Reality Hunger

Last year,  David Shields visited my college campus as part of an annual writing series. While attending his lecture, I tried to be an attentive audience member. I scribbled notes in my Moleskin, jotted quotes, and wrote down a few of his publications. After fifteen minutes, my notes turned to doodles. Shields' dry and pompous personality was too much to bear. The more he spoke, the more I wanted to gorge his eyes out of their sockets. He was a complete and utter asshole. When his lecture ended, I thought I was done with Shields forever. But, when I saw his name while prosing the library shelf, curiosity got the best of me. I wanted to know what Shields' was like as a writer and if the whole "asshole" bit was an attempt to seem intellectual and untouchable by the common man. I ended up taking his book, "Reality Hunger," home with me.

"Reality Hunger" is Shield's manifesto about modern culture's desire to experience reality through artistic media. As I read through each lettered section and numbered manifest, I developed a bipolar relationship with Shields. At times I loved him. I wrote down his little quotes about art evolving, telling stories, embracing an artistic life, and making interesting choices. I laughed out loud and praised this man. Then, there were other times I hated Shields, his bluntness and cocky nature. He wrote exactly what he thought, no matter how rude or outrageous. He hates novels due to their "predictability." He names certain writers incompetent. He believes nonfiction rules the literary world. Not to mention his frequent use of the "I am better than you" tone. I wanted to punch him in the face, purely for being a dick.

But, despite my loathing for the evil-pessimistic side of Shields, I have to give the man some credit. He is living his manifesto. He writes what he thinks without filter. He challenges people to defend their opinions. He doesn't make excuses. He values intelligence and beauty. Maybe that is why I hate him so much. He pushes boundaries in ways I cannot, or think I cannot because I am young and inexperienced. Though I have my apprehensions and uncertainties about many things in the world, I will say this: "Reality Hunger" is inspirational and eye-opening. I praise the book unconditionally. However, I still think David Shields is an asshole.

VBS

The twenty-first century woman has a wide variety of contraceptive options  at her fingertips. From spermacides to prescription drugs, modern birth control is all fun without the hassle. At least, that is what the drug companies want you to believe. Contraceptives and birth control are not full-proof. There is always a chance that something can go wrong. After all, these products are man made and therefore imperfect. Though many sources claim abstinence is the only sure-fire way to prevent unwanted pregnancy, these sources are misinformed. Rather, there is another method of birth control that proves to be one hundred percent effective and that, of course, is VBS.

VBS. Vacation Bible School. This week-long program has shared the Holy Gosple with universal youth since the late 1890's. In addition to sharing the good news, VBS programs implement Bible themed games, crafts, and songs within a three hour chunk, five days a week. The best part of VBS is the price. Because the program is a church sponsored event, enrollment is usually free or relatively low cost. This means one thing for parents: cheap babysitting. As a result of  this once-every-summer-deal, VBS programs flourish. Children flock to churches like a wild swarm of locusts. That is, a wild, savage swarm of locusts.

With one hundred pudding smeared faces under one sacred roof, things become a living hell for the suckers registerd as volunteers. Children bounce off the walls, loudly sound their battle cries, and run up and down the hallways without tire. The children mirror the fictional castaways from Lord of the Flies with an added edge of ADHD. After spending fifteen minutes with  a group, volunteers are drained. Children lose their "cute" appeal and transform into demons. Everything becomes a chaotic blur of bright colors and LA Gear light up shoes. Baby teeth turn to fangs. Eventually, prayers for comas are whispered as little, sweaty bodies hang from grown-up limbs. Time ticks slowly. Minutes last for eternity.

When all hope seems lost, the blessed time comes. Twelve o'clock. Noon. Depature. The tykes are wrangled, wresteled into their appropriate booster seats, and whisked away by parents who never worked a VBS. Waving goodbye to the caravan of minivans, volunteers cross their legs and prepare for a chaste life. There is no need for shots, YAZ, or the patch. Volunteer at a VBS and you'll be good for life.