Letters & Opinion
Your College Survival Guide: The end of an era...
With help from: The Afterdark Coffee House.
Pat!
Where were you last week! I picked up The Pointer and you weren’t there!! How am I supposed to get through the week without some College Survival Advice!!!!!
Desperate Dave
First off, DD, you need to start conserving exclamation points. It’s a little known fact that due to the rise in Internet communications, over the last 10 years, our country’s use of exclamation points has increased by a factor of 2,000.
If this trend continues, our nation’s exclamation point reserves will be depleted by early summer 2009. This will force writers to import expensive foreign exclamation points, driving up the cost of books. None of us want that.
The thing is, DD, my life has been going through a lot of changes lately. When I started this column nine years ago, I was an undergrad: unknown and unpublished. The column was my only real creative outlet.
Even after I went to grad school and came back to UW-SP to teach, things didn’t change that much. I was still poor, still a student at heart,and I still went to classes. It’s just that now I was standing in front instead of sitting in back.
But in this last year everything has changed. I own a house for the first time in my life. I’m not teaching at the university, though I hope to come back in the future. My novel is finally out, and because of that, I suddenly have nothing but creative outlets.
The truth is, DD, I’ve been thinking about giving up the column. Nine years is a good run. I had a lot of fun, but I’ve been too busy to do a good job of it for this last year or so.
But none of that is why I missed last week’s Pointer. I missed last week’s Pointer because I lost my backpack, and I wasn’t able to do anything without it. I think it might be the source of all my power...
I’m not exaggerating. Here’s something I wrote two years ago. It was my first ever blog post:
So today I made a special trip onto campus so I could sign some paperwork for the College Feminists. Since it was just going to be a quick trip, I left my backpack at home.
Now this might not seem like a big deal to you, but I always take my backpack with me wherever I go. It’s my man-purse. I have everything in there. I could survive for a week on a desert island if I only had my backpack with me.
So I start walking onto campus, and all I can think about is how weird it feels not having my backpack on my shoulder. It throws off my whole groove. My swagger is out of alignment. I don’t know where to put my hands.
After about three blocks I start to feel okay. Then I see Jay, a student I know, he smiles, waves at me and says, “Where’s your bag?”
I’m too surprised to reply, but he assumes I’m confused, and explains himself. “You usually have your bag over your shoulder. You’ve got this vagabond student look.”
My parents gave me that backpack as a gift back in high school. It was my big Christmas present for the year, and they spent a lot of money on it. It has turned out to be worth every penny. It’s indestructible. I’ve had it for 20 years. I’ve spent more time with that backpack than all my girlfriends combined. It’s like my tangible soul.
My old coat had the left shoulder worn completely through because that’s the shoulder I carried my bag. I’ve probably walked 10,000 miles with it there, and now when I leave the house, I feel off balance and strange. I’m developing a crick in my neck because of it.
I’ve looked everywhere I can think of, and I have no idea where it is. None. I might have left it somewhere and wandered away. I am forgetful like that. I could have left my car door unlocked and someone might have taken it.
I really don’t care. So much has changed in my life this last year, I just don’t want to lose my backpack too.
So here’s the deal. If someone brings me my backpack, I’ll give them $ 1,000. Cash. No questions asked.
Yes, I’m serious. The company that made the bag doesn’t exist any more. I don’t know if I could get a replacement. Even if I could, I don’t want a replacement. I want my backpack.
It’s made of black leather and has a mid-sized pocket in the front. On the pocket there’s some dark blue stitching that says “Caribou.” One of the shoulder straps is frayed. It looks like it’s been carried all over hell and back and treated pretty roughly.
It’s also full of my crap. Nothing particularly valuable, just a bunch of sentimental junk. If you find a bag, and you’re looking through it and think to yourself, “Who the hell would carry this crap around with them?” That’s it. That’s my bag.
I prefer it with the crap still in it, but empty or full, whoever brings me the bag gets $ 1,000. I’m serious. Tell your friends. Team up. Have a scavenger hunt. Ask that dodgy guy you know who breaks into people’s cars. If you are that dodgy guy, I don’t care. Here’s your chance to cash out.
You can e-mail me at prothfus@uwsp.edu or call me at 341-3716.
That’s all. Nothing clever to close with this week. I don’t have the heart for it.
If you’re interested in getting your copy of "The Name of the Wind" signed, I’m going to be having a booksigning at Bookfinders out on Highway 10 this Sunday from 11:00-1:00. Feel free to stop by.
For next week’s column, send in your final questions to the e-mail above, and I’ll try to answer them all. To help with this, make sure your questions aren’t more than three sentences long. As brevity is the soul of wit, be brief.
And help me find my backpack. Please.
See previous issuses of the PointerOnline!