Wednesday, May 02, 2007


Ever since I left home after high school, I've never lived in one spot for longer than 5 years. But in as much as I love the adventure of living someplace new and exploring the new geography, I hate the whole process of moving. So to minimize the headache associated with moving, I tend to sell, donate, or trash the majority of my belongings instead of carrying it with me. I think this is the main reason (besides the obvious lack of income and that $150,000 in student loans) that I don't really own anything.

I've been in New Orleans for about 5 years now and have slowly developed the itch to move again. Unfortunately, I've just signed on for 2 more years of subspecialized training, so I'm not going anywhere. This is causing quite a bit of havoc internally. So to make myself feel better and feel like I'm getting ready for another move, I've started to go through my stuff and start mentally categorizing various items for disposal, donation, or Ebay.

During this process, I found a stack of papers that had somehow eluded being tossed in the garbage the past several moves. These were copies of the essays I wrote as part of my college applications.

It was amusing to read what I wrote almost 15 years ago. It was clearly evident that I was on my best behavior and censored out a lot of my sarcasm in order to get that elusive acceptance letter because none of my essays reflected my cynical outlook on things. But more interesting was the essay I wrote to the hypothetical question of: If you could sit down to a dinner with any person, fact or fiction, living or dead, who would it be and why?

Well, I wrote some gibberish that I thought would get me into college (which obviously worked since I did get in), but I got to thinking who I would pick if given that same option today. And I have to say, I'd pick Michael Jackson.

"What?! My word!"

Yes. I know. Of all the people to choose...

But I like strange things. It's a morbid fascination with the demented. And the next time there's a lull in conversation, I've got a ringer of a statement to break those awkward silences:

"I had dinner with Michael Jackson the other night."

Guaranteed nothing will spark more interest than learning that someone you know had dinner with Michael Jackson and was able to ask him some personal questions.

It'll be so interesting to know what he's been thinking. Specifically, I want to know if he honestly considers the work done on his face as a success. I want to know what look he was going for. I also want to let him know that the facial hair definitely isn't helping matters much. And that he looks like a chimp.

The running joke for the longest time was that he was a black man that had morphed into a white woman. That might have been true about 4 or 5 plastic surgeries ago, but now... Well, I don't know about you, but I've never seen any woman that looks like him.

Admit it, if you knew nobody would tease you about it, you wouldn't hesitate to at least carry on a one-on-one conversation with ol' MJ. It's like a bad car accident. It's absolutely terrifying, yet you... just. can't. look. away.

Man, if anybody needs to be on a makeover show, it's this guy...