I just found out something pretty cool. No, it’s not that Tel-Reg can be done online or that Condom World accepts convenience points. It’s that BU has a sky diving club. That’s right, you heard me, a club where people jump out of airplanes. Now, I’m sure that everybody is just waiting for me to rattle off a list of reasons why it’s silly to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.
However, you may be surprised that I think it is a pretty good idea (and not just because there’s the possibility that Regis Philban is on the plane). Why? Because sometimes it’s good to take a risk.
Of course, I should clarify that last statement because there are different kinds of risks. There are good risks — y’know, where chance is involved but no permanent damage could be done. Things like trying an extra element in your breakfast omelets, riding the E train or sleeping in class.
And then there are bad risks — these are risks that could potentially get you mugged, expelled or shot by secret police. They include carrying cash on Landsdowne Street, cheating on an exam or TPing John Silber’s house.
Of course, there are probably the nay-sayers out there who think that all risks are inherently bad. That’s risky thinkin’ (Aha! Gotcha!). A lot of you take risks everyday, and you don’t even realize it. Like crossing Comm. Ave. when you don’t have the “walk” sign (just for the record, that’s a bad risk). Even when you jump out of a plane it’s YOU pulling the ripcord. Sure, it may not work but at least you have the power. When you cross the street you have no control over whether or not that guy (and yeah, it’s a guy, because we’re the only ones who would do 90 down Comm. Ave.) is going to hit the brakes or decide to play a game of “hit the slow kid.”
That’s why I don’t eat Easy-Mac (yup, you heard me!). I don’t eat Easy-Mac. Why? Because I don’t like risking my stomach lining and taste buds over a mysterious yellow powder. Have you ever stopped and read the ingredients of Easy-Mac? Well you should because it’s scary. There are words on there the length of my arm with more hyphens than should ever be allowed by law. Of course, all of those ingredients are necessary because it makes the macaroni so “easy,” but still, isn’t it a bit risky to eat something that you’ve never heard of? C’mon, it could be giraffe snot — you don’t know! And that’s just an example; don’t get me started on more complicated stuff like fruit roll-ups. (Can you say “Soilent Green”?)
Nevertheless, risks are a necessary part of life. C’mon, the American Revolution was a risk, but it was a pretty good one (and it certainly paid off a lot better than “Well, it may be a risk, but let’s make them pay more money for their tea. Eh, old chap?”). If those brave people hadn’t taken a risk, we’d all be sitting here today drinking tea with a British accent and our gun laws would be stricter than ever (two out of three ain’t bad).
Want another example? Fine, the Wright Brothers. Talk about a risk — and those guys even had to put up with jackasses who stood out on the field yelling, “Don’t sell the bike shop dumbass” (never heard about the “dumbass” part? Yeah, me neither. But c’mon, if you were watching, you’d call them dumbasses, wouldn’t you? Me too.)
That’s even a risk that people today wouldn’t even contemplate. Not because of the whole trying something new angle, but because of the peer pressure. Seriously, most of us have trouble switching our breakfast cereal without having a friend question us. Do you really think that you’d have the guts to try and build a transmoglifenlar in your spare time (it hasn’t been invented yet, that’s why you haven’t heard of it)? Nah, you’d give up the first time somebody said to you, “So, what the hell is that yak doing in your room? Dumbass.” (NOTE: it may be risky, but I’m assuming that all transmoglifenlars will be yak powered). Oh, and if you think that you’d be able to resist the peer pressure, then just ask yourself one little thing: why do you run in front of Mack trucks to get to class 10 seconds earlier?
So it’s spring, and risks are in the air — and with any luck, soon I’ll be in the air too. Plummeting downward at speeds rivaling those of Comm. Ave. drag-racers, wind in my face nearly ripping my nose off, and wallowing in the excitement that I may or may not die in the next 60 seconds.
Um, actually, maybe I’ll just stay home and invent the transmoglifenlar. Anybody got a yak?
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