COLUMN: Into the Sunset

From Ian Blake's "Church of the Poisoned Mind," Fall '95 From Ian Blake's "Church of the Poisoned Mind," Fall '95She was here last week, the troublesome one, the Ice Queen. I tried to stop her. I told her I had three exams coming up and I couldn't be bothered. She would not hear of it. So, I curled up in a little corner of my apartment and said a little prayer to St. Jude. I prayed that she would not come. Then I went to McDonalds, stuffed my face, came back and prayed some more. I had three options. I could have jumped off the rooftop of High Rise East, but that would've been messy. Plus, I can't stand the sight of blood. I could've packed my miniscule belongings, moved to the Yucatan and lived amongst the Bora-Bora Indians. But even there, she probably would have tracked me down. I was left with only one option. I had to do the only thing a true blue All-American son could do. I had to clean up my apartment in preparation for the dreaded coming of my mother. I really, really hate when my mother comes to campus. Her periodical sojourns to Penn always seem to force me to undergo certain changes that are not in accordance with my macho persona. She makes me engage in sissy girlie-man acts. Acts which under normal circumstances, I would never engage in -- clean my apartment and wash dishes. With a quick biting remark of cynicism, this woman can reduce me to a quivering mass of jelly-like flesh. Anyway, it was Saturday when I got the bad news, so I had at least 36 hours to engage in some spirited housekeeping. During the laborious process of vacuuming, I discovered two things. First, the carpet in my room is navy blue with gray streaks and my kitchen sink with the dishes removed actually has a bottom. I hadn't seen either since September of last year, so I was pretty proud of myself. But lest any of my macho brethren in the Penn community think Ian is going soft, forget about it. Allow me to set the record straight on what type of guy I am. First of all, I never put used gum back in the foil wrapper. I think cats and poodles are a bad idea. I never wash my hands after I use the bathroom and I always wait until the last possible second to return my books to the library. I'm frequently inflicted with serious bouts of apathy. For example, University recycling bins require too much effort and thinking on my part. Is it glass in the white bins and plastic in the yellow, or vice-versa? Anyway, I live on an odd floor and carrying trash down to the street is too far beneath my intended station in life. I also believe a little misery in everyone's life is an essential component of character formation. For instance, if anyone suggests I have a nice day, I tell them I'm considering other options. Whenever I read magazines in the supermarket, I never put them back in their proper racks. Still not sold on my machismo, huh? Here's one, have you ever been on a bus and read the sign, 'seats forward of this sign must be yielded to senior citizens'? Yeah right! Hey, I paid my fare, senior citizens can hold onto the bars just like everybody else. And they better not fall on me if the bus driver makes a sharp turn on Spruce Street or else I might get upset or something! Ian T. Blake "macho guy." The "T" stands for tough and don't any of you forget it. Where was I, oh yes, mom's visit. Before I get back to her, and while I'm still in this testosterone induced state, it has suddenly dawned on me that this may be the last time I get to brighten your Wednesdays at Penn and the last time I get to shout out to the people who have made my undergraduate experience here at Penn unbearable. To my homeboys, Gregory and Paul: If I don't make it into grad school at Penn, you'll have to keep the Philly flavor and tradition alive because it is definitely lacking here. To Geoff, Ayinde and Kevin: If we had practiced a little more, cut a few more classes and went to Gimbel everyday we could have made it to the NBA. To Larry "don't bother me" Burtin, Adesh "easy lover" Baharani and Shawn "Stretch" Trice, save a few women for me at Smokes will ya? By the way Mr. Barnes, the Browns suck, and who decided to put the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in a wasteland like Cleveland anyway -- sheesh!! To the working stiffs in the Mellon building and the College Office, Linda Taylor-Burch, Deborah Burnham, Eric Schneider, thank you. Hermina, Pat, Jeanne, Michael and Dr. McCoullum, thank you for everything. Teressa, don't let those bastards wear you down. To the marvelous kids in GSE, Sue "lifesaver" Christmas, Keith "big guy" Watanabe, Lorraine "I'm on break" Hightower and my kindred white brother, Frank "muddy waters" Kodman: Thanks for treating me horribly. My attorneys will be serving you all court papers for the mental stress. Anyway, enough of that sentimental stuff, my mother had arrived. She asked me what I had had for breakfast. "Some sort of tasty, but unhealthy, calorie- laden cereal," I retorted. I'm getting better at this cynicism thing as I grow older. She shot a dirty glance at me and my knees buckled a little but I was on my home turf so that helped a little. She went into the bathroom and commented on the water ring around the sink that has been in existence before I was born. I told her that I had cleaned the sink just that morning, but she was already in my bedroom critiquing my inability to coordinate my sheets and properly organize my dresser drawers. Finally, it was time for her to leave. As I walked her into the train station, she asked me if everything was all right and if I needed any money. I stuck out my chest and loudly declared, "I'm just fine, thank you!" She frowned, kissed me on the forehead and pressed a few dollars into my hand anyway. Once again, I did the only thing a whipped but still macho son could do. I told her, she was okay as far as moms go. But just in case, I decide to move to the Yucatan -- Happy Mothers' Day, mom. I love you more than words can say.