Eva Jaber ‘28 (she/her) is a prospective English or international relations major. She is a member of the Cleftomaniacs, an a cappella group, an ESL tutor, and hopes to encourage peace-minded advocacy on campus. Contact her at ehjaber@wm.edu.
The views expressed in the article are the author’s own.
Let me tell you a story. Feb. 2, our favorite lil rodent, Punxsutawney Phil, crawled out of his hole in the dirt and looked at our big, beautiful, crumbling world. Our lil man (I will not call him a groundhog, because that is mean. He is not a hog. If anything, he is a grounddawg.) opened his uncomfortably wide-set eyes to check for his shadow, and in that moment he determined the fate of Eva’s Apple #4.
I know I haven’t finished my story yet, but I’m stopping here for a second. “I’m confused,” you say. “Is Eva being experimental?” Yes, dear reader, I am. This is a special stream of consciousness edition of Eva’s Apple, because I’ve decided that this campus doesn’t get nearly enough insight into my thoughts. It was at this moment in my writing process that I decided to watch the video of our grounddawg seeing his shadow, so I could describe it with charming accuracy. Instead, however, I got bored and decided to watch a video that had a more clickbait-y thumbnail with the words “The legend of the immortal Punxsutawney Phil” pasted over an image of some dude holding our buddy, Phil, up like Simba. This video, with only 7,000 views and a whopping nine likes at the moment I write, pops fun text onto the screen to bouncy piano music while simultaneously alleging that Punxsutawney Phil is a 125-year-old rodent who drinks a special groundhog elixir that adds seven years onto his life with every sip. Such a striking lie brings up memories of my own experience with whimsical deceit.
Flashback time. When I was a young girl, I had a tadpole that I called Apple and my brother called Freddy and my sister also called Apple, which made my brother an Orwellian minority of one and thus insane. Apple unfortunately passed away, but my mom, a master of deception, told me she brought him to a pond near our house where he could swim with his froggy friends. And, you know what? I believed her. Just like all these Pennsylvanians living in and around Punxsutawney probably believe the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club and the lies they tell about the mortality of Phil. And, you know what else? It is my conviction that we have the right to believe these lies of service. It is a privilege to be the recipient of benevolent disinformation. I fondly remembered Apple throughout my childhood. Apple lived on because I believed he did.
And, legitimately, only as I reread this part to determine whether I should cut it for word count do I realize that this flashback to my brief stint as a tadpole guardian foreshadowed my mortal purpose: the Eva’s Apple advice column. Thus, this column now has a title with a triple entendre. It always bothered me that “double entendre” is a commonly used phrase when entendre has three syllables and therefore does not phonetically illustrate the modifying adjective of “double.” I’ve fixed it now. In one sense, the name of this column is a biblical allusion to the fruit of knowledge. In another sense, it refers to an anatomical feature of the thyroid cartilage that protects our vocal cords because you know your girl is partial to a monologue. In a newly-unlocked third sense, it commemorates my late tadpole, Apple, whose untimely end taught me the beauty of imagination. I carry on his legacy through my column, hoping to give you all a glimpse of a more imaginative world through my memories and with my words.
Are you crying? I bet you’re crying. Whoop whoop. Someone give me a Pulitzer.
I appreciate the vulnerability, but please cut the waterworks so we can get back to the task at hand. I haven’t even given you the question for this week yet, which is as follows:
What is the best winter arc?
I had to read up on what a winter arc was before selecting this as my question for the sake of proving an important point. From what I understand, this is a term that emerged last year to describe a sort of melodramatic, gym-oriented New Year’s resolution, except it’s confined to the winter time. Perhaps you’re disappointed in my lack of internet knowledge. I admit that, while I am chronically online, I really only run in circles that deal with “Shark Tank” and the “Love is Blind” universe. Out of a little insecurity and an impressive amount of wit, I decided to answer this question with the groundhog story. Because you see, dear question-asker, when Punxatawney Phil emerged on Groundhog’s Day, the dude saw his own shadow. And EVEN WITH SIX MORE WEEKS OF WINTER, the frickin’ season ended March 20. Your question was sent in March 21. You are wasting my time with ill-timed seasonal garbage. I am not answering your question. Try again next winter.
In other news, I am now a licensed reseller of groundhog elixir on campus! Venmo me a couple thousand dollars, and I’ll take you to Wawa to show you where you can purchase your very own bottle. Coming in flavors like Glacier Freeze, Riptide Rush and Lemon Lime, the pursuit of immortality has never been so refreshing! To the skeptics out there, it might look like Gatorade, but it’s not. Every time a person stops believing, one of the complete fakers that the Punxatawney Phil Groundhog Club claims is the real guy sheds a tear for your jaded soul. My business is very much real and absolutely thriving. It was not established to take advantage of my peers or to practice how much profit margin I can make on a bottle of Gatorade in preparation for my inevitable “Shark Tank” side quest. I am the real deal. The big G on the front stands for grounddawg.
