I was about 10 years old when I decided that I wanted to write comedy for TV. The whole plan was based on my obsession with the Dick Van Dyke show, and whenever I watched it I seriously wanted that dude's life. Think of it: He had a dishy wife and a swanky house with a sunken living room. And when he went to "work," all he did was lay on the couch or throw darts at the wall while coming up with funny jokes. He worked with a wacky doofus and a sassy broad, and after work the three of them went to cocktail parties and ate hors d'oevres and played charades. It seemed like bliss to me.

I wrote a lot of things as a kid and into my teenage years, but I never took my dream of comedy writing seriously, because even though I knew that people actually did that (someone had to) I had no idea that it was something that I personally could have pursued. I lacked guidance. So eventually, the idea faded, and by the time I reached high school I'd pretty much forgotten about it, or at least dismissed it as I did my previous plans to become the next Lone Ranger or my dream of acquiring a bionic arm.

Still, I liked writing and words and sentences and all of that, so I majored in English. And that's where I found out three very important truths.

1) In college, they don't teach you how to write funny, or even allow you to explore your inner dipshit. In fact, they downright frown upon it.
2) There is nothing more serious than a 20-year-old English major.
3) When those serious English majors graduate, they become serious professors of English. And the cycle continues.

I spent my college years writing about serious issues, which is utterly asinine since I'd never done anything serious in my life. But there was no way around it. The slightest mention of a potato-salad-eating contest or a three-pack of Hanes briefs would evoke sighs and eye-rolling. Clearly, I was never going to be a "major" writer, unlike the lot of my peers who would all go on to write great works of staggering importance.

I remember the feeling of liberation I felt when I graduated and started writing like myself again. It took awhile to ease back into it, but as soon as I realized I didn't have an audience other than myself, I was free to read Woody Allen books and write about drunken Shriners once again.

In short, thanks for indulging me, Internet. I know you don't pay me, but still you deserve a Ph.D. in awesome.

Now to work on that bionic arm...