I decided to do something recently which is very rare for a college student...clean my house. The crap had finally gotten so bad around the old place that I was simply tired of wading through dirty dishes and five week old dirty laundry just to get to the shower in the morning. What finally woke me up to the fact that I desperately needed to clean was that even my dog Ace wouldn't sleep on the floor because it was so dirty. I'd wake up and find him out on the couch in the living room with a look on his face which I could only imagine was him comparing me to some member of the swine family. The problem is finding the time. I don't enjoy being a pig, but somehow no matter how hard I try to keep everything clean, it usually ends up it eventually gets as dirty or dirtier than before. Thus, the inevitable question: what's the point?
It was when I made my way to the overflowing closet that I found a box which brought me down memory lane. Inside were all the trophies that I had won during my grade school years. Chess club, soccer, swim team...you name it, it was there. The swim trophies always made me laugh a little because they were gender specific. Us guys got a gold plated swimmer who was about ready to dive into the water. This was always amusing because the trophy seemed slightly more anatomically correct than amy trophy every should. The girls were given a female trophy which was essentially the male version with boobs. Yep, a gold plated girl with aftermarket boobs and a large bulge in the Speedo: a true San Fransisco swimmer.
 Believe it or not, this is a golf trophy. Trophy-casters are the dirtiest people alive!
Trophies are a funny thing because when you get them you are usually ecstatic. A major accomplishment in your life commemorated by a large hunk of plastic and gold leaf. Then, they sit on your self where you display them proudly for a few months, but then become ashamed of them because they have decided to proudly display how dusty your room has become. Eager to hide the filth in which you live, you either shine them and the cycle continues, or you do what I did a few years ago and box them away until one ill-fated afternoon when you rediscover them. They are also tricky because once you do rediscover them you don't know what to do with them. You can't give them away: they have your name on them. And would you really want your name associated with a metallic transvestite swimmer? Therefore, since I'm stuck for now I simply pushed them to the back of the shelf and promised myself that I would deal with them when I moved again, but not one minute before that. Maybe I could melt them down and make them into something functional, like a trophy ashtray or something? |
