COLUMN: Why you will not read this column

Let's be candid. No one is reading this. No one. This is like writing love letters to myself on Valentine's Day. While I don't claim this to be brilliant prose, the thought of sitting here in this newspaper while the rest of campus drinks itself into a sublime stupor seems almost appropriate. My voice is housed in these pages. And today my voice will ring loud and clear, but will echo against empty corridors. You will pass by this newspaper, you will skip class and you will lounge in the Quad. I will evaporate into a fine ink mist, gone and forgotten. And like most of my best thoughts, like most of my best work, this column will pass the world by without being noticed. Think of that thesis you might be writing. A 50-page masterpiece perhaps, or a 70-page bore. Either way, hundreds of these sorts of papers are written every year containing months of thought and perspiration. And no one reads them. Think of all the times you have achieved Nirvana going up Locust Walk, or the time you stood alone and conjured a spectacular opinion of contemporary life. You commanded perspective, except there was no one there to share it with, no one there listening. Today, as students and human beings, we are just tumors on the face of the earth. Perspective is the angle we get to see Ben Folds Five from. The only thing I'll be noticing that's fit to print this weekend is the cleaning instructions on my clothes. That's because vomit stains. And so who cares if my best work goes unnoticed? When we graduate, we enter a world where credit and politics dictate perspective. We must live with the idea that not only will no one notice our best work, but someone else will take credit for the work that no one really cares about. This will make us upset, and we might as well get used to it now. But I'm not upset. I'm drunk like you are, and I'm not about to read your thesis today -- or any day for that matter. Yes, I'm guilty of the same crimes. I'm guilty of this sin of omission. And since no one is reading this, I might as well get some other things off my chest. I might as well express my concern that no one ever reads my columns. In fact, I was totally snubbed with Friday as my day of publication. Friday is the Sabbath. Wharton students don't even go to classes on Friday and the only place I ever read opinion columns is in classes. Friday is everything but "column-reading day." And to top it off, today is Spring Fling. This is the ultimate rebuff, the pie in the face, the proverbial straw on the camel's back. Somebody out there is telling me something -- no one is listening! So I'm facing the facts. I'm like the little red-headed stepchild that no one likes. I'm like those pesky dust bunnies that are just swept under the carpet, or blown behind the desk until move-out day. I got stuck with the worst day of the week. So it's not like I am an attention-monger or anything, but how does one go about getting noticed for admirable, sincere acts of intellect, especially when the world is too busy getting free massages and sumo wrestling? How can I compete with "Hairy Phlegmball," the 4:40 musical act later today? Since you're all drunk, I'll be honest. The only times anyone has ever noticed me were for humiliating acts of indecency. For example, I once passed gas really loudly in the middle of choir in the first grade. That was embarrassing, and certainly not a creation of mine of which I am proud. But naturally, everyone on the face of the earth noticed. As a result, I've conveniently erased memories from those painful years of my life. So maybe what I'm looking for is the print equivalent of passing gas to catch your attention. But you're too busy Flinging, lounging about in pure hedonistic revelry. And I'm clamoring for a voice that speaks to you, something that speaks to you above the roar of a screwdriver. But I take it for what it is. I just wanted you all to know that I'm onto your slight. I'm watching you not watching me. I'm just here in this newspaper, screaming for attention. Unfortunately, the sad truth is that the only thing that would get your attention is flatulence, and I'm not about to lower myself to that level.