Postmodern Condition: I Keep Showing Up to Class Even Though it’s Fucking Boring
Photo by Devraj kwsiK / CC0
October 18, 2021 at 11:11 am
Living in a postmodern society has made us lose sight of who we truly are. And you know what? The fact that I show up to class everyday just to wallow in boredom only proves my point. I have so many innate dreams, fantasies that could come to fruition if not for the fact that this social-construct-of-a-classroom has imprisoned me, holding me back from what really makes me happy. Look — I’m not asking for much. All I want is to make a million dollars, go to Vegas, blow all my money on The Big Six, begpack my way to the Champs-Élysées, relax in a garde manger and gain an acquired taste for charcuterie, learn to play the guitar and some other exotic instrument, take two strokes off my disc golf game, drive a car with chrome plating, powerlift a significant amount of weight, publish a rose-tinted autobiography as well as a fictional novel that follows a spunky, can-do self-insert, visit Mars, learn Esperanto and Dvorak, appear on late-night talk shows, beat my high score on the Google Chrome dinosaur game, embrace turntablism, eat sushi prepared by Jiro Ono (while watching the eponymous documentary), encounter an undiscovered species, meet Jeff Koons and get him to admit he’s full of shit, pick up gardening, ride the London Eye, vicariously steal the Declaration of Independence from the comfort of my own living room, publish a journal article about a new disease, become a visionary, catch the next rerun of “Friends,” move into Fallingwater, rage against the machine, scam someone on the other side of the world out of their life savings, snap a cute pic for my Slack profile, secure massive passive income, master the art of meditation, try archery, finish Infinite Jest, shave a minute off my 400 medley relay time, train a dog to shake my hand, dream lucidly, learn street magic, install cybernetic implants, regret it, install regular implants, start a virtual band similar to Gorillaz but better, own an oh-so-fluffy snow-white kitty-cat, gaslight someone into thinking I climbed Mt. Everest, practice public speaking, pen a satirical news article, foster a close, tight-knit community of like-minded individuals, consume salt, sugar, and fat in varying amounts, protect my home from intruders, get insulted in the Facebook comments, read course material, roll out a line of microbrews and have people call them “whimsical and mischievous,” picture animals and funny faces in the clouds, transfer to Wharton, ride the subway with sunglasses and a trench coat on, own a subway company, wield language like a cudgel, get my extremely unique idea for a holographic user interface patented, go clubbing, write a long list of things I want to accomplish in life, get paranoid around gargoyles, release an invasive species into the Everglades and document how it affects the local ecosystem, see the Great Pyramid of Giza online, stop biting my nails and sweating like a cartoon character, visit Paris, maintain a horde of succulents, report somebody for sharing their Netflix password, witness a camera obscura in action, fabricate a language and convince those around me to start using it without warning or explanation, wear a golden crown, update my blog, give hope to all of the dreamers of the world, mine for crystals, combat misinformation, catch a huge rainbow trout and release it with a wink, finally, after all of these years, eat Silly Putty and Play-Doh, convert someone to Christianity, introspect, ride a private jet onto an aircraft carrier situated on top of a mega-yacht, stream the latest craze, become a household name, show them all, shoot for the moon, fall among the stars, ferment stuff, achieve total dental hygiene nirvana, leave nothing to chance, get the Zuckerberg cut, cure cancer, end world hunger, sit through an opera, cut down on screen time, hydrate, paint something fit for MOMA, improve my skills and paint something fit for the drab corridor of a four-star hotel, party like it’s 1999, earn a Michelin star, release an an intensely personal album, full of strife, adversity, and, somehow, acceptance, see the bigger picture, become the resident handyman, slam-dunk, go skydiving with a GoPro, run a six-minute mile, eat tons of Greek yogurt, build a small cabin out in the woods, get tattooed, hoard money for posterity, ride in a hot air balloon but get bored after the first few minutes of unchanging pastoral landscapes, never say “never,” learn a new vocab word, achieve self-actualization, disprove Freud, mess around with eau de toilette, become a newlywed, dabble in hermeneutics, affect, and epistemology, clown around, prove the unprovability of the Collatz conjecture, go viral, crack jokes, bake sourdough, receive an Erdős number equivalent to my Bacon number, surf the crowd, think different, lord over a hot sauce empire, invest in crypto, get through to somebody, cry on a shoulder and lend my own in turn, become