But Oh, Those Summer Nights

[It’s 5:20am, and I’m eating white rice.  I’m not hungry, in fact, I’m starting to make myself sick.  But that’s a fun thing to do sometimes, you should try it.]

The other day I got this email from Temple.  It was a reminder to Film and Media Arts students about a 6-week summer course on Mobile Media, taking place in London, England.  Mobile Media!?  LONDON!?  Awesome.

Turns out the whole thing costs over $10,000.

Let me break this down for you:  According to my little cousin Isaiah (not be confused with the 8th-century BC Judean prophet of the same name), my parents’ house has a “bridge” (that’s what the kids call catwalks these days, apparently), and that means they’re rolling in the green.  He determined that my dad must “get a lot of money” (is money the new playground term for ass?) and that a house with such fine commodities must cost “a couple thousand dollars.”

So we’ve established that my parents’ house costs at least a few grand.  The logic is flawless.  Now the 6 week class in London costs ten grand.  That’s three bridge-equipped houses!  See the issue here?

I began to think.  I want to go somewhere this summer.  Somewhere I’ve never been, or at least somewhere I’ve never stayed in long enough to fully immerse myself in the culture.  Then Ryan (you may have seen him around these parts of the intarwebz, posting weird pictures of green cupcakes and poking fun at helpless mentally-handicapped girls who love to listen to Disney Radio) told me that he got a summer job working at The Barn Theatre in Michigan (whose productions are apparently much better than their HTML skillz).  I instantly got a case of the jealousy pox.  He’s doing what he loves, and in a new place.  How cool.

So that immediately returned me to this idea of entering the Witness Protection Program for a summer.  But I had a lot of questions.  Do I go somewhere that would allow me to pursue current interests?  Do I try to expand my horizons by going somewhere that is totally contrary to what I view as relevant to my future?  Do I stay in one place, or do I hop around and sleep in Walmart parking lots?  Stay in the country?  Go out-of-country?  Sesame Place!?

That’s where I turn to you, dear readers reader.  What should I do?  Am I just talking out my ass?  Can asses talk?  If so, can you teach me how to make mine talk? Or am I an ass, and I answered my own question by making this blog post?

Help a brutha out.