Would You Like To Delve Into the Mystery That Is Shaunacy?

September 5, 2007

Dear God/Buddha/Allah/Whatever you’re calling yourself these days,

As my first order of business, I’d like to declare that this is in no way a declaration of faith. That being said, please don’t smite me. You are merely my vessel for a rant on the world as a whole. I can’t very well send a letter to the world, now can I? How would they read it? Where would I send it? No, this is the better way.

To start off, kudos God: being alive can be pretty cool beans. But before I go into the whole “thanks I’m kind of digging life” section, let’s discuss my beefs. Or, as ASB would prefer me to say, let’s go over the plus pluses.

So, what’s up with world hunger? That doesn’t seem very kind of you. Genocide? AIDS? What the heck God, what the heck? Are you the kid who holds up the magnifying glass and lights all the poor ants on fire? Is world peace really too much to ask? And don’t even get me started on why mayonnaise exists. Tell me, who decided that was a good idea? These things seem to be the work of a malicious, callous creature—not the benevolent father figure people keep insisting you are. Now, granted, I’ll give you that global warming was our fault, but still; a little help from the all knowing one, your divineness, your high holiness, your grace, your super-deity-tasticness, would be much appreciated.

Furthermore, why did Arrested Development get cancelled? It was genius. Do you hate genius, or does the American public hate genius?

If I might ask, why are boys so gosh darn silly? I’m going to blame that one on you no matter what. Hormones—I mean, whose fault is that? Must we deal with that continually fickle reminder of our onerous existence, acne? Isn’t growing up painful enough without it? Why must you test us so? Will I be less awkward when I’m old, or is that just part of my natural personality?

What purpose does Honors Chemistry serve in the world, other than torturing young, idealistic minds into broken shells of overachievers? What is the answer to number 19 on my physics homework?

Why are early mornings so completely painful? Is hell a never ending cycle of early mornings and breakfasts of eggs smothered in mayonnaise eaten while doing geometry problems?

Will Myspace destroy the world? Are you on Facebook?

Since when is Jesus a “homeboy”? Hypothetically, if I were to claim him as “my homeboy,” would that earn me points in your book or damn me forever?

Is there a heaven? Did Gandhi get into it? Because frankly, I think I’ll give up on that whole going to heaven thing if I have to sit there with all those crazy Christians and no Gandhi. Is death as crappy as it sounds? Will I even make it out of high school alive?

Why is there so much pressure to succeed? Is being successful really all it’s cracked up to be? Will I get into college? Will I be happy? Will life work itself out? Does true love actually exist, or is it just another human security blanket myth?

Why has anyone who ever inspired me prematurely absented themselves from my life? I mean sure, it seems like it should happen once, but really, isn’t 3 times just a little excessive? Is 3 my magic number as far as abandonment issues go? If you’ll recall, 3 of my best friends also moved. Indeed, though, this is in the past and I myself have moved on as well. Perhaps a more germane question to ask is why do I get along least with the friends I claim to be closest to?

Last of all, why is it that I seem to have such bad luck? Is this your way of making me some wonderfully strong person in the face of what isn’t really adversity? Or am I just a complete whiner blind to the reprimands of a deity fed up with blasphemy and a lifetime of irreverence?

On that note, I shall discontinue this contumacious descant. It’s grateful time!

Thank you for my family. They have a delightful sense of humor and are crazier in a much more fun way than some of my friends’ families. Sometimes I wonder though—was I beamed down from a spaceship, or am I actually related to the people who claim me?

Thank you for my dogs; most of the time, I like them better than anyone else. Perhaps it’s escaped your notice, though, that Coal has fleas. If you could take care of that in a timely manner I would appreciate it.

Thank you for my friends, who are consistently hilarious and eternally entertaining. Thank you for all the late night phone calls, group projects, study sessions, and the social gatherings which are not exciting enough to be parties but are referred to by that misnomer nonetheless. Thank you for Apples to Apples—without it we would not have anything to do at social gatherings. Thank you for that certain person who asked to be included here. Without her my life wouldn’t have that pizzazz that comes along with complete confusion and unnecessary but amusing complication. You know who they are, if indeed you’re as omniscient as you claim to be. Thank you especially for those people who call me up out of the blue and say, “Hey, I want to spend time with you!”

Thank you for memory. Thank you for the reminder of summers past, of old friends, vacations and inside jokes. Try to keep the Alzheimer’s from destroying that, will you?

Thank you for giving me a brain. Fear not, someday I plan on using it.

Thank you for all the delightful movies that have been created. Even with the AIDS, you can’t be too bad of a guy if you created those that brought us Harold and Maude.

Thank you for conditioner. Shampooing without it just isn’t the same, now is it? What brand do you use? Do you have some sort of ethereal shampoo, or do you no longer need to bathe once you’re in heaven?

Thank you for sleep. I’m digging it, even if I’m losing it by writing this.

Thank you for making this year more enjoyable than last year. (If you couldn’t tell, this one is a thank you in advance sort of thing.)

Thank you for summer vacation. It is possibly the most beautiful thing in the world. Why oh why must it be so short?

Thank you for creativity. Thank you for music: the never ending array of beautiful sounds that I can choose from or create myself. Thank you for words; thank you for writing; thank you for imagination and dreams.

Thank you for placing me in a time and place where I can write an utterly blasphemous letter and not fear for my head.

On an ending note, in the book of life, does our version have 20 chapters or 21? Is there any hope for the world? Moreover, is there any hope for me?

   

Semi-respectfully,

Shaunacy Ferro