Hey there! Thanks for accidentally clicking on the link that brings you to this page. To reward you, I’ve taken all the spyware off this section of the site and put up this really cool blog instead.
I’m Jacob, but you can call me J-Lam if I’m currently running for public office. As of this writing, I’m delighted to be joining the ranks of an intimidatingly talented cast of bloggers and will try to keep my parentheses usage to a minimum (that’s a lie). I’m presuming my audience will be mostly prospective students, so hopefully my adventures and endeavors will give you a sense of what it’s like going to school at Oberlin, and also of what it’s like to be Jacob Lamoureux, if you’re interested in trying that.
My sis says blogging about your life is a hipster sort of thing to do, but she is a] incorrect and b] a student at NYU and hence no longer able to distinguish between what’s “hipster” and what’s not. Anyway, I promise you my blog is not hipster because I’m just about the furthest thing from a hipster you can imagine. First of all, I’m not hip. Second of all, my hips are too narrow to keep my gangsta jeans from sagging. Third of all, I wear gangsta jeans. The closest I’ve come to hipster happened my first week at my second high school, when I was classified as emo because my jeans weren’t baggy enough. Well, lemme tell you, when I bought them they were darn baggy — gangsta jeans, in fact — but then I got taller, and decided I’d rather have people think I was emo than have to spring for a new pair of jeans.
Anyway, I was soon properly reclassified as a geek.
My memoirs are forthcoming, but I suppose I can give you a sneak peak at the man on the inside back flap (in my author photo, I’m either going to strike the most affectedly artsy pose of all time or smile even wider than the astoundingly joyful governor of New Hampshire, the state where my family currently resides [only because we like having such a happy leader]).
My educational background is a motley quilt of learning. I attended two American high schools, both in Germany, the latter — my sis would like you to know — across the street from a strip club (which was actually sort of convenient; after a full day of classes, I could head right over to start earning tuition money for college [Oberlin turned out to be exceedingly generous with the financial aid, so don’t worry about having to do that]).
Fewer people know that I was homeschooled by my brilliant mom until the middle of sixth grade, which meant I got to turn assignments like “write about a rainy day” into month-long projects culminating in short stories or novellas. I’d plant myself on the rug in front of the fireplace and scribble away with pencils till they turned to stubs. Probably the most constant thing in my life has been the desire to write.* In middle school, I tried to serialize a novel in the student newspaper and got two installments in the two issues published that year. In high school, I starting taping computer paper all around my bed so that when a light bulb went off in my head at night, I could grab a pen from my nightstand and write it down. (The sheets on my bed right now are actually stained with ink spots from falling asleep holding pens.) In my career at Oberlin, I’ve written a handful of short stories, a bunch of bad poems, a novella, a stage play, a screenplay, and hundreds of index cards. I also have a $100 bet with my Dad that I get a book published before he does.
* To be fair, my desire to eat has been pretty constant too, but there’s no chance of me getting paid for that. (I lost the only eating contest I ever entered and now that I’m a vegetarian going on five years, the gurgitating competitions left for me to enter are pretty far and few between [Kale-Eating Kontest, anyone?]).
My older brother (a theology major at St. Anselm who probably could win an eating contest) sometimes accuses me of slacking in the bro department because in the few weeks a year that I’m home, I mostly read, write, run, and do laundry. In that respect, home is similar to school, except that I usually have a handful of ambitious projects on the burner each semester at Oberlin and am involved in something like seven campus organizations. But I’m working on becoming more exciting, Joe, I promise. I do play a mean game of mini-golf. If by “mean,” you mean bad.
Another strike against me is that I know embarrassingly little about a lot of things — popular culture, pro sports, cooking — but I do try to read the New York Times daily (minus the Styles, Dining, and Home sections) and attend every cool convocation Oberlin offers to make up for it.
In my final year here, I’m making big plans for life after graduation, catching up on my politics major and econ minor, and writing a short story collection for my senior project. I make money by working as a Writing Associate on campus, which means I get to help fellow students with their papers (e.g., “I think your treatise on Marx could use more jokes about strip clubs”), and as an Academic Ambassador, which means an anonymous faculty member thought I had my crap together enough to help twenty-two freshmen try to collect theirs as well. You can occasionally find me at my house on Union Street, christened the PLoB (that is, the Platonic Love Boat), where I live with some of my best friends. Though I do most of my running with Oberlin’s cross country team, my favorite people on earth, I am frequently spotting sprinting to class or walking very quickly towards Stevie to cram down some calories before sprinting to class.
There! I just saved you $14.99 and 630 pages. Though you should still buy my memoir since I have yet to tell you if I get the girl…
(I don’t.)
Anyway, if you like advice, adventures, and asides; if you like fun facts, tons of puns, and a slice of unique Obie experience served up with intense introspection, bookmark this blog! I never skimp on servings and, if you eat the whole thing, it's free.
