I recently read a surprising and utterly shocking article on a very reputable Web site containing sordid details of Donny Osmond’s disgustingly immoral interview with a national magazine. As an atheist, realist, alternative rock-listening Jew, I personally felt betrayed by my Mormon, ever-cheery hero when I learned of the despicable things he did as a youth.
Apparently, behind the scenes of the infamously blasphemous “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” Donny’s raging ego led him to steal the “Dreamcoat,” – which was worth several thousand dollars.
As if this weren’t bad enough, at age 14 during a fit of teenage-hormonal rebellion, he ran throughout his hotel room overturning beds, spraying shaving cream in places where, quite frankly, shaving cream shouldn’t go – you know, the mirror – and, brace yourselves for this – clogging the toilet. After reading about this last offense, I nearly fainted. Donny Osmond shits?
I pondered this article for quite some time, wondering how I could ever move on from the loss of my personal Jesus. If Donny Osmond stole a coat, didn’t know how to use a plunger and once put a quarter in a slot machine – yes, you read that correctly, Donny Osmond once gambled – who could I look to for moral guidance? The Reverend Billy Graham? Mariah Carey? My parents?
Who could I turn to? What could I do? I wandered campus looking for some kind of answer, for some kind of way to appease the inner firestorm that this had invoked. I walked past the clock tower, Wilson Commons and the Frat Quad. I wondered what meaning any of these landmarks had if Donny Osmond once put shaving cream in a hotel sock drawer?
As I pulled open the doors to enter Todd Union, a thought suddenly hit me. Who am I to judge Donny Osmond when my life is as much of a lie as his? That’s when I realized what I had to do – write this article.
Loyal readers, friends and future bosses alike – I need to get several things off my chest. “Hi, I’m Leah, and I’m not what you think I am.” So, here goes nothing.
I know that in these articles, and in my daily life, I come off as being a proper, upright, moral individual, but in truth, I have done many bad things in my life. Just like Donny Osmond.
I didn’t used to be bad, but London changed me. I am now a real, Donny Osmond-style, bad ass. Sometimes, I get so out of control I scare myself. When I think back on all the terrible things I did in London, it makes me die a little inside.
One night in particular sticks out in my mind, a bad night, full of terrible deeds.
My friends and I were walking back to our flat after a night of lecherous drunken revelry, when I took the gum out of my mouth and well, rather than throwing it in a trashcan, I threw it on the ground. I know. It’s just what I did. I can’t explain why. The urge just came over me, and before I knew it, the gum was on the ground. God knows what happened after that. Two, maybe even three people might have stepped in it, and I know from personal experience, gum can be very tricky to get out of the soles of your shoes, let alone clothing. I mean what if it got on someone’s pant leg, or what if they were drunk and decided to sit down on the sidewalk and sat right on it, effectively, ruining a nice pair of pants. And that’s just it, they would be ruined. No one wants to take the time to scrape gum off of clothing with an ice cube. I have to live with that for the rest of my life.
Maybe I should talk about something else.
Well, now that I’m getting this all out in the open, I should also talk about that time when I was trashed in St. Andrews. After finally realizing that Prince William, who attends the local university, might not show up to save us from our drunken ignominy, my friend mentioned that she wanted to buy a pack of cigarettes.
“Oh my God, yes!” I shouted, knowing full well that I wanted one – given my long history of taking drags on other people’s cigarettes when drunk and never inhaling. “Are you serious?” she asked. “I have never been so serious about anything in my life,” I answered. “But that’s a big deal, you’re committing yourself to a life-long addiction tonight.” I turned to my friend, looked her as straight in the eye as the alcohol would allow me to, and said in my best serious voice, “I could totally go for committing myself to a life-long addiction tonight.”
So, we went to the store and bought a pack of cigarettes, which is even more wonderful to do in the United Kingdom than in the U.S., given that all the packs always sport wonderful messages on the front like, “Smoking Kills Babies.”
This time when smoking, I actually did inhale, and then choked so hard on the smoke that I passed the cigarette right back. Alright, I’ve said it. I’m a cheat, a liar and just a bad person. Just like Donny Osmond. Damn you, Donny Osmond. Look at what I’ve come to! I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore, I have to go.
Kaminsky can be reached at lkaminsky@campustimes.org.
