My first semester in college was great, but honestly a little more mundane than I expected. While I tried LSD for the first time from a stranger I met outside of Assets in Dupont, and there was that one time at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, things just haven’t lived up to the depictions of adult life from my childhood.

Specifically, Maurice Sendak’s Caldecott Medal winning Where the Wild Things Are really has been a seminal work in forming my expectations for living away from my parents. In the story, our hero Max, through sheer willpower, determination, most of all a desire to get wild, uses telekinesis to teleport from his bedroom to a mysterious jungle. There, he essentially gets super wild, eventually rising to the official title of “King of the Wild Things”. While unfortunately, Max was unable to maintain the throne for long, due to a mysterious disease dubbed “homesickness”, he cemented his legacy as one of the wildest things to ever get wild. After my mother read this book to me for the first time at age five, I vowed to find a strength even greater than Max’s, and become the next great King of the Wild Things. Fourteen years later, I am still getting wilder every single day.

So with that, I am formally asking you, my Georgetown and greater District community: “Where the wild things at?” Where be you creatures of the night, who dwell in far-off lands (like maybe even as far as LXR) only to arise at reverse happy hour at Chürch Hall on Thursdays? Where be you horned beasts, who conceal your never-fit-in bodies in working people’s clothes, yet let your hairy pelt flourish at SigEp x Kappa mixers? If you be out there, my fellow wild things, I call upon you to give me a sign. Next Saturday at midnight, howl at the full moon in homage to Hyperion and Theia and their blessed daughter, Selene, goddess of the moon, She who calls upon us to get wild, and She for whom we get wild for.

Really guys, help a kid out… where the wild things at 😉 ;)??????

Yours,

Squiggle Tha Kid