Candor and a Higer Education (or at least the Possibility of one...)

There's that word again: "candor."

I'm kind of sick of it. It's not that truthfulness, or as I like to think of it, truthiness, bothers me, it's that...it's kind of frightening.

Of course, it's situational, for example, when the barista (a rather attractive girl) brings two free drinks to me in one day because "I messed this one up." or "I made extra, whoops." I'm glad for her honesty. Had she just smiled and walked away I could have spent the next three weeks mooning over her and wondering what exactly these drinks meant. Does she like me? Should I like her? How do I bring her free drinks?

However, when my mother was honest about giving me Christmas gifts because of the social morays and the religious establishment that require her to dote upon her children, well I could have done without that. (And did, my mother is an absolute doll, and would never say that. But if she had that would have really sucked.)

Now to the point: To speak with candor, I am afraid. Not in that pull the sheets up over my head, hide behind my mother's skirts kind of way. Not even in the go buy a shotgun kind of way. But in that, freeze in your tracks, unsure of what to do next, kind of way.

You see, this week has seen me sign up for the GRE (short for: oh my God, I Really have to get moving with my life Exam.) and begin researching what I want to go to school for.

So far I've come up with:
Journalism: Because I don't want a real job, and I figure I can just do this, but have credentials.
Communications: Because not enough schools have Journalism, and I don't want a real job, and I figure I can...
Political Science: Because I hate myself.
Underwater Basket Weaving: It's better than open-air basket weaving any day of the week, yo.
Scriptwriting: Because I want to be popular with people my mother would hate.
Womens Studies: Someone has to understand women. (Right?)

I really only got anywhere with researching the Journalism and or Communications schools, and I was fascinated but what I found: I'm ridiculously under qualified. (You see, candor is scary.)

But, on a high note, the schools that offer these programs (outside of Plain Jane UCF) are in really awesome places.

New York University offers programs in Writing and Mass Communications // Media Relations for people who are much smarter and wealthier than I am.

New Orleans University offers a Journalism and Communications for people who are much more fun than I am.

The University of Nevada, Las Vegas offers a top ranked Communications school for people with much more self-discipline than I have.

The University of Alabama has a (reportedly) great program for people that like Alabama.

England...well apparently every school in England offers a Journalism Masters, because America doesn't and the Brits love thumbing their collective noses at us.

Newcastle University, Australia: Where I want to go because anything with Newcastle in the name has to be amazing.

Now I just have to write a letter of purpose to any and all of these schools. Which could be really fascinating. What am I going to say? "I like trying to make people laugh. But I cant guarantee it." I think that line is missing a certain academic quality.

This is what I imagine my letter would look like, if I were to be truthful.

Dear Dean of Students, and or Head of the Journalism Department,

My name is David Start and I want to be a humorist. Seeing as you offer no classes in this subject, I would very much like to get into your school's illustrious program so I can sit next to a stronger (in regards to academics because, I mean, come on.) student and give his or her project a running commentary and wrap up any and all assignments with an in-depth comedic analysis, while also doggedly trying to make any and all of my prospective Professors chuckle and or kick me out of his or her class due to my (hopefully funny) antics.

Please let me into your school. I promise I will only waste twenty to twenty-two hours of every day on frivolous ideas and awkwardly timed jokes. (I won't even post all of these on the internet, because that is perilously close to work.)

If you don't accept me, could you please send this letter, my resume and my transcripts over to the Head of the Political Science department?

If I can't learn to get paid for my humorous take on the World, I'd really love to get paid sit around and talk shit about politicians all day. (That's called a Political Correspondent or Analyst, I believe.)

Thank you for your time,
David Start

P.S. Enclosed in this letter is a whoopie cushion and a webcam. You know what to do.

P.P.S. If you are possibly a Dean and or Head of Department, even a Professor of a school I may or may not attend, I absolutely do not feel this way about obtaining a higher education.

P.P.P.S. Unless you feel that way, then I totally do.