As I get ready to graduate-in the middle of a month-long existential crisis over what the hell I am going to do with my life post-Duke-I figure my last column is as good a time as ever to reflect upon all my accomplishments during my tenure at this institution. Pardon the cliche.
No, you aren't going to find my name on the Phi Beta Kappa list published in Tuesday's Chronicle. And I haven't engaged in an ambitious humanitarian effort in a third-world country, nor did I bother to join any clubs, organizations or extracurricular activities. Needless to say, my Duke career is marked by a complete lack of involvement in anything at all. Save my weekly musings in this paper.
For four years I have gone to class (sometimes), done my work on time and managed to stay out of trouble. I made friends, enemies and met countless people who simply entered and left my life with little more than an afterthought.
I arrived my freshman year a true product of California, piercings and all. I listened solely to punk, indie, emo, screamo, hardcore and pretty much anything else coming out of Southern California. I thought Dickies were cool. I made fun of kids rocking Polo, Lacoste and Abercrombie (and will still snicker at someone wearing the Hollister "Del Mar, Ca" T-shirts). Shit, if my freshman self could have seen me now, I would make fun of me.
I was a gung-ho political science major, bleeding heart and all. That is until the 2004 election, and my first PoliSci class, hardened my heart and turned me off from the field entirely. As the apathy set in, I spent the rest of the year trying to figure out why going greek, wearing collared shirts and generally looking like everyone else was the thing to do at Duke. I found it all pretty alien.
By my sophomore year I had almost entirely shed my old Californicated self-well, to a reasonable extent (I still contend that "gnarly," "dank" and "sick" are phenomenal adjectives). Gone were the piercings and exclusively Volcom-tee wardrobe. I found it was much easier to blend in at Duke than to stick out.
I spent most of the year a part of the insignificant masses-an afterthought to anyone for all intents and purposes.
Amid this wholly inconsequential existence, I was convinced to put an amusing tidbit I had previously written onto the Internet. The remainder of the semester was a roller coaster of emotions-alternating between euphoria, paranoia and the occasional delusion of grandiose. The lacrosse scandal-and my emergence as an unexpected source for information on the case-only increased the pressure I felt, and ultimately led the "Dukeobsrvr" blog to national exposure.
That summer I found myself quoted, albeit anonymously, in several major media outlets. It was pretty cool-all this by some unknown sophomore.
Then came Madrid, study abroad and quite possibly the greatest part of my Duke experience. I hung up the blogging boots, although I deeply missed having my own little megaphone to shout from. There is really no better feeling than being heard by an audience. Unfortunately, the increased rumors about my identity and my increasing resolve that I would somehow face consequences for exercising my right to free speech kept me away from trying to write for a while.
However, as I returned to Duke I had so much to say, and nowhere to write it. And finally, I wanted to sign my name to something. The time eventually came at the beginning of this year. Twenty-one columns later, it is now my time to say goodbye.
I hope you have enjoyed my weekly effort to provide a quick diversion from derivatives, labs and painfully boring lectures. I apologize to all who I have offended. Well, not really. I'm an ass. I have the patience of a five-year-old. And my mouth is fouler than my column will ever be. Sorry. It's just me.
Thanks for reading, and giving me the opportunity to spit my thoughts at you. As for my final words of wisdom: Don't take life too seriously, or you will never get out alive.
Wait, what?
Lastly, if I could thank Duke for one thing, it's that it taught me that there is more to life than being a bro from Cali. I sure wouldn't have learned that lesson at UCLA.
Dan Belzer is a Trinity senior. This is his final column.
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