**Inspired by the dedication and bios in my psychology textbook. Names have been changed.**

Dedicated to my friend and colleague Drew Johnson

-Jeffrey B. Isaacs[1]

Most people thought Jeff and Drew both resented titles, but neither Jeff nor Drew ever saw it that way.

“The thing is,” Jeff once tried to explain at his East Campus suite’s party in the ‘80s, “that what we see is never truly as we see it. We go through life calling things as we perceive them, not acknowledging, for example, the work of our eyes nor tricks of light!” The Barnard student he was talking at nodded. Jeff noticed her aqua-lined, hazel-flecked eyes dart above his shoulder to the guy behind him. “So when we call someone ‘friend,’ for example, we know that that’s true from our point of view, but not necessarily from both sides. That other person may not agree. That’s the best metaphor I can think of…” Jeff smiled. “As an English major, maybe you’d be able to do better?”

She made eye contact with Jeff and smiled politely back, as if to say, “Yes, I could do better than a young Steve Buscemi doppelganger.”

Drew’s luck was not much better at the University of Washington. His eye contact was always deemed creepy. Drew tended to shrug it off – he saw no reason to settle down in college anyway.

By the time both Jeff and Drew had acquired their respective undergraduate degrees, they both chose to pursue a PhD at the University of Michigan. Jeff joked to his acquaintances that instead of experimenting in college, he chose to pursue a graduate degree in experimental psychology. Drew could not make this joke because he did indeed study experimental psychology in college, although he had made variations of this joke in the past.

Between Jeff and Drew, the joke totaled two well-meaning chuckles and one well-meaning smirk.

Drew was neither short nor tall. His hair was light brown then, and he had much more of it, although he never let it grow too long. He was intensely thoughtful though rarely quiet. His irises were grey when he wore his grey shirts, and blue when he wore his blue shirts. When he wore his black suit with a white shirt, his iris pigmentation was anybody’s guess.

Drew wore the suit to make a good impression on his potential roommate and mostly so that he would have something to talk about regarding perception. Allison had said this guy studied engineering and psychology, but Drew decided to skip the research on robots and rely on their common ground.

The two met in a café on Bonisteel Blvd. Both noticed that the other smelled of awkward, hotel-brand, “spring fresh” body wash. Jeff had decided to wear his brain tie, the blue one with the inaccurate but charming map of the cerebral cortex.

“Hello,” said Drew, extending his hand. “I’m Drew. Pleasure to meet you.” Continue reading →

This piece was part of a project I did for a UCL class on the history of the book. I wanted to explore how much people’s lives impact the texts they annotate — I also annotated a book of poems from the London Underground as the characters I created. Spelling and grammar were according to the Brits. Here are some of my favourite stories from the project:

Story 2: Tim Robbins

Tim hoped the reflection in the Tube doors wasn’t accurate. Was his tie really so crooked? Should he have put on a tie to begin with?

His flat mate, Stan, had told him not to. Said he’d look like a business wanker. ‘But I am a business wanker’, Tim insisted. Stan said he saw no reason to have her learn that on the first date.

Jessa had said the tie was a good move. It made him look ‘So cute!’ she said, though apparently not cute enough for Jessa.

Cologne was probably a bad move as well. Jessa said this girl works in a gallery in Brixton. Do girls who work in Brixton like cologne?

Tim wasn’t sweating but he felt like he was. He felt his tie tightening around his neck as the car filled up at Waterloo. The Banker Wanker, that’s what this girl will call him when she talks to Jessa. Jessa will just laugh and say, ‘He’s so cute, though!’

Tim pulled at his tie. Is cute meant to be an insult nowadays?

He took a drink from his water bottle, and of course it went down the wrong pipe. A stranger with blue hair asked if he was okay. Her voice was a bit soft, kind of like Jessa’s. Tim caught his breath. ‘Yeah, I’m er, I’m fine’, he said, closing his water bottle. He looked down. ‘Hey’, he said, ‘does this tie make me look like a banker wanker?’

The stranger laughed. ‘Maybe a bit, but in an okay way. It’s kind of cute’. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small white leaflet (‘Well of course she’s crazy’, Tim figured) and said ‘Hey, would you mind helping me out with something?’

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I’ve always wanted to be able to tell people that I work in an aquarium.

Not because I like fish or anything. To be honest, I haven’t been to the aquarium since a class trip in fifth grade, and that started with a series of unfortunate hair-pullings between Amy Fildner and me and ended with gum in Amy Fildner’s hair. I did what I needed to clinch my rightful victory. Mr. Hasser disagreed.

I didn’t get to see much of the aquarium.

No, I don’t work in an aquarium. But I’d tell them about being flooded by light, light reflected through water, and serenity, and things I can control. I would tell them I wave to a whale when I get to work, and then maybe wave to a shark. I wouldn’t tell them I feed the shark, because I like to stay alive in my fantasies.

I would tell them I’m an astronaut if they’d believe me. I’d tell them I was the first woman on the moon, and I’d accuse them of being sexists when they don’t look that impressed. I would tell them that the night before my last trip, my husband intertwined his fingers in mine and said he would miss me.

