Pleasantly Surprised
     By Jason Wilder Konschak
     
     This is my third semester. This is my third time saying, "This is when it 
all turns around." This is lucky three. This is the leg of the race when I'm 
supposed to gain, and yet, it's fired-off to a sad, stumbling, disgusting start. 
My knees are bleeding and torn on the track top. My new sneakers have turned out 
to have bad traction.
     Last year was my first year. Like most people, I was dumb. I ordered big, 
and instead of getting the King Kahoona Prime Rib, the waitress brought me a 
Poop Sandwich Deluxe. That's juicy poop between two fresh slices of poop, with 
poopy, poopy, and poop. 
     Now I'm a second year student, with all kinds of second-hand wisdom, with 
all kinds of on-second-thought dreams. I'm half way there, and yet, I'm now only 
hoping nothing more than, somewhere in the next half, I'll find something to 
keep me from living with my family, in my sister's old bedroom, festooned with 
Titanic posters. 
     Those posters are what keep me dedicated to my education. 
     Leonardo DiCaprio looks at me and says, "Follow your dreams, or sleep with 
me."
     Dreams?
     Excuse me if I'm wrong, but everyone comes to Hampshire with exaggerated 
dreams. Everyone plans to appear on campus, and in a week, find the blue bird of 
happiness nesting in a Dakin bathroom. Everyone plans to take classes that 
diagram the electrical system of Reality, to find the pretty face that makes 
them finally believe in Love, to dig down deep inside themselves to find the 
glowing, halo'd version of their True Souls. Excuse me if I'm wrong, but I've 
never met a first year whose secret dreams weren't lobbying for a spot as a 
constellation.
     Yes, I had my dreams, too. I had my goals. They went something like this:
     
     1. Relationships: with my unavoidable charm and my stunning new clothes, I 
shall be the sexiest male ever on campus. I shall have to shoo chicks away with 
a stick so often that I'll need to invest in a titanium stick.
     2. Social Life: With my superior writing and performance acumen, I shall be 
a media superstar. I shall be adored. I shall be so famous a face that folks 
shall demand me to sign their pets. 
     3. Academics: The classes I take shall teach me how to impress God. 
     4. Home: My room shall be a Mecca, drawing visitors from far away, only to 
see, for a moment, what fantastic work can be done with so little space, with so 
much imagination. 
     5. Overview: My first year shall be the first hill on a four-year Sex, 
Drugs, and Rock-n-Roll Rollercoaster. I will find what I'm looking for.
     
     Familiar? Even if exaggerated three degrees?
     Of course, these were all stepped on. That's what I get. I ended up too 
depressed to open Christmas presents. I had a golden engagement ring that took 
three years to shape, and it melted in three months of school. My classes were 
frustrating and dull, too early in the morning, and I wasn't as smart or 
creative as I looked in the brochure. I was penniless, dirty, and lonely. And I 
drank a lot. That's what I got. 
     Familiar? Even if exaggerated three degrees? 
     After extensive research, psychologists and I agree on the obvious reason 
for my unhappiness last year: when you expect a lot, and you get only a fair 
share, you're pissed off. But, when you expect very little, and you get a fair 
amount, you're pretty damn thrilled. Like all the first years, I had expected so 
much. I had expected the whole Pie in the Sky, and I only got a fair slice. 
Thus, I was pissed.
     So, here's my second-hand, second year advice: expect your face to be 
stepped on, so that maybe, if it's only your toes that get crushed, you'll 
smile. Set goals you can achieve without a functioning liver. Don't race to win, 
or to set the world record. Race to finish, or at least, to look like you're 
trying, even if you aren't.
     Therefore, these are my goals for this year. Use them as models for your 
own.
     
     1. Relationships: People will not think I'm gay. I might get a hug from a 
girl. Kisses will not result in herpes. In the unlikely event of sex, I will be 
wearing clean underwear. When my dream-girl inevitably dates someone dumb, there 
will be no bodies to hide. I will repeat: "Just because she's fucking him 
doesn't me she don't love me."
     2. Social Life: I will leave my room at least once a day. I will be punched 
and kicked no more than twice a week. At least 5 people will know my name, and 
would notice if I went missing for a month. Professors count.
     3. Academics: I will finish reading at least one book. It will not be 
erotica from the campus store. I will attend classes more than 20% of the time. 
I will not drink more than 40 fluid ounces of vodka in any given week. I will 
not "seek inspiration" by taking acid and listening to Space Hog.
     4. Home: My room will not smell funny.
     5. Overview: I will not jump off of Dakin 
     
     And, if anything better than that happens, I shall be pleasantly surprised. 
     But I won't get cocky and think I might be happy or anything silly like 
that.