swipes again. "T…THHHHHHRRRPPPPP!!!"

Nada.

Presses individual keys like he's trying to fashion a horse-shoe out of almost molten iron, knowing that had he done this in the first place he could have had that change in my hand about a month ago.

"DOUSH!!" ..."2"

"DOUSH!!!" ..."0"

"DOUSH!!!!" ..."0"

"DOUSH!!!!" ..."0"

"KADOUSH!!!!" ..."enter"

The drawer popped out as if attacking this ex-jock's groin. He quickly shuffled through the cash and handed me my change with an exacerbated, defeated look on his face.

"Go to college, kid."

Wise words, you sage old spirit. Wise words.

I followed that advice. I followed the fuck out of it.