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All right, let's just get it all out on the table: I'm a senior and this is my last column. That means that, like it or not, it's time for me to grace you all with my superior knowledge and worldly wisdom. Get your pencils ready, because these pearls will fall from my lips (computer, whatever) only once.
I sit here today (that's Wednesday to you), locked in a battle with forces far beyond my control. I am both pleased and dismayed to report that I am losing this fight and therefore, there will be no column today. Yes, that's right, no column indeed. Why? Because it's springtime, otherwise known as the time to start shirking as much responsibility as possible in order to go outside and play. It's 80 degrees outside. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping and all I want to do is throw my computer out my lofty fourth-floor window, watch it splatter like beans and go frolicking in the wind. My struggle is made even more difficult because it's supposed to rain tomorrow (that's Thursday to you) so it's not like I can let this beautiful weather slide by and catch it then.
I was standing in front of the Chapel passing out fliers. I gave one to the four men who were approaching, and they asked me to read it to them. I did so, and when they heard that a Jewish group co-sponsored the advertised event, they promptly began a conversation that I still think of often a full year later.
Meet Betty and Sam: two highly educated, intelligent, motivated young people who happen to be married to each other. Both Betty and Sam are flying up the professional ranks. Both Betty and Sam love their jobs. Things are going as planned and life is great.
That peculiar ritual of early January is about to begin again. Herds of overdressed underclass women will begin roaming the campus, hair sprayed, smiles pasted and names tagged for sorority rush. For some rushees, this process represents an exciting opportunity. For others, it's a mere curiosity. Regardless of whether one enters the rush process with a clear set of goals or without a clue, rushees usually do so without appreciating its true nature.
I'm afraid I've turned into a dinosaur. Computers scare me, mobile fax machines strike me as excessive, I can't make four consecutive photocopies without a major misfeed, and the concept of virtual reality really freaks me out. I'm not even out of college yet and huge leaps in technology are already leaving me in the dark ages.
I dropped to the floor in horror and utter disbelief. The bus quaked with the will of the surging masses. Angry cries were punctuated with fists pounding the bus' sides, feet battering the bus' roof, and rocks shattering the windows above me.