involved in a legal imbroglio concerning copyright infringement and the fair use doctrine, revive chiptune, abide, absolutely slam a Wawa hoagie, get it all out there, walk on thin ice, fit in, facetiously defend Ayn Rand to passers-by on Locust, get a job, jump the shark, give a warm, understanding smile, tilt a pinball machine, raise a barn, make a fashion statement, reap the fruits of hard labor, use AirPennNet for five consecutive minutes without getting booted off, preach perseverance, leave people on read, become a Wikipedia admin and abuse my powers, disrupt someone’s Guinness World Record attempt, christen a boat, forbid forbidding, take selfies, slide down the Split Button statue, join a counter-protest, listen to Huey Lewis and the News, fantasize about football, defrag my hard drive, brew kombucha, develop free, open-source alternatives to the Adobe Creative Suite, construct meaning, delete Facebook, infiltrate Domus, live the American Dream, receive a standing ovation, ride a motorcycle from Bosnia to Bulgaria, spark joy, have a spa day, influence geopolitics with sharp, acerbic commentary and realpolitik perspectives, learn to knit a pot holder, laugh, initiate a DIY project involving plywood and epoxy resin, cry, watch a twister from the roof of a house, go vegan, unplug and unwind, shop for physically garish but conceptually unassuming clothing, play Pokémon GO everyday, lease my first brick-and-mortar location, cut out toxic influences, become accredited, sip Earl Grey tea, read the New York Times, become a Luddite, ask the big questions, become “that girl,” help siblings-in-need with homework, live on a boat for a couple weeks, partake in Mardi Gras, donate to charity, panic, take risks, fend off would-be assailants, secure outstanding reference letters, laugh like Bezos, see the ball drop, drop the ball, start a podcast with a couple of chill, good-natured friends, develop a scrumptious credit score, empty the recycling bin, leave a ten thousand dollar tip, game the system, hire a personal chef, scroll for hours on TikTok, unearth lost etymologies, reconnect with Mother Earth, shoot my shot with an Amazon Alexa, demonstrate proficiency on the Certified Sommelier Examinations, save someone’s life via surgical intervention, take a break, convince myself I actually want to live in NYC, learn how to plate lamb chops, yell into the void, live it up, reject the null hypothesis, imagine there’s no heaven, indulge in the hyperreal, recruit somebody for the cause, increase my citation count, relive the old days, sell out, remember the Oxford comma, watch the sun set between purple mountain majesties, renew my driver’s license, reject bureaucratic red tape, file a noise complaint, say “screw it” and go bowling, set an example, propose a Pigouvian tax, wax philosophical about Baudrillard, become a quirky character in someone else’s story, balance my chakras, pet my dogs, fudge the numbers, be incredulous toward meta-narratives, live in a gingerbread house, spar, symbolically travel through time, become a generally well-liked, down-to-earth guy, study hard, hack the planet, kiss a baby’s forehead, register as an Independent, bulk up, remember the Alamo, manufacture goods, provide services, grasp at the sublime, obtain a religious exemption, debate hot-button topics in bad faith, attain a clean bill of health, set up my children for success, wear a smart, well-cut suit from Hugo Boss, get to the bottom of things, jet ski, express a metaphorical sentiment literally, retire, bungee jump over a ravine, cheat in online chess, get waitlisted, hang up decor, start a conversation, zip along the Autobahn, design the front cover of Bloomberg Businessweek, swallow handful after handful of gummy bears, parse inputs, churn out clickbait, hit rock bottom, meme, prophesize like Nostradamus, count calories, enable two-step verification, boil things down to their essential components, toe the line, offer my seat to an old lady on the bus, employ subterfuge, go goo-goo-eyed for James Joyce, connect with my roots, eliminate mildew and mold, integrate myself into the Internet of Things, become an Olympian, climb the corporate ladder, hold a family reunion, say the things better left unsaid, seek political asylum, fade into obscurity, put a chord change in the bridge, get called a Bolshevik (unironically), crush Advance Registration, tweet, give satisfying smooches, overcome fear and anxiety, drink/consume the ultimate Bloody Mary, initiate a shift in my institution’s culture, follow sports, get involved in clubs, praise the Lord, reach out to friends, smell like a flower, recognize the necessary distinctions, embrace my identity, combine photography, cinematography, and hipsterism, pick out glasses that fit my face type, clap along to the beat, run a marathon, positively impact the world, have a stable, loving, happy family, and become CEO of a Fortune 500 company, but I can’t. Society has truly robbed us of the simple pleasures in life.