Hello, Friend. My Name is Melvany

Have you ever wanted to briefly pause the present to reflect on the past? So has NYU senior Melvany (his last name can't be revealed at this point), who, for an entire week, hunkered down in his dormitory, walled off the outside world, and let the words and ideas flow. Whether it's his disciplined approach to brushing his teeth, his skepticism toward page numbers, or his fear - to the point that he will never wear one - of band-aids, Melvany's compulsiveness is clear from the onset. As he considers his adolescence, Melvany recalls the senselessness of high school, the highlight of which was playing MASH and helping his friends lie to their parents, and why he often dreams of attacking his childhood dentist, who he thinks might have been his great uncle. A talented basketball player, there’s also Melvany's long road trip to play in a basketball tournament—only to find out his sneakers are missing. Melvany's basketball career continues into college but ends during the last game of his freshman season as he sits at the end of the bench writing a poem. Off the court and into the classroom, his college years expose the demoralizing three-hour lecture hall, the difficulties that come with a Spanish teacher who is very, very attractive, and the omnipresence during final exams of self-diagnosed ADD and self-prescribed Adderall. From adolescence to college, the sublimely philosophical to the daily grind, Melvany constantly calls it as he sees it - a spade is a spade, a giraffe is a donkey - and opens up a pool of calming perspective into which readers will do a splash-free pencil jump.