COLUMN: Sick, instead of celebrating

From Jason Brenner's, "My 20 Inches," Fall '96 From Jason Brenner's, "My 20 Inches," Fall '96 It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Not according to plan, I found myself rather ill when the clock struck midnight. I wasn't sick from excessive con- sumption in celebration -- but rather from a nasty virus that bestowed a 102 degree fever upon me. In a move that makes "Dewey Defeats Truman" seem like a minor miscalculation, my first draft of this column explained how I would dramatically attain membership in that super-elite group before being dragged feet-first from Smoke's. I hear you asking, "What kind of group did your illness prevent you from joining at the appointed hour?" I wasn't planning on getting into some obscure sex cult led by Bob Barker, in which each male initiate takes on four female wives, although that wouldn't be a half-bad way to spend my senior year. Nor was I to accept a position as a lieutenant in a local militia planning to siege College Hall and overthrow the Penn administration, although I will head to CPPS next week to drop my resume for the position Timothy McVeigh vacated when the authorities hauled him to jail. As of midnight last night, I was to receive my bid to join the premier fraternity on campus, XXI. Also known as Ye Society of Those Aged Twenty-One or Greater, this fraternal organization stands apart from the others because it doesn't revolve around the consumption of intoxicating beverages. In fact, XXI's brotherhood (and sisterhood) participates in horizon-broadening activities like celebrating the illustrious culture of Ireland at fine educational establishments known as the Blarney Stone and Irish Pub. The society also thirsts for the enlightenment that makes Philadelphia such a fine and historic city. We don't spend hours snapping photographs of the Liberty Bell, however -- that's too boring. Nor have we ever sauntered through the Art Museum, since we all saw it in Rocky anyway. We learn the ins and outs of Philadelphia at landmarks such as the Dickens Inn and that perennial Philly monument, Fat Tuesday's. Never ones to ignore the plight of the nearby community, the elite members of XXI frequently walk the streets of West Philadelphia at midnight en route to making donations at local charities such as Murph's and Walsh's. When we're not busy saving the community from its downward spiral, we enjoy spending time with our other friends, Dave and Buster and Jake and Oliver. And who says college students think only of drinking alcohol? I celebrated my initiation in XXI's fine tradition of mass consumption of orange juice -- and cough syrup. (Try to do 21 shots of Robitussin and see how you feel.) Few can rightfully claim to be legitimate members of XXI. In fact, I admit to feigning affiliation for the past few years. In so doing, I assumed many new and exciting aliases such as a 23-year-old from Montana, a 6-foot-one kid named Imad and my friend from the University of Maryland with the atrocious haircut. Today, I am at last able to reclaim my true identity, never again to impersonate another for the sake of social acceptance. Coincidentally, not only did I recover my original persona last night, but I received dozens of phone calls from young non-initiates seeking to impersonate me until they receive their long-awaited bid of membership in XXI. Of course, now that I finally reached the age of initiation, I can talk haughtily and look down upon the unfortuante wretches marking off their calendars until they they reach the magic age of 7,665 days. (Actually, it's more than that; I didnt include leap years. Sue me.) Still, just days ago, I found myself at the receiving end of taunts from my friends, such as "Jason, were going out now. You want us to drop you off at Chuck E. Cheese?" and "Jason, do you want me to buy you a beer at dinner?" Realizing that such mockings hurt my sensitive feelings, my friends felt guilty and offered gracious apologies like "Jason, I'm sorry. Please stop slamming my head against the brick wall." and "Jason, please put that branding iron down." Clearly, I handled the whole situation with maturity and class. And now that I have finally attained the pinnacle of social elitedom (other than joining the co-ed honor fraternity), I can look back on my days of youth and enjoy a laugh. Unfortunately, I achieved membership in XXI with all the drama of a used Kleenex. For years, I pictured myself getting very sick when the clock struck midnight on November 13, 1996. I guess I took myself a bit too literally. Despite my setback, I have decided to hold my head high and prepare for initiation in the nation's next elite group: the Social Security club.