“I’ll be back soon,” I would tell them I’d said. I would tell them I kissed him softly and whispered, “See that up there? If you just can’t make it, you know where to find me.” There would be a wink in there. I would tell them there was a handsome astronaut in the International Space Station that tried to woo me by giving me a flower, or a packet of space mashed potatoes, or something. But I stayed faithful because I love my author/dancer/doctor husband.

I would tell them all of that, but no one would believe it. I pant when I walk down the stairs, and, more often than not, I trip on my way down too. I also don’t have a wedding ring, or a tan line where a ring would have been.

Sometimes I want to tell them I’m the CEO—or CPO, or maybe even CPEFQO—of a business. It’s a hedge fund in New York, I’d say, one of the biggest hedge funds in the world. I would blush when I’d tell them that my cookbook, Balancing Success and Diets, just made it to the top of the New York Times bestseller list, to show how humbled I am. I would tell them that my assistant spilled coffee on my dry cleaning yesterday, but I forgave him because the mistakes I made built me up to be the person I am now.

I’d base the details of the spill on a stint last October when I accidentally poured a cup of coffee on a customer. The customer was a real asshole, and she wasn’t so happy about it. I would have responded better, especially if it was my assistant who spilled coffee on me, and if I was a CPEFQO.

“One day,” I’d tell them I told my assistant, “You’ll understand what I mean.”

I still remember the way James eyed me down last Monday as he moved the Kit Kat across the desk.

“What are you willing to offer?” He raised an eyebrow and squinted his eyes.

My hands were already sticky from the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had for lunch, and the moisture developing in my palms didn’t help. Don’t show him, I thought. You got this.

I glared into his dark blue eyes and refused to look at the chocolate bar. “How do I know I can trust you?” I asked.

James tilted his head back, cackled, then stopped abruptly and leaned in. “My product is some of the finest this class has ever seen. Heck, the finest this 4th grade has ever seen!” He paused. “So really, what choice do you have?”

“I have plenty,” I assured, though he and I knew I had none. I stole a glance at the rainbow clock on the wall. Recess was over and we both sensed it. Panting and chatty, our competitors filed into the room and took their seats.

“Well then,” he snickered as he sat back in his chair, “get back to me when those options run out.”

I dug my nails into the plastic baggie of cut up apples in my hand, took out my favorite Powerpuff Girls folder, and did my best not to show how upset I was when my nail polish came off or even look in his direction. With one last bit of guts, right as Mrs. Greener was about to start, I turned to him and whispered, “not gonna happen.”

I really hope he didn’t notice I clenched my apples into sauce.
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Slightly abridged version, written for a final paper, based on Lucian’s “The True History.”

Welcome to Barnard! My name is Tova, and I’ll be your tour guide today! It’s hard to believe that it’s been a whole two years since I’ve been in your place: eager to find an academic institution that would find me worthy, eager to find the perfect place to accumulate knowledge and experience. So eager, in fact, that I spent many a sleepless night studying for the SATs, working on supplementary essays, and staring at my computer screen in a stress coma. If I’m not mistaken, that young lady over there is falling asleep just as I talk! Don’t worry, bud. If you’re not up for this tour, please go and take a nap. There’s a really comfy couch on the third floor of that building over there.

In fact, I’m going to give all of you a break. Whether this is your first college tour or your fiftieth, I’m sure you’ve all heard the same El Dorado spiels of grassy lawns and peppy clubs. Some places even create their own unique forms of deceit! I won’t go on calling out other colleges, but I might as well mention the University of Pennsylvania, who told you that there’s plenty to do in the city of Philadelphia; or Boston University, who told you that despite the huge campus, everyone knows each other by name; or the University of Maryland, which claims it houses a bowling alley. Obviously, none of this is possible. But it makes for a hell of a tour, so Barnard followed suit. For the past sixty days, I’ve given countless tours spewing the same old bullshit you’ve all heard since you engaged in this downward spiral that is college apps. I’m not so shocked by the corruption of the tours as much as I am by the credulity of all the suckers I’ve brought around. So, you know what? I can use a break too! Let’s be honest with each other, shall we? I’m going to tell you, right here, right now, that I have no intention whatsoever of telling the truth throughout our time together. This should be fun. Let’s get started!
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Pros:

• Stays up late just like you
• Likes the same things as you
• Caring
• Good listener
• Never more talented than you
• Always picks your side
• Always wants you on imaginary team
• Judgmental looks are invisible
• You never have to sit alone at the movies

Cons:

• Keeps you up late
• Friends sit on him sometimes “by accident”
• Friends are clearly jealous
• Easily offended
• Lacks dimension
• Doesn’t tie his shoes according to the Shulchan Aruch
• Insists the Twilight series has value as literature
• Inability to save you a seat
• You need to explain to other people why you are not actually sitting alone at the movies
• Other people’s judgmental looks are not invisible
• Prefers the term “reality-challenged”