Well, it would appear that explaining and commenting on ourselves and what it's like to be a columnist - a very special new art that I like to call meta-commentary - is the fad this week, so I am jumping on this bandwagon. To be perfectly honest, I have always felt a little ostracized from the rest of the Perspectives writers. I have never felt like I was truly a part of the team.
Take our weekly meetings, for example. We'll all be sitting around talking about the issues of the day and what we're going to write about that week. Laura Winsky will bring up something about human rights, Jessica Lee about the rights of some trees, Shane Dale about the right to bear arms, and Mariam Durrani about the rights of Muslims, and I, sticking with the obvious theme, bring up Right Said Fred and wonder what happened to them. It's at this point that everyone turns to stare at me like I'm some kind of big talking asshole or something.
While all of this is going down, our fearless "leader" and "editor" is busy guzzling down beer after beer - he insists that we meet at Gentle Ben's - and then suddenly breaks out into a chilling rendition of "I'm Too Sexy." He's my only supporter.
But none of this is true because I'm just kidding. I don't even go to meetings. Well, I've been to one and it was at Gentle Ben's. Oh, and Cory Spiller really does do a chilling rendition of "I'm Too Sexy." "It's all in the hips," he always says. "It's all in the hips." I'm still not really sure what he means by that.
But this is it. This is my chance to finally coalesce with my fellow columnists. This week we have never been stronger. We are one cohesive unit of raw and unsoiled togetherocity and it feels good. Granted, our odds for achieving this feat were tilted thanks to the shortness of the week, but who cares about that? Because, hey, there's no school tomorrow! Yay!
All right, here we go. Oh, wait just a minute. I have a phone call.
Hello? Oh, hey, Cory. Hey, you guys, it's Cory. Yeah. I'm writing it right now. He worries like a mother. What? Really? Apparently he's calling because all of the editors wanted to make sure that I smoked pot before I sat down to write my last column.*
All right buddy, thanks for calling. I'll have my column in soon. All right. All right. Okay. Sure. Uh-huh. Yeah. I already told you that. All right. Goodbye. I'm hanging up the phone now. Goodbye. Goodbye.
Goodbye.
Well that was an annoying little distraction, but back to business. I can't screw this up because it's my very last column. I have been stressing for weeks about what to write about in my last column of my last-ever semester in college and then suddenly, miraculously this wonderful gift falls in my lap.
And to think that I almost wrote about the complete waste of money that a liberal arts degree is and how much better off all of us suckers would be if we had just taken the money we spent here and put it in an IRA or a mutual fund and got our education in the library that anyone can use for free. I had research and everything.
But that would have been depressing, and I wouldn't want my last column here to be depressing.
Instead it will be uplifting - a competent and inspiring assertion that people can come together and get along and make it work. Columnists unite! So here it goes. I am dedicating the rest of the space that I have here to a summation and exegesis of my $$$$$ this semester.
Oh dammit! I only have 34 words left. I have to make this quick. Dammit! 20! OK. Think. Think, damnit!
Think! Um · well · ya see ·
Ahhhh!
I don't know. I can't think of anything.
*Editor's note: This is not true because I was I was just kidding.
