eyes on tina fey
Hemingway is famously quoted as saying “Write drunk, edit sober.” Well, the truth of that cliché is that since you can barely write anything of substance drunk, most of the editing is writing content that wasn’t there to begin with. Writing drunk is incredibly difficult, at least for me.
I wrote this the night of my 22nd birthday party, a party that inevitably had less of a spectacle behind it than my 21st. Nevertheless, it was a blast filled with all of my closest friends, karaoke, and plenty of booze. Hosting a party is difficult and overwhelming, especially if you’re also the person of honor. I was juggling trying to say hello and thank you to everyone, making sure everyone was having a fun time, refilling the bar, keeping DPS away, and trying to have a fun evening myself. After a run-in with two police officers and six tequila shots, I finally sat down to write this article.
I predicted I would think more slowly intoxicated, but I found the opposite to be true. Each thought led to something completely different, so had I not written about the prompt at first, it would have been impossible to tell what it was.
[I’d gone through a few prompts before this, to be completely honest. I was asked what made me most nervous—life after graduation. I was asked the last time I’ve been in love—never. I was asked who I wanted to eat dinner with—Tina Fey. They were all straight forward questions.
So, what’s a not straight forward question? Who do I want to be?
I really don’t know. I’ve just turned 22. I guess the right thing would be to say that I want to be a good person, right? Alright, well then I want to be great father. Who knows how that is going to work because a sperm and a sperm , don’t make a baby. Biology is the only thing against social activism!
Party in the USA just started playing, and then I start wishing I would move to Los Angeles, which is entirely an option. Hands up and me swinging my hips??! How will i ever feeel more American?!
There are some songs that just take you back, you know? IT’s the most cliche thing in the world. but Pitbull’s “Give Me Everything” always takes me back to a graduation party thrown in a concrete driveway with all of my friends from high school. Marina, Amber, Adrian, Liz, Alyss, Elia, Krystal, and others. I was jumping and raising my red solo cup of pure lemonade up to the sky. It seems like ages ago. Ages and years and semesters and midterms and weeks and days ago.
When I was home this last time, I was so perplexed. Amber, who I’ve known for almost eight years now, is now a sixth grade math teacher. She was a girl who poured water all over me at lunch in ninth grade and who stole my TI89 calculator and who I somehow became best friends with. Her family are all educators, and I was standing in her garage and they were all giving her advice on how she should discipline her students, and I had nothing to offer. I was shocked. My friend, Amber, was suddenly responsible for the educations of hundreds of little middle schoolers. And then, suddenly, I was sending her off back to her new semester of teaching children, and I started bawling. It is absolutely crazy how time has passed.
And what do I have?
I’ve come out to my parents, I’ve spent four years now at Brown, and I’ve made amazing friends. Now what? Someone please tell me because it is absolutely terrifying.]