Distant Aunt:             So, what are you majoring in?
You (cheerfully):        English! [or fill in your own Liberal Arts major here]
Distant Aunt:             English? What are you going to do with that – be a barista??
You:                            . . . .         

“English makes me happy”

I did not come to a Liberal Arts College knowing what I would major in. I came knowing I needed to explore things outside my comfort zone. My first selection of classes was entirely exploratory, with an emphasis on those General Education courses which would not require an early wake-up.

I have wanted to bore my name into the world with writing since the sixth grade. English classes gave me the opportunity to watch how the old literary masters did. My first semester college-level English course was at the 300 level, African American Women’s Literature. It plunged me into the deep end of critical race theory and a lot of postmodern philosophy. I almost drowned in it but learned to balance the overwhelming new information with what I put together from high school. Now Postmodern Philosophy is my absolute favorite.

I love those late nights wandering around campus thinking. English taught me how to free my head in that way. The cool night air, the loneliness, wind on the leaves have a strange way of soothing my strained mind. When an idea for what to write is so close, sometimes freedom is all I need. I ask the same question twenty times over and I hurdle the intellectual blocks. That is a spiritual experience, and even though it sometimes yields concessions, it always helps me write something better.

English also gives me an excuse to brand myself in the job market. In an increasingly competitive field like Data Science, a brand distinguishes individual candidates. This is the crossover between the two fields I want to explore, especially because language is an ever-evolving thing. How close could we get to teaching a computer to read?

Beware reading this tale of woe, as for even the strongest mortal souls, it might prove too frightening. On nights like this, when the downside turns up and fright’s chance embiggens, one can never be too cautious regarding tales such as these. A tale of fright and spookery, so scary that your pants will dematerialize by the thread and flee in one million directions!

Doctor Eggbert, to most of his patients, was an ordinary doctor. His office contained a typical medical bed, a collection of magazines, and a few colorful paintings of sailboats. Doctor Eggbert was my doctor for a while, as well as my brothers.

The story starts when my twin, let’s call him Sam, came down with the flu the day before last Halloween. Poor Sam had to drive down to the hospital for a checkup on the 30th. As he told it, the office was practically littered with candy temptations. He always had a sweet tooth, so this naturally appealed to him. I remember Sam used to budget out 5 dollars of his weekly allowance for candy, and he never showed any signs of changing that habit. I can only imagine that Eggbert’s office felt like a free lunch.

Sam bit off more than he could chew. After that visit, he spent the night stumbling and vomiting from the sheer amount of candy he ate, both at the office and stuffed into his pockets. Though, like any good addict, that didn’t stop him from popping another saltwater taffy onto his tongue. Sam described the feeling as being seasick when he called me on Halloween morning. I returned the obvious answer to that, that he ate too much candy. Stubborn Sam insisted on this being a development from the flu and went back to see Doctor Eggbert that night.

I called Sam two days later to no reply. I thought he ghosted me, after something rude I said On All Hallow’s Eve. I was day-drinking to celebrate and thought that I may have let my tongue get away from me. Sam didn’t have anybody close to him I could call either, other than his employer, and I did not want to bother his work life. So I went on with my own life.

Two weeks later, I came down with the flu, too, so made an appointment with doctor Eggbert. His office was as sterile and bright as I had remembered, though the collection of magazines caught my attention. Beauty magazines advertised witchy beauty solutions alongside crease-wrinkled skin, drooping jowls, sunken eyes, and full black irises. I thought I glanced at one magazine recommending ‘eye of newt’ for something, but my eyes could not catch it again. I swear a travel magazine offered tickets to hell.

Then, I looked at the paintings of small sailboats catching wind from the sunset-evening sky. The red and black color schemes were calming, as odd as it was that these boats were not piloted. I was drawn to the one painting which did have a pilot, with two arms raised as if celebrating a victory. His boat, despite the red sky in the background, was not a silhouette. You could see his dirty blonde hair, almost identical to mine, his button up-shirt, and his khakis. I got up to take a closer look.

That pose was not victory, I realized. It was crying out for help. But what sort of help would this person need? Before I could answer that question, my blood ran cold. My heart stopped beating and my breath ceased.

That was Sam in the picture.

I left the office that instant without a second thought. To this day, I do not know what happened to Sam, or how that painting got there. I have called him a few more times since, with no success. If you ever meet a Doctor Eggbert out there, please, I beg of you, stay away!

Since I first watched it with my family, Arrested Development has defined my sense of humor and my worldview.

The thesis of the show is this: Wealth has the potential to arrest the emotional development of a family.

The show premises a family coming from immense capital wealth, once on top of the world, now forced into the middle class by a series of criminal investigations against the patriarch, George Bluth. Much of the humor – and much of the message – comes from the family’s shocking ineptitude as they learn the world doesn’t revolve around them anymore.

Freud would love Tobias Funke. After marrying into the Bluth family shortly after college, Tobias’ needs are all met by his wife’s family wealth. Now that it is gone, Tobias is forced to become a breadwinner. Though in episode one, he declares that he wants to act, despite having an unused degree in psychology.

Tobias’ desire to be an actor is set on by an incidental boat ride, which he attends only after a ridiculous set of unlikely circumstances. He mistakes a gay protest group for a Bluth party and feels a ‘bond’ with his new companions. Following popular stereotypes of 2003, the unnamed gay characters are members of various theaters. Tobias displaces his desire to be with these men with a desire to be an actor.

His wife sees better than he can. As Tobias attempts to confess his desire, Lindsay completes the thought for him. “You’re gay.”