Saturday, September 3, 2011

Oprah Slapped Me Once

This is an essay I wrote for the University of Chicago (which I was accepted to...which I thankfully didn't attend...) This essay caused UChicago to read my application on NPR back in 2007 when their "Uncommon Application" was being challenged. Afterwards, they sent me a very persuasive Christmas card which I found in my drawer this weekend. I used this essay in a "Write Your Own" competition at the University of Michigan and received 2nd place in the state. I lost to a kid who wrote about a pilgrimage to India...Pakistan...Bangladesh?

Anyway, I think this is great proof that I never took life too seriously...and how much I don't change...and how off-color I was at such an early age...

The prompt was: You are hosting a brunch with 3 guests. What is the menu? Who are the guests? Think "Mad Hatter's Tea Party".

I should also mention I was quite the myspace celebrity in my day...pre-NU-Facebook celebrity...

My first step towards fame. Here goes:
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Note to reader: Although I really enjoy bacon, I am not a huge brunch person. Therefore, I have made this a dinner party.

At least the swelling was subsiding. I had never known a dinner party to be so physical. Oprah Winfrey, of all people to strike me in the face, was last on my list.
            “Ribs?! I am insulted,” exclaimed the richest woman in America, “Just because I’m black, you think this has to be a barbecue?”
            “I simply really enjoy barbecue sauce,” I tried to explain. Try to explain something to Oprah. Do it. Maybe she appears superfluously understanding on her talk-show, but in real life, she is a force to be reckoned with.
            If I could not convince one of the two ladies, Oprah or Condi Rice, to run in 2008, the future of our nation was in grave danger. Unfortunately, neither of the ladies was budging, not even after I had served my grandmother’s world-famous oatmeal raisin cookies. When the cookies can’t convince, it is not worth convincing. Surrendering, I pushed aside my plans for the government’s future, gave up my pursuit of the talk show host’s nomination, and focused on my questioning of the Savior’s enigma.
             “Jesus, would you care for more Apple Cider? I’m pretty sure it is kosher. Do you need to eat kosher foods, or was King of the Jews really just a saying. I never understood what went wrong in that relationship, you and the Jewish people. And do you really hate gay people? The Catholics told me you did. That’s one thing that could destroy our friendship, you see for some time I…”
            “QUIET! My name! You talk so much. Slow down. I did not reschedule my second coming just so you could badger me on the technicalities of Christianity!” Woops. I had clearly upset Jesus. Granted he does have a reason to be upset since his whole world has kind of deviated into a trench of sin, but seriously. I had worked so hard to make this party a success and no son of a god was going to mess that up for me. I simply wanted answers.
            “That’s right baby! You tell him.” Oprah had clearly not understood when I tried to clarify that although some people call her God, they don’t really mean it. However, by some divine power of her own, she had claimed Jesus as her son. Condi, however, was not declared her “sister”, since as Oprah put it, “You do not deserve to be a black woman, following around that sad old white man like some slave. You got to stand UP for yourself girl.” Her lingo was really starting to grow on me. I must be honest. My contact with ethnic people is extremely limited. Besides the few adopted Asian girls at my school, I rarely had the chance to meet anybody of another race.
             I must explain. I attend the whitest school in my county. Living in this city my entire life has not exactly allowed me to diversify the way one would in a larger inner-city school. Unfairly, I have been banished into a life of conformity and monotony. Naturally, I would choose guests for my party who would permit me to broaden my social spectrum. That is exactly why…wait…why is my face wet?
            Oprah had shown Ms. Rice the perfect spitball. My fat lip was rapidly becoming Oprah’s favorite target. For Condi it seemed that the term conservative does not apply to dinner table etiquette. Perhaps she was just targeting the gay kid in some informal demonstration of protecting the sacredness of marriage. Either way, after only hearing about what the strategy is NOT in Iraq, I’m not sure the lady really has her own opinions. What a waste of servings.
            Some point between a diatribe from Christ about the absurdity of him being a white man from the Middle East and Condoleezza’s speech on foreign relations with Iran, I decided that the geographical region of the Middle East is the cause for a lot of confusion. Learning they do not all speak Arabic or necessarily wear turbans, I now realized how sheltered life was gradually becoming. When one only sees pictures of the Taliban in USA Today, there is a general stereotype formed. However, there is an exchange student at my school from Kazakhstan, and she speaks Russian. From Global Studies I knew that Kazakhstan was part of the Soviet Union which is now more commonly deemed Russia, and the world all began to make sense.
            Slowly, I started to realize where I had gone wrong in this dinner party. I was only concerned about one person: myself. I had only served the foods that I wanted to eat without any consideration to what Oprah, Jesus, or Condoleezza would enjoy. The questions I asked were only meant to appease my own stresses about life. Searching to expand my own social status, I had wasted hours with three of the most powerful people known to man. This was no way to go about life. JFK was right, and I was no longer going to ask what others could do for me. Alas, the party was a waste and my day was spent.
            Then, I went to check my myspace and found out that I had five new comments and three new messages. Now I see that day for what it really was: a complete success. Thank Jesus (who is now my friend on myspace).

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Hey Mom, aren't you glad I didn't go to UChicago and become a lawyer like I planned?

2nd place is not 1st, 2nd place is not 1st, SECOND PLACE IS NOT FIRST,

TJB: Making It



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