Introducing the Bastard Columnist

bastard (bastrd) n.

1.Something that is of irregular, inferior or dubious origin.

2.Vulgar. Slang. A person, especially one who is held to be mean or disagreeable.

columnist (klm-nst, —mst) n.

1. A writer of a column in a publication, such as a newspaper.

Bastard-columnist (jay-bor-bay) n.

1. Persistent failure.

2. Rejected columnist who writes despite contrary advice.

3. Person who runs too much, consumes pennies and offends many.

So what really separates a bonified columnist from, say, someone like myself? Well, they have the comfort of knowing that 800 of their brainchildren will hit the press every seven days. They also have a spectacular pixilated thumbnail photo of themselves next to their creation. Thirdly, they get to replace the standard “perspective” label with witty labels such as: “Mike’s Think Post,” “Sally’s Happy Wordfarm” and “Read Me, Please.” Well, these things are all well and fun for these elite few that we call “columnists.”

As for me, I write numerous submissions without knowing if they will be printed. Then, I arise each day to feverishly dash downstairs to frantically scour the Free Press. When I fail to see my columns, I mope back to my room unbathed and unprinted. I then proceed to take a day off from classes due to sadness further enhancing my already sub-par GPA. Why do I even bother you ask?

It all started, oh, around Jan. 4 at 1:04 a.m. under a three-quarter moon. My friend Fredrik and I were at a party talking about the usual: life, running and ladies. After making a quip about how funny it was that the stick my Mom gave me before college to “beat off all of the ladies” was still in its original wrapping, he slapped me on my back and said: “Maybe it’s the beers talking, but Jay, I think that you could possibly be a possibly a writer good.” He was about three or 13 beers into the night, I forget.

With that compliment, a bottle of jolt and a loaded Mr. T. Pez dispenser, I began my “scriberific” journey. After many hours spent sweating in front of my monitor screaming and cursing, I finally stopped playing Tetris and began to write. About 15 minutes later, the three finest columns that had ever been written had been completed.

Jovially, I took my pieces about writing, Pat Leavy and the School for the Arts down to The Daily Free Press office. I was so confident about my skills that I didn’t even bother to run spell check.

I spent the next three days bragging to my friends about how I would sway the entire campus with my evil written schemes. “I bet we can get the whole school to run the naked mile down Comm. Ave. with us,” I boasted.

Unfortunately the very next day my dreams were dashed like salt on a pretzel. I received a phone call from the Free Press: “Jason, thank you for your submission, but after reviewing your … haha … ahem … writing … we uh … (snicker, snicker) … decided that … (all out laughter) you aren’t what we are looking for in a functioning brain. I mean, columnist.”

Being a real man’s man, I took this rejection and the ensuing offer to be a contributing writer with style and grace. So, two weeks later after the hole in my monitor was repaired, I decided to give writing another try. I sat down with renewed vigor and the intention to utilize spell-check. Then, three days later, the unexpected occurred — I was printed in The Daily Free Press.

It was the happiest moment in my life since picking my nose on “Romper Room” when I was six. At that moment I realized I didn’t need a photo or a snappy headline like “Jay Walking” or “Yo No Se” to get my point across. I could ride the pine until my ass became one with the splinters and still write.

Maybe I will never be a Van Dyke or a Spellman (the latter for the obvious reasons,) but for crying out loud, I can pretend. Sucks to being a real columnist, having a picture, validity and a weekly spot. I don’t need these things. I am a writing reject, and I accept this label with no disillusion. For now, for then and forever, I am the Bastard Columnist. I am the Hunt’s Ketchup of column writing, and I will hold up both hands and flash the number nine proudly — as the unofficial ninth weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press.

[Editor’s Note: Jason Borbet, a junior in the School for the Arts, is an up and coming weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. Stay tuned.]