I close this semester with a story of loss and redemption. This tale began last summer. Even as we prepare for NQR and winter break, the memory of that fateful August night is still fresh in my mind.
It was a humid night and I was with a few friends, just hanging around. As we chatted, we soon found ourselves on the topic of Wikipedia.org. This subject delighted me, for Wikipedia was probably one of my main infatuations at the time. Then one friend said the fatal words, "I love Wikipedia! I have an account on it and write articles all the time!"
If I had a gun on me, I can't say for sure whether or not she would be alive at this moment. "How could she even conceive of such blasphemy?" I thought at that time. "To deface the name of our beloved WikiSage, claiming that he doesn't exist and that mortals like her write the articles!"
Who is the WikiSage, you ask? The WikiSage was the name I had given to the man who wrote all the articles on Wikipedia. He was a god-like being who knew everything about everything, from the backstory of every ghost in Disney World's Haunted Mansion ride to the many uses of ginkgo to the lineage of the British crown to the sordid history of McDonald's failed Arch Deluxe marketing scheme.
He just sat in his fortress in the center of Antarctica writing day after day. Every article he wrote would be in the same faux-elevated style that consisted of such phrases as "Fans consider this episode of 'Full House' to be the quintessential episode in development of the character of Stephanie Tanner" and "It is highly possible Professor X used his mental abilities to wipe Wolverine's mind. This would explain why he does not remember the events of the 'Fatal Days' storyline." How could anyone but the WikiSage command such expert use of language?
To be fair, somewhere deep down in my psyche, I probably always knew that real people, and not the WikiSage, wrote Wikipedia. But my belief in him was like that in Santa Claus: You put mounting logic aside to keep your hero alive. You know, like when you go downstairs on Christmas morning and there are no presents and you get really upset and then you wake up your mom and she's all startled and says, "Go back to bed. Santa is about to come." And when you go back to sleep and the presents are there in 45 minutes, you know it was because Santa just came. It's not like your parents overslept or anything.
Eventually, though, you come to that moment when you have to face facts. Denial is a mighty wall, but it can only take so much before it crumbles. You find the presents in the closet (or carelessly lying on the car seat on your ride to school) only to see the exact same gifts a few weeks later on Christmas morning.
But enough about my parents' crappy job at the whole Santa thing. The moment my friend told me about writing articles, it was just like I found the presents. I tried to fight it, to say it wasn't true, but it was. And then Wikipedia lost its magic. It was no longer as fun, knowing everything on it was just written by college students on nights they couldn't get some. For months, I continued in this slump, only occasionally looking at my once-favorite site.
Recently, however, I decided to reclaim the magic. I had books to read. Languages to translate. Problem sets to mess up. Columns to write. I needed my favorite procrastination tool back. But how would I be able to overcome the harsh reality that had been dealt to me over the summer? Simple. If you can no longer believe in Santa Claus, you have but one option: become Santa Claus. You have to leave out presents for your kids. Only then will the whole idea again be magical.
So, I signed up to Wikipedia and wrote an article. No, I won't tell you which one it is. Because it doesn't matter. That's the wonder of it all. As long as we all keep filling Wikipedia with pointless trivia written in an overly dignified style, the WikiSage still exists. In me. In you.
I look at the articles now, and even though I know that the WikiSage Himself did not write them, I no longer find myself troubled. For all I know, as my eyes peruse the list of "Films Considered the Worst Ever," whomever compiled that list did all in his power to channel but a bit of His Sageliness' wisdom. And with that in mind, I can sleep at night.
On that note, have a great break, and I'll be back in the spring, still as irate as ever.
Devin Toohey is a sophomore majoring in Classics. He can be reached at
Devin.Toohey@tufts.edu.
