My Parade Was Rained Out

For years I have harbored a deep and insatiable need to have the opening riff of Aerosmith's "Walk this Way" as my cell phone ringtone. My wireless provider, Cingular, does not offer it. Perhaps someone in this wide wonderful world of the internet knows from whence I can obtain it. I am prepared to pay any amount of money for this piece of polyphonic perfection.

Well, I have to be honest, I really thought I would be composing this post from the comfort of my Skyhall suite in New York. I'm not.

And I have little interest in discussing the hows and whys. I guess I could bore you with the details of all the time I wasted filling out endless forms, writing essays, and schmoozing up to professors to make sure they had plenty of material with which to write glowing Letters of Recommendation. I could tell you how gratifying it was to receive my admission letter, proof that I had successfully communicated to the admissions staff my merits and aptitude as a student despite my grades, which, while not terrible, were on the mediocre end of the requirement spectrum. Then I could bitch tirelessly about the acute injustice of having the end product of all the aforementioned effort be shat upon by someone who had no knowledge of, nor tried to understand, the work that went into it. But there would be no point in any such diatribe, so I won't bother.

Whatever. It's not the end of the world, so I suppose now would be as good a time as any to stop acting like it is. I thought about deleting the last paragraph of my previous post and just breezing past the whole subject like it never happened, but I want to keep all the details straight for the searing tell-all I plan to publish.