Illustration by Lauren Niederagang

Confessions of fact and fiction

The obvious hidden truth behind this talk show-type family confessional is that God knows none of us actually want to reveal anything to our parents. For most, no big deal ÷ they just don't tell their parents about the issue. However, when both your parents work on the UA campus, as mine do, it's a little more difficult.

Therefore, in an effort to mystify relatives and readers alike, I present to you my Confession-of-Things-I-May-or-May-Not-Have-Done-This-Semester.

Since arriving at school this year, I have done some, all, or none of the following: used a fake ID, slept on someone's floor, gotten a ticket for going around a pointless barricade on Fourth Avenue and had to attend traffic school all day on a Saturday, during which I got in trouble for falling asleep, dyed my hair with pink streaks,

Caitlin Hall

bit the head off a live chicken, got drunk, got high, been laid, nearly been tear gassed, backed my car into a tree, added piercing number eight to my collection, accidentally bit into a piece of pepperoni, gambled, swore, took caffeine pills, got caught naked on the 50-yard-line of the football stadium, got into a fist fight, joined the anarchist underground, tried and failed to be a vegan, made fake pit passes ÷ that worked surprisingly well ÷ for the Goldfinger concert, attempted to destroy my conservative editor's hard drive, returned a movie four weeks late, crowd surfed, got smashed with my editors, organized subversive action against the government, kicked a puppy and slept on the floor of an airport ÷ twice.

Oh, and one more thing ÷ the whole vegetarian thing is just a farce because I like the way it sounds. You'd be surprised how often I sneak a nice, juicy hunk of bacon into one of my so-called "meatless" recipes.

Caitlin Hall is a biochemistry and philosophy sophomore. She can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.

Jason Baran

She made me nuts

This is a tough one. Most of the things I've allegedly done are those I remember least well. Memories of my undergraduate career are hazy at best. On countless mornings ÷ afternoons, really ÷ I awoke half-clothed, curled up in the fetal position in the flower garden in front of the Administration building clutching a Barbara Streisand CD, completely unaware of how I came to be there.

Many of these mornings, I would find myself adorned with a new tattoo ÷ a portrait of Lyndon Johnson, a skull with bleeding eye-sockets and the Greenpeace logo, complete with teary-eyed baby seal. One painful night, I had Jim Anderson's face branded on my arm ÷ but I get fifty cents off drinks for life.

My life was in a downward, behind-the-music-esque spiral. I never told anyone because I couldn't admit I had a problem. I was consumed by Barbara Streisand's sensuous, soulful melodies. How could the siren from Brooklyn lead me astray?

Luckily, my friends cornered me in front of the TCC Box Office as I set up a tent ÷ four months in advance ÷ to buy tickets for her show.

They gave me the Yentil intervention that saved my life. I'm not proud of my addiction, but my life is better as a recovering Babs-aholic.

If you believe that, I'll tell you another. The fact of the matter is that the thing I'm least proud of during my college years is my inactivity.

I didn't do anything as an undergrad, much less anything that could be considered embarrassing.

Think about it: I had to make up a story because I didn't have any real experience in the realm of embarrassment.

One's first six years of college is the time to become involved in activities around town. As Chef says, "There's a time and place for everything ÷ it's called college."

I missed that advice, and that's embarrassing.

Jason Baran is a public administration and policy graduate student. He can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.

Jason Winsky

Everything is possible with parents

Dear Mom and Dad: This being family weekend, I thought I'd write to you about how I'm doing so far at this fine institution. So I have a confession to make: I'm doing all right.

You might be expecting to hear about wild parties, skipping classes and staying up late. As much as I might like to say I'm doing these things, you'd sooner find me studying or at work than at a party.

College, however, is still college. There are times for fun and times for work. This being my third year at the UA, I have some different perspectives than when I started. Most people, I have found, work as well as go to school. These people tend to be far more responsible and achieve more scholastically than those who don't work. I'd like to say that it's because having a job makes students more responsible with a better work ethic, but I also know that students who work just don't have the time to screw around.

You might also be surprised when I tell you that the spirit of protest is still alive and well on my campus as it was in your generation. Of course, Mom, you were a bookworm in college, and Dad, you worked for campus police at your university, so you guys probably didn't go to a lot of protests. You'll be happy to know I don't either.

You'll be glad to know I'm getting a good education (at least as far as I can tell). College is a lot more expensive now than it was in your time. I'm worried that the generation after me will suffer even higher tuition rates. I'm even more worried that without higher tuition rates, the university can't survive.

But I also know that there will always be parents out there like you guys who will help their kids through college. Thanks, Mom and Dad!

Jason Winsky is a political science junior. He can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.

Tylor Brand

What I didn't do

Here's my confession. I can't deny some of the flagrant debauchery I've committed this year any longer, so I bare my soul to you, gentle reader.

I was fined $500 by some fascist cop bastard, who objected to my front tire being on the handicap access lane line in my apartment complex (true).

I was viciously beaten by police after they mistakenly identified me as, and I quote, "That swag-happy son of a bitch Burt Reynolds." After they realized their error, they pepper-sprayed me and shot out my kneecaps, and warned me not to do it again.

I shot JFK.

I walked up to Jimi Hendrix and said, "Hey man, you got a light?" He turned to me and said, "I like Doritos." This is strange, because he is dead.

I became involved in a tawdry incident involving seven people of three genders, a large Asian herd animal, trained snakes, 17 newts dipped in motor oil and a bagpipe.

On the weekend, I dress up like a Beefeater, feign a cockney accent and ask people at the mall if I can guard their palace.

I invented trout.

I won the lottery and spent all $2 million paying homeless people to do Richard Nixon impersonations while wearing a bonnet, leotard and studded bitch boots (the homeless people).

After ingesting several cans of oven cleanser, I ascended to a clouded area and engaged in an epic three-year battle against Oprah. I was hurled back to Earth where I woke up naked with scalp lacerations and a necktie attached to my ankle.

I'm pregnant with Milton Berle's bastard child.

Every now and then I wake up and my roommate is sitting next to my bed, staring at me with my retainer in his mouth and wearing nothing but Saran Wrap. Weird.

Finally, I did a nude thrash metal rendition of "Piano Man", causing Billy Joel to spin in his grave. This is strange as he is not actually dead yet.

Tylor Brand is a philosophy sophomore. He can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.