I recently decided that the Music Administration Building is my favorite building on campus. As a tour guide and Evanston native, I am intimately familiar with most structures that grace the presence of the Evanston campus, so this epiphany is kind of a big deal.
Why, you may ask? Because, dear readers, the piano cadences and operatic voices emanating from its walls allow me to pretend, at least temporarily, that I too am a talented prodigy instead of an inartistic life form.
I will not say that I am completely talentless. In fact, I pride myself on semi-decent piano skills and years of adolescent violin lessons, no matter how many I ditched due to a mysterious virus that somehow seemed to infect me every Wednesday at 5:30 p.m.
However, I am simply not on par with what seems like the majority of ever-impressive students at the institution that about 8,000 of us call home. I suffer through walks to the library with my talented friends as they belt perfectly harmonized versions of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” I basically sound like this guy compared to my musical counterparts, if — God forbid — he were to feature Queen in his next solo.
I wouldn’t be able to fib about who stole the cookies from the cookie jar, yet alone star in any of the productions in which it seems students are getting cast left and right. The last number I can remember taking part in was a satirical portrayal of Trading Spaces in my eighth grade All School Show. Note the italicized nature of “all” — that means it was required, kiddies. I could barely do Paige Davis, bubbly as a hookah and all, back when I was 14, and that’s saying something.
I’m a Latin nerd with no hidden theatrical talent. I’m not a Chemistry major who has a knack for playing a mad saxophone solo. I’m not a Comparative Literature major who can sing like Aretha. I’ll come right out and say it: hell, I’m basically talentless.
And that’s okay.
Once I graduate from what feels like a continuous American Idol audition in 2012, I might even be what some may call normal. Very few academically gifted people outside the radius of Sheridan Road also have the chutzpah (and I’m not even Jewish) to claim expertise towards a musical instrument as well. Not being able to double-fist chemical engineering and staccatos cannot and will not take away from my future success in the so-called real world post-Northwestern. Not every CEO, editor-in-chief or principal includes perfectly sung show tunes in their shower singing repertoire.
I may not have skills that will put my name in the iTunes library or in glittering, dazzling lights in a theater marquee, but I do have skills that will keep me happy, albeit humble and probably poor. I have high aspirations for my life that do not involve such alleged talent, and I have faith that those dreams will take me farther in life than any YouTube sensation can.
The world needs some talentless scum like me to keep it under control. If each and every one of us was as gifted as Northwestern students, I truly think Planet Earth either might explode, or at least be rid of some highly entertaining reality TV. So call me the patron saint of reality TV if you please — I’m just doing my job.