I still pick my nose.Some people outgrow that urge to finger-mine the magic nose goblins at an early age – filthy habit, ya know?
But not me.
Nope. I still seek out those crusty cornflakes that dwell near the backdoor of my nostrils.
It feels good – especially when you find a real keeper. You know the excitement Indiana Jones got when he unearthed the Ark of the Covenant?
Yeah, it’s like that every time.
There are just some things you never outgrow. I still know the gore code for the Sega Genesis version of the original Mortal Kombat. I still microwave bologna and cheese sandwiches. And I get jealous every time I see my nephew cruising around on his big wheel.
Some things just stick for life – like the coke stains circling Lindsay Lohan’s nose holes.
One thing in particular continues to resurface on a regular basis, permanently drawn on the Etch-a-Sketch of my personality.
Few movies have impacted my sorry excuse for an existence quite as profoundly as that film. And if you’re about my age, you probably feel the same.
That is also assuming you can appreciate cheesy movies — and aren’t one of those vomit-inducing “I’m-so-damned-deep-and-artistic” serious types, who only watches films no one else has ever seen in order to keep your “scene cred” intact.
Sometimes Cheddar’s better, ya know.
I bring up memories of the truffle shuffle and a 12-year-old Corey Feldman’s inviting tongue as a means of communicating an interesting reality I discovered the other day.
I have outgrown college.
Well, maybe not entirely. I think I’ve actually outgrown more of the stereotype that clings to college campuses like the Bush Administration clings to 9/11 (zing!).
You know what I mean.
The Beer Pong marathons and the smell of Jager-colored vomit caked on bathroom stalls. Running barefoot through the woods in the middle of the night trying to dodge the local fuzz. Loose young men and women eagerly swapping whatever STDs they may have in an endless orgy of drugs and debauchery.
You know, that stuff.
And I’ll admit. As a young and budding Spartan freshman, the thoughts of such of exciting endeavors and adventures tickled me pinker than a Porky Pig smoothie. That freedom – that responsibility – was all mine to use and abuse in whatever manner I so desired.
And abuse it I did. Well, to an extent. Like many of you, I had my fair share of good nights spliced with the occasional bad mornings. But hey, it’s college right? Those are the memories I’m SUPPOSED to acquire during my stint in higher education, yeah? Well, it got old – really old.
Unlike my unwavering love for The Goonies and Kerri Green’s glorious panty shots throughout the film, my love for blackberry brandy soon dissolved quicker than George Steinbrenner’s chances of getting into heaven.
It became so routine, so clich – so boring.
It was the same thing every night: Get the stuff. Consume the stuff. Get loud off the stuff. Hide the stuff. Consume more of the stuff. Get ripped on the stuff. Pass out from the stuff – regret the stuff.
The whole scene became very automated and mechanical, a clockwork process that would reset itself at 9 p.m. every night, as Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” thundered from stereo speakers.
Like a St. Catherine Street stripper, we were stuck going through the motions until someone graciously came along and put us out of our misery.
Eventually I grew tired of the flaming ping-pong balls three-day hangovers. But I think a lot of us did. That’s not to say we swore off the excess forever; but we learned to ration it out in smaller portions once in a while, instead of brainlessly binging every day.
But that’s growing up in a nutshell, isn’t it? That’s the maturity setting in. As children we learn to walk by falling on our faces. As college students we learn our limitations by barfing up Bacardi in the backseat of cars.
It’s a phase.
A phase that some of you are either gearing up for, currently stuck in, or have since moved on from. Or maybe you didn’t buy into any of it at all. It’s not fair of me to assume that all college students are damned to indulge in the various vices of their newfound adulthood.
But many do.
And if you do, I certainly encourage you to enjoy yourself. Because yes, it is fun while it lasts. And you will learn A LOT from the experience of being entirely daft and dumb once in a while. Plus you’ll tend to meet more people that way, and socialization is good for you.
But do try and be safe about it. I’m not in any way condoning the idea of straight-up outrageous dumbassity or anything like that. Please don’t set fire to buildings or drag race down South Street with a bottle of Jack in your hands and a dead hooker in the trunk.
But do have some damn fun while you’re in college. You study hard and are already up to your naughty bits in student loans, why not treat yourself to some SAFE stupidity once in a while?
Because it won’t last.
Like Limp Bizkit, Tomagachis, and Surge-induced caffeine highs, the college stereotype lifestyle will inevitably fade away into the memory bank of your mind.
It’s up to you to decide if those memories are going to be stored next to The Goonies, or if they’ll end up in the wish-I-never-bought-that-Sisqo-album regret pile.
So do yourself a favor. Be smart. Seize the day. Take a chance. Live it up. Make memories.
Be a Goonie.