Sticky situations for Hogan

By Pat Hogan
Collegian Editor
April 12, 2006

On a ledge above my desk, the clock in the shape of the Mets Big Apple says its 10:25, but it’s said that for about three years, so I know it’s not telling the truth. It’s 1:30 in the morning, and I only have seven of the required 15 pages finished for a paper on the legal reforms of Henry II.

The rational thing to do right now would be to batten down the hatches and churn out the remainder of the paper without delay. I might even be able to get a few hours of sleep that way, however I would do so at the expense of my sanity.

Reflexively, I open the desk drawer on my right. In this drawer are all the different doo-dads and thingamabobs that have accrued over the course of four years in college. Most of them are stationary related items that I bought from the school bookstore for a project and never needed again.

For example, during my sophomore year I made a big oak tag billboard promoting the anime club and needed to buy some Elmer’s brand glue from the bookstore, so as a result I have a three-quarters full container of glue just sitting in the drawer. At 1:30 a.m., with eight pages left to write, I take it out and start putting a thin coat of glue over my left hand. When finished, I walk around in a circle in my room, fanning my hand back and forth.

My roommate Pat walks by on his way to brush his teeth. Pat’s a computer science major and doesn’t need to worry about the legal reforms of Henry II, but he is worried about why I’m walking in a circle fanning my hand in the air. I show him my now-laminated hand and explain to him that I had covered it in glue, and that shaking my hand around was the best way to get it to dry.

Sitting back down at my desk, I grab the middle of my left palm in between my thumb and index fingernail. Pulling outwards, I begin to peel off a thin, white layer of dried glue like a reptile shedding its skin. It’s a very creepy, but relaxing feeling. By the time I’m complete (if I applied the glue correctly), I now have a white translucent outline of my hands.

This ritual may seem odd, even downright disturbing for some, but it’s one of the allowances I make in my daily work schedule to help keep myself sane. Without these minor eccentricies, I’m fairly certain Dr. Stow would have received less information on the legal reforms of Henry II, and a lot more about why green is my favorite color.

hoganp1@lasalle.edu