Don't say 'gimme a break' if you can't pick up the pieces

I must say spring break could not come at a better time.

After enduring the wicked bastard children of Mother Nature - that's January and February to you and me - and that final hell week of paper upon paper and midterm upon midterm, most college students wear an expression of complete and utter fatigue usually reserved for war veterans or Pizza Bob employees.

Chris Kula Unsung Ann Arbor

Of course, when they return from their week-long period of below-the-border debauchery, these same students then sport the glassy-eyed countenance of one who has oft worshipped at the base of the porcelain goddess. And since I personally didn't want to risk the possibility of waking up in a Mexican jail with a pounding headache and a fresh tattoo on some undisclosed body part, I decided to forgo the tropical revelry and instead check out Alternative Spring Break this year.

Unfortunately, I waited a little too long before inquiring about this commendable program, because when I finally put in my application, there were no more spots available for trips like volunteering in Chicago nursing homes or building houses with Habitat for Humanity in rural Georgia. As it turned out, the only options still open to me certainly lived up to their "alternative" billing.

For example, the folks at ASB were desperate for students to help out with their "Mullet Care Outreach," a program designed to help teach underprivileged Southern men how to properly manage their "short on top, long in the back" haircuts. When I patiently explained I did not drive a Wrangler, didn't particularly care for the taste of Wild Turkey and had never owned an Alan Jackson recording, the ASB organizers decided I would probably be better suited for a different agenda.

Given my passion for music, "Aging Rocker Assistance" seemed like a good bet. Its premise was the student's desire to spend a week as a personal aide to a soon-to-be decrepit rock musician, the likes of which included Rolling Stones drummer Charlie Watts, every surviving member of the Beach Boys and Joey from N'Sync (you're pushing 30, pal, and everybody knows it). But after I was told by the ASB director that free-wheelin' Bob Dylan's needs had advanced "far beyond the scope of modern science," I gave up on that idea.

Then there was a social research project based in Toronto that sounded kind of cool at first. It broke down like this:

ASB: Okay, here's the story: We're going to pick seven strangers and have them live in a house where their lives will be taped.

Me: Oh, so I imagine you want to find out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real?

ASB: Exactly, it'll be just like the real world ... only in Toronto! What do you think?

Me: (pause) Yeah, that sounds really fucking lame.

After dismissing that vapid concept for a second-rate cable TV show, I allowed as how I was an English major and perhaps I could put my knowledge of the language to good use by teaching it to newly-arrived foreign immigrants. The ASB director looked through her papers and said most of the language tutors had already been assigned, but if I was willing, I could act as a dialect coach to native Long Islanders. I laughed, shook my head and said, "Sorry, ma'am, but I'm no miracle-worker."

Along the same lines, she said university officials in Columbus, Ohio were hosting a program for ASB student tutors, but I declined due to the fact that I don't work well with animals.

One particularly odd trip involved volunteering at an Italian restaurant in the Bronx, which I found to be a rather strange theme for an alternative spring break. While describing the program, the director kept winking and saying things like "The restaurant is family owned and operated," and "You might have to take out the trash every now and then." I actually thought about it, but when she started talking about "those rat bastard Feds, thinking they're Elliot Ness" or something to that effect, I had to respectfully and graciously decline, gratzi.

Growing a little frustrated, I asked the ASB director, "Don't you have anything that involves flying an unauthorized jet plane into an unnamed Middle Eastern nation to rescue my military commander/father who's been taken hostage? Perhaps with an older black man in the Lou Gossett, Jr. mold acting as my mentor?"

She said no.

"Well, how about searching for pirate's treasure with a ragtag group of children in order to save our neighborhood from being turned into a country club?"

No again.

"Counseling high school students during their Saturday detention period? Helping to bring together a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess and a criminal into some sort of, if you will, breakfast club?"

"Mr. Kula," she said, "now you're just wasting my time with these highly idealized scenarios. If all you're looking for is a good story, why don't you just sit down, use your imagination and write one? Better yet, why don't you take all these hypothetical spring break plans running around your head and put them into column form? Who knows, it might be kind of funny - but only kind of."

-Chris Kula can be reached at ckula@umich.edu and would love to say that he's going to New Orleans with the girls of Alpha Phi next week - but then, he'd love to say a lot of things that aren't necessarily true. Have a good break, folks!