Section 4

Chapter 4

A life spent in making mistakes is not only more honorable but more useful than a life spent doing nothing.
- George Bernard Shaw, Preface, The Doctor’sDilemma, 1906

4

I had recently transferred to State College from State University. I was a smart kid in high school, don’t get me wrong, and I have the records to prove it, but I’ll be damned if I’ve been intelligent for even one second since then.

Mistake one: I chose State U. because my dad liked it. The Ivy League was beckoning me like a right conscience, but I had a sweetheart, an over-ambitious father with a budget in mind, and not one ounce of get-go in me. I didn’t care one way or another where I went. I was going to be a lawyer, and all that mattered, I thought, was where a lawyer went to law school. I’d never given even a second’s thought to the fact that law schools tend to prefer kids who go to fancy undergrad institutions. I shouldn’t be too hard on myself though, it was a rookie mistake – everyone makes them.

Two: After spending two years surrounded by a place at which I had never felt for one second comfortable, I transferred from one shitty State school (not that they all are) to another, even more pathetic one; once again turning cold-shouldered away from the pleadings of my paid advisers and the offers of the Ivy League. There was no special girlfriend this time though, and no pleading, tight budgeted father – this was my own error, my own ignorant fuck-up.It wasn’t all bad though. My major was philosophy (that’s right, philosophy – look in your undergrad catalogs below the title, “Useless,” you’ll find it there…) and I found that the staff and program that I had transferred into were far more experienced and useful than the one I had left – this was an accidental benefit, mind you, certainly not the result of any research.

Another plus was that I got away from the dorms. I moved into a great two-bedroom apartment and began to live the life that I wanted, instead of the one everyone else thought was necessary… and had duly prescribed.So there I was, living alone in a great apartment, attending a school that held low enough expectations that it generally didn’t require much in the way of effort to attain good marks, and a junior in college. So what did I need? The same thing my body had felt I had needed since the age of about fourteen, when my 501’s began to tighten with noticeable frequency around the middle, and my zipper was often transformed into a sharply edged tent, anxious to tear through any fresh and willing hymen it could find.So what did I do? I began to invest heavily and freely into my pad. It was my intent to make it not only extremely comfortable for myself, but as desirable as possible for the opposite sex as well. Thus, if I was out and saw something interesting, like a plush leather recliner with a massage system and armchair mini-fridge, or something clever, like an oak coffee table with miniscule built-in remote control drawers, I bought it. Granted, it was an exuberant lifestyle for a kid with only meager savings and a part-time job to live, but I had the two universal necessities of every happy college student: credit cards and parents.A totally respectable wardrobe, of course, followed (complete with some seriously overpriced eau de toilet and a Movado watch), along with all of the other various, necessary accessories: a generous DVD collection, an assortment of candles bearing a variety of fragrances, a few cookbooks, and down to earth artworks to make me seem more family-oriented and approachable. I was on my way. The final step… I found friends, I went out, I partied, I had a few wild nights and a generally good time. Then, four months after arriving, I met her.