Monday, November 24, 1997
Self-proclaimed freak discloses his life story
COLUMN:
From beetles to bikers, from Spice Girls to convalescent homes,
columnist examines the mind of a true nutball  himself
I wasn’t going to do one. I had vowed not to write a single
column this quarter, simply because I had run out of stupid little
pop groups to make fun of (that’s not true … I haven’t talked
about Aqua yet). But since my three A&E co-editors are all way
too busy, I’m stepping up to the plate.
I can only imagine what you may think of A&E columnists. So
far, they’ve included Stephanie, our Anime addict; Nerissa, this
trendy little mall-hopper with the Gap on the brain; Cheryl, a
"Rent"-head (one cult I won’t be pledging allegiance to anytime
soon) with nothing else better to do with her life than wait 12
hours for some grunge-lite musical, and dear Vanessa, whose
alcoholic eccentricity is beyond written English. Clearly, this
represents the true downward spiral that has become our society.
A&E has plunged itself into freakdom just for you.
So, what makes me worthy of working at A&E here at the Daily
Bruin? Surely I must have certain traits and personality quirks
that put me above and beyond my co-editors. People have always said
I was special … an indescribable "special" editor. I won’t
disagree with that. You must be wondering what my claim to fame is.
Well, I have several, making me the true life of A&E. Here’s
just a few reasons why I too am a freak of nature, whoring myself
off at The Bruin just so you can blow off lecture.
Let’s take drugs, for instance. I started inhaling wart remover
recently. After I saw "Trainspotting," I kicked my six-year heroin
habit. It wasn’t really because of the money or the danger aspect
to it, but the thought of one day resorting to heroin suppositories
just freaked me out. So I needed a new high. But what was there to
pick? Cocaine is just plain played out. Marijuana is just a little
too softcore for my tastes. It’s like renting foreign-made NC-17
movies. Taking speed would just be redundant and futile. The
question bothered me for a few months, and then I noticed this bump
on my finger. Ever since then, Dr. Scholl’s has been my Mr.
Tambourine Man.
I also take part in self-mutilation. My favorite game to play
with my roommates is called Please Hammer Don’t Hurt ‘Em. We take
turns nailing body parts to the coffee table. The first player who
so much as whimpers loses, and the game goes until the last man is
standing silent. The winner gets free beer, except me. I can’t
drink beer, so I get a six-pack of Yoohoo.
There are my pet beetles. They live in an old Doc Martens
shoebox, with little holes poked on the top. They have play value
beyond imagination. Their names are Liam and Noel, after the
singers of Oasis. They fight like a couple of female prison
inmates. When it’s dinnertime, I bring over some leafy lettuce and
ask them, "Are my little bitches hungry? How hungry are ya?"
I recently finished a gig on the Las Vegas Strip. Every night at
the Stratosphere, I played Scary Spice in their new Spice Girls
revue. It was worth it just to get my tongue pierced. And after
every show, Posh Spice and I would go up to the top of the tower
and make out. After 15 minutes, we’d hock loogies off the top
observation deck. Those were fun days, and I was making good money.
More than what I make at The Bruin.
I’m currently talking with a major movie studio to direct "Wild
America 2: Prison Life." Honest! It stars Hanson, Jonathan Taylor
Thomas, reprising his old role, and Mr. T. I’m trying to get
Michael Jackson to do a cameo, but his biggest complaint is that
Hanson looks too much like little girls.
Sports are a big part of my life. My tetherball trophies say it
all. And if you’re looking for a badminton opponent, you could do
worse.
I have a thing for biker babes. And I don’t mean those really
young and voluptuous ones. I like the 40-and-over crowd. Oh baby!
There’s this one; her name is Rhonda. Whenever we do it, she wears
her leather Harley jacket and tickles my naked body with its
dangling tassels. Mom doesn’t approve of her much, though.
My roommates and I play drinking games to "Party of Five." Every
time a cast member cries, someone has to drink up. Every time
Charlie cries, you have to drink three shots. Lately, we’re passing
out midway in the show.
Sometimes my friends and I turn on the radio, hit KOST-FM
(103.5) and flick the "Karaoke" switch on those fun-filled Friday
nights. My specialty is Air Supply, but my bud Dave does a pretty
mean James Taylor. And believe me, I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen
rain, but I’ve never heard a better rendition of "You’ve Got a
Friend."
I’m currently on this prescription that helps me not to touch
myself whenever I watch "The Little Mermaid." It makes me really
hyper, though, which is why I stay away from crank. I tend to run
around in circles, and even bang my head into doors like "Rainman."
Sometimes, I’ll urinate in a flask and store it in the
refrigerator. I’m doing this condensation experiment. I’m hoping
for a grant of some sort. I called my apartment, and my roommate
said something from USC came in the mail.
Every Tuesday night, I go to the Midnight Screening Room of that
convalescent home on Melrose Avenue. Last week, we saw "The Evening
Star," but next week is a special treat. They’re renting "Cocoon 2"
for us. Sometimes, Rhonda comes with me. I used to also bring over
popcorn for everyone, but the nurses won’t allow it anymore because
it’s not good for the patients’ hemorrhoids.
And I also belong to the Andrew Lloyd Webber fan club. I’m
currently learning how to rollerblade for "Starlight Express"
month. I even bought a pair of cords three sizes too big so I’ll
blend in with those little preteen bastards that skate all over
campus. It’s a strength-in-numbers thing.
Well, that’s me in a nutshell, rounding out the freakdom of
A&E. And, hey, if this is nothing compared to your own life,
come and apply next winter. Because, hey, we freaks got to stick
together.
Mike Prevatt is a fourth-year history student currently in
search of his own freak niche.