Bicycling Magazine sent me on a suicide mission that I kind of survived.
I wrote about it in their May issue. Check it out for a story about risk, failure, and goateed angels.
The bestselling "That Book About Harvard" is now available wherever books are sold! Follow the links below so you can buy several hundred copies.
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So I’ve been writing for a number of different publications lately, which has everything to do with a sudden burst of creativity and nothing to do with my publicist saying Eric you need to do this if you want to be rich and famous. Click on the pictures below if you’d like to check out the articles.
Also, I have a short story in the works which I’ll be posting on erickester.com once I’m finished or have given up on it. Finally, I’m working on a new book, so keep your eye out for more information in the near future!
Follow on twitter: @ekester
“Just in time for graduation season, Kester, a writer for collegehumour.com, shares his hilarious and poignant misadventures during his often humiliating first year at Harvard…With self-deprecation and clear eyes, he deftly manages to dispel some of the Harvard mythos and his illusions as he learns to not take his achievements or himself so seriously.” – Publishers Weekly
“Even if you didn’t go to an ultra-competitive school, you will still enjoy this book. Eric does a great job of poking fun at himself, his school and just about everything, without being offensive. It’s a great humor book that would be perfect for any kid who is just entering college. ” – Second Bookshelf on the Right
“This is a very funny memoir. I loved Kester’s writing style. He writes like he’s talking to a friend. There are no bars held. This would be a great book for anyone who likes funny memoirs. It could also be a really funny book for anyone in college or who will be going to college. If the new college students have any fears, Kester will alleviate them by making the college students glad that what happened to Kester did not happen to them…Bottom line: Laugh out loud funny!” -A Bookish Affair
“It’s alright” -Eric’s Dad
As you’ve probably seen in the letter from the freshmen’s dean office, it looks like we’ll be roommates this year. I’m excited to meet you on campus next week. In the meantime, I thought we might want to coordinate our communal furniture. Here’s some stuff we’ll probably want for the room:
-A mini fridge
– A TV/ TV stand
– A DVD player
Am I forgetting anything?
Good to hear from you. And yeah, we’ll obviously get toilet paper as we need it. I was thinking more along the lines of furniture. Any ideas?
Naw. Just plenty of toilet paper. I’m talking that real soft, triple quilted kind that feels like an angel is breathing her soft, angel breath on your ass, evaporating all that’s ever been bad in this world. So none of that cheap rough stuff. My girlfriend hates that shit (pun intended lol!)
Also, can I get the top bunk?
I don’t go by Greg. All my buddies from home call me Dump Truck.
Hey Dump Truck…
Duly noted on the toilet paper. And yeah, you can take the top bunk. I actually prefer the bottom anyway.
Awesome, man. When I was a kid at summer camp no one EVER let me take the top bunk, so I really appreciate it. I just hope the mattress is big enough to fit a 370 pounder! (500 lbs when you include my girlfriend!)
That reminds me. We should probably figure out a way to indicate when one of us needs some “privacy” with the ladies. I mean, you’re welcome to sleep in your bed when my GF visits, but you may want to hang somewhere else at that time. She’s into some weird stuff.
Oh yeah, I thought of something to add to the list of things to get for the room: a video camera.
Tell me a little bit more about your girlfriend. How often do you expect her to visit? I only ask because I have a girlfriend, too, so maybe we can work out a rotation on the visits.
Man, my girlfriend is awesome –you’ll love her. We met this summer standing in line for the port-a-potties at a concert for The Infernal Hell Monkeys. I let her cut me in line, and the rest was history.
She won’t be visiting that often. She has a commitment every other night, so she’ll be visiting Monday-Wednesday-Friday. (Probably a good thing…I don’t think I’d be able to keep up with her every day! Dump Truck would run out of gas).
Can’t wait for you to meet her…just don’t ever touch her. I can get violently jealous (just ask my parole officer). Also, her prescription skin cream hasn’t arrived yet. So seriously, don’t touch her.
She sounds like quite a girl. Actually, her schedule works out perfectly, since my girlfriend volunteers at Darren Hospital every other night and can only visit me Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday.
You’ll barely notice her when she’s here…she’s really quiet and reserved, so don’t be offended if she’s shy around you. I’ve been dating her for three years and she’s still not totally comfortable opening up to me, so I imagine she’ll be extra timid around you.
Whoa! Dude! MY girlfriend volunteers at Darren Hospital TOO! Ask your girl if she knows Kayla. She’s tall, blonde hair, super hot and loves peanut butter, snorkeling, and webcams. Also, she’s totally exhausted every Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday morning. LOL! And she’s a real talker –always complaining about her pansy ex boyfriend. Glad I’m not that kid.
Weird…my girlfriend’s name is Kayla, too. Kayla Mealey. I’ll ask Kayla is she knows Kayla.
Dude, go to the pharmacy right now and get “Lotrimin Ultra Anti-Fungal Skin Cream.” Trust me.
After that, do me a favor and jump off a bridge.
