The Opposite of Oprah's Favorite Things

Andrew informed me a couple of nights ago that I may have an issue with hiding my emotional reactions to things. As he was talking about something that I wasn't really paying attention to/didn't care about, I turned around once the sound of his voice had went away and responded, Neat. At first, when I started using the word, it was a very obvious way of showing distaste toward something that I obviously didn't care for, but now it has almost become a way to passively say I want you to be quiet now. It's not like I mean to be so blatantly obvious with my emotions; I suppose it's a blessing and a curse. No one in a relationship with me will ever feel like they're not loved, but it also means that they'll never not know when I'm super annoyed or pissed off. Needless to say, I never play poker, couldn't play any game that involved lying, and probably wouldn't fare too well in a game of Survivor. I'm just kind of an open book in that way.
And today on the way home from work, I may or may not have been wiping tears away as I'm ranting on the phone to my dad about how my life is eventually going to fall apart and I'm either A) going to be a vagrant or B) work in food service for the rest of my life, and he stopped me in the middle of my emotional tirade to say Justin, you talk a lot. I mean, more than anyone I've ever heard. You should try listening to me sometimes. I apologized and immediately tried to follow up with an explanation and he responded, You're still not listening. Touche, Wendell. Touche, indeed. And he's right. I'm self-admittedly not a good listener, and the ironic part of it is that I get personal gratification when people open up to me, but because I'm so horrible at listening, I rarely ever catch when people do. In my first week here, Andrew was trying to open up to me about his life back home, and I was casually texting one of my friends about something that was surely completely irrelevant at the time. Andrew, being kind of blunt when he wants to be, turns around and said, I'm trying to be open with you right now, and you're not paying attention. And what I should take from that is that I need to focus on other people in a more sincere way, but I think the major message that I usually leave with is that I have too many words for everyone's own good. When you pair less than discrete emotional reactions with not listening, it makes me wonder why I would ever choose to go into public relations.
But there are very few times that I'm left without words; speechless times for Justin are few and far between, but with Wednesday being the year anniversary of my own Senior Convocation, I was reminded of one of the most speechless times I've ever had in my entire life. Convocation is kind of a giant deal at Maryville College because you know that when you hear the bagpipes, the end is near. All of a sudden, you are attached with everyone else in your class, regardless of who had slept with whom, who had defecated under the stairwell and caused the entire building to get fined, or what kind of crazy roommate you had. Under the sound of Scottish music, everyone becomes officially one.
We filed into the Clayton Center, waiting on the speech that was surely going to have an impact that would shake us all. And of course, like Convocation usually works, you find your friends and you cling to them. It's one of the last times you can be together before the real world tears you apart from each other. My friends and I all sat together, waiting for the words of Dr. Bogart to inspire us throughout the rest of our senior year, and for the most part, it was inspiring. Like any other convocation, his words spoke of beginnings and endings, how everything at Maryville College was improving (despite the harsh faculty cuts and budget deficits), and how the future was ours for the taking. Convocation is a time to welcome the new freshman because they're tiny and frail and kind of silly, and for the seniors, it's a time of recognition and for saying goodbye. But then it happened: the moment.
While we were sitting there, appreciating all the kind words that were being said, everything was okay. And of course there was me, without my emotional filter, taking pride in all the kind things that were being said. Then there was a sudden shift in conversation; if it weren't already completely obvious from previous posts, there were those of us in fraternities/sororities/secret societies on campus, and then there were those of us who weren't. Most of the time, the issue was not spoken about... kind of like an inconvenient mole on someone's face or an affair in someone's marriage. So it was quite a surprise when Dr. Bogart abruptly shifted in the middle of Convocation to the topic of secret societies: I challenge today's students to do something different by choosing not to join the secret societies. First, they are illegal... second, they are divisive, creating artificial differences among students rather than looking to create community. He then went on to compare the choir to fraternities and sororities, which is largely true and maybe even a bit more exclusive, but by that time, he had lost the crowd. He tried to bring us back by name dropping the Gay Straight Alliance, followed by some Bible verses (an odd combination for a Southern college), but it was just too late. Dr. Bogart had broken the number one rule of Fight Club: don't talk about Fight Club.
There was an obvious divide in the crowd: some students couldn't bare but to reveal their devilish grins, feeling as if the words had somehow brought us all to justice. It was as if we were practicing witchcraft and had been called out in front of the school... but not Salem Witch Trial witches... more like The Craft. And then for the rest of us, we all just kind of sat there with our mouths gaped open, in a style that I believe mimics the exact opposite reaction that most middle aged women have during the "Oprah's Favorite Things" episode. And then, in the middle of all that is me with a slightly debilitated expression, glancing from side to side to see if there was some mechanism in our seats that would explode if we attempted to escape, you know, Hunger Games style. I'm surprised my tongue didn't fall out of my mouth, and if Dr. Bogart had caught a glimpse of my face during his speech, he probably would have burst out laughing. Ellison, who for all intensive purposes was on the side of the administration (from here forth referred to as "The Capitol"), leaned over and said Sorry, brah. But no words at that point could shake my expression, which is best equated to a hybrid of Meryl Streep from The Devil Wears Prada and Sean Penn from I Am Sam.
I honestly can't remember much of what was said at Convocation other than that. There was something about the Bible and a neat (damn it, there went the sincerity) story from it, but I can't seem to recall what it was. I hear Bible and my mind shifts to Christian, which goes to Baptist, which goes to New Hopewell Baptist church, which goes to how the youth group used to raise their hands in the air when we'd sing Lord, I Lift Your Name on High, and then I start humming the song in a really enthusiastic tone. But unless there was something about how to get a PR firm to call you back after you've submitted three resumes to them or how to pay rent without actually giving anyone money, I don't think I missed out on too much. I try to listen when it's most important, and when I am listening, you'll know exactly how I'm feeling about what is being said.