My Rushmore? Lamont

Nothing is better than getting shit done. That's why when Happy Will e-mailed me today and callously asked me if I had given up my blog as well, I knew it was time to pull my head out of my ass and get some stuff done. So I finished my creative writing application for screenwriting (which is unbelievably bizarre by the way— the scene I wrote, which is published below, is a bit off color, and the last paragraph of the cover letter basically threatens the Professor), and I took care of some administrative stuff.

But something was missing. Was it my cell phone service (I was downstairs in the computer lab of the Science Center)? Probably not. I don’t give a fig about not having service! Was it the fact that I had yet to break into my board plus? Nope. Had a Vitamin Water, a Sicilian slice and two garlic knots for lunch. I also had a latte. What was it then? Ma nishtablog?

Interestingly, it was you, blog. You were what was missing. I hate neglecting you, but sometimes, when I’m out there living, doing stuff, I just forget about you. Like when I’m befriending younger, inner-city dudes at arcades and setting pop-a-shot records across the Eastern Seaboard, I forget. It was time to remember. "This one's for you, Happy Will," I said aloud as I opened up blogger.com.

But something still didn’t feel right. Turns out, it was the ambiance. I had to get out of that computer lab before I stapled my johnson to my right leg with that sweet automatic stapler that sits atop the user assistance desk. I ran out of there and through the yard like a Cheddar with its head cut off. Where should I write you? Where Should I write you? I should write you in Lamont, where I am writing you now, on a loaner laptop, on the east wall, at the very workstation I wrote about General Cheddar’s Last Stand.

It was the only place I could write this entry.

Since I was a freshman, I’ve always asked myself, “Teddy, What is your Rushmore?” Or in the last couple years it was more like, “Cheddar, What’s your Rushmore?” Well I’ve been reluctant to say this definitively, but I’m in my final term here, and it’s just time. Lamont is my Rushmore. It’s my Rushmore.