It’s important for me, as a writer, to read a lot. I read books by the world’s best authors so I can pick up new techniques for my craft, and to make sure people like Stephenie Meyer aren’t plagiarizing me. Mostly, though, I read because I need to keep track of my competition and stay up to date on market trends. Recently, my empirical research has shown that, if I want to obtain unimaginable wealth, I should be writing a bestselling book about wizards, or vampires, or wizards who are also vampires. This is a cause for concern, considering my strategy the last few years has been to write a free blog about nothing in particular. But what can I say? I can only listen to my inner muse, and my inner muse happens to be lazy.
I’ve been encouraged by a lot of people lately to make the switch to an eReader, the lovechild of my two favorite things, books and technology. I’ve put a lot of thought into the matter, but I just can’t bring myself to abandon old-fashioned books in favor of a Kindle or an iPad.
I must admit, there are times when I’m tempted to buy an eReader. I’m attracted to its slender size, which makes it far more portable than some books. I’m currently reading Mark Twain’s autobiography, which is exactly a bajllion pages long. The meteor that killed the dinosaurs was smaller than this titanic hardcover. This causes a serious problem when travelling, because in order to cram the cement block into my suitcase, I usually have to jettison one of my sneakers. Do I want my trip marked by wit or level footing? I’ll usually choose the shoe over the book, which explains why I’ve read the latest edition of SkyMall 29 times.
So yes, thick books can be annoying for travel, but eReaders have their own problems. Take the iPad, which has an iBooks application among its myriad other iFeatures. I have one, but I can’t read books on it. There are just too many distractions on the iPad, and it’s hard to make progress on a book when I constantly receive notifications that Grammie has emailed me another YouTube video. Sorry, Mr. Salinger, Holden Caulfield may be a compelling character, but he ain’t no kitten getting stuck in a pickle jar. The iPad also has problems with glare, and the reflection on the screen can be really irritating while reading. I don’t know about you, but I prefer not to look myself in the eye as I read Snooki’s book.
Call it pretentious if you will, but I like filling my shelves with the books I’ve read. It’s kind of like a hunter putting stuffed animal heads up on his wall. Sure, books don’t put up as much of a fight as a moose, and sure, most of my conquests take place on the toilet instead of the wilderness, but still I’m proud of each book I’ve completed. I want you to walk into my apartment and notice the amount of books I’ve vanquished, and not the smell. I want you to marvel at how culturally refined I am, and wonder how I possibly had the time to read all 22 volumes of the Peanuts Anthology.
Like most people, I think about the gruesome legend of Prometheus several dozen times a year. But in case you don’t have the mindset of a demented adolescent boy, I’ll give you a quick recap:
According to legend, Prometheus was a Titan back in the era of Ancient Greece (after dinosaurs, before Twitter). All Titans were freaking jacked because, let’s be honest, the League of Immortals didn’t test for steroids yet. But Prometheus had some brains to go with his brawn, and one day he deceived Zeus and stole fire from him. He then gave it to the mortals, because shit was getting cold down there and Snuggies simply weren’t getting the job done.
Zeus, as I’m sure you’re aware, was the Father of the Gods. But I bet you didn’t know he was also the Uncle of Overreaction, and he punished Prometheus for his little prank by chaining him to a rock so an eagle could eat out his liver. The liver would magically grow back every day and the eagle would return, his appetite for foie gras never satiated. The daily torture was excruciating, and Zeus gave this punishment a time limit of eternity, just to be a dick.
By now you’ve surely realized that this article is about how much I hate shaving. This daily torture is easily the worst part of my day, and this is coming from a guy who lives on the 5th floor of a walk-up apartment building. I probably would never shave if it weren’t for my parents, who like to subtly hint that they prefer me cleanly shaven by saying they love me a lot less when I have a beard. Sometimes I’m tempted to say “screw it” and live my life as an orphan, but usually I do what I’m told and dutifully shave off my beard. This is what happens when a 25-year-old still wants an allowance.
Women simply don’t understand how annoying it is to shave your face. They’ll complain about your beard, saying stuff like, “Your stubble hurts my face when we kiss” and, “Shouldn’t you shave? I’ve been telling my friends that you’re a banker and not a writer.” So you shave, and then they complain again, because “why is your face all red and irritated like that?” Oh I don’t know, maybe it’s because on your orders I just spent ten minutes scraping my previously adorable face with RAZOR SHARP BLADES.
Despite dropping a figurative napalm strike over your entire face, you always miss a spot or two. This usually means that you positioned your razor at the wrong angle, since your insolent stubble goes in all different directions, kind of like this blog post. You go back in the bathroom to fix it, but you don’t put on more shaving cream, because screw that. Next thing you know you’ve got a microscopic cut that doesn’t stop bleeding for three and a half hours.
The back of the razor box tells you that, in order to avoid cuts like this, you need to always use a fresh, sharp razor. It makes literally no sense, but since I have no sense myself, I follow their directions and pick up more razors. Too bad the typical pack of razors costs more than the street value of meth. Only bankers can afford it, and as we’ve already established, I’m only a writer who specializes in entrails and ranting.
By the time I’ve gotten over the torture and horrors of shaving, it’s time for bed. Then, like the liver of Prometheus, my facial hair magically grows back overnight. What have I done to deserve an endless punishment like this? I’ve never stolen fire, or any element for that matter. In fact, the only thing I’ve ever stolen in my entire life was a pack of razor blades.