Howdy, Buckaroos.
It’s impossible to think of final exams without being reminded of several vivid memories from dead weeks past — all of which are Reveille columns. I’ve always dreaded the final week of publication, which invariably brings along with it farewell column after farewell column.
In the past, I wondered why columnists, who could be so engaging and intelligent and humorous during the year, became rambling blobs during dead week. They churned out identical recaps of their friends, classes and memories from their semester, year or college career. Some people read these pieces and cracked a grin, but not too many people really cared.
I finally realized (while staring at a blank screen) following the trend of sharing my favorite parties, football games and sunsets would be at the top of the “easy ways to write your last column and get on with your life” list. Sadly, though, I am forced to honor my solemn vow to myself to never, ever, ever do this.
Instead, I offer a few suggestions as to why we, your beloved Reveille staffers, suffer from the same meltdown as all students, and consequently ensure that “dead week” won’t be renamed “Columnist week.”
1) It gets really cold. Seriously. Have you been outside lately?
2) Severe emotional fluctuations caused by the natural up-and-downs of every Tiger athletic team leave most columnists confused about their own identity.
3) We live in Louisiana.
Many columnists writing farewell columns soon will be moving out of Louisiana. When planning an escape from our often dysfunctional state, it’s difficult to think of much else.
There probably are countless other reasons why most end-of-semester columns don’t exactly shock the world. While these are not excuses, and while my stance remains unchanged, I can at least empathize with past writers. After a long and exhausting semester, I really have nothing left to offer.
My thoughts, and maybe yours as well, are pretty much swiss cheese at this point, so it looks like it’s time to hit the ol’ dusty trail. I’ll simply leave you with one parting thought: be careful what you sign.
LSU recently informed me that, because of a sponsorship provision in my current Reveille contract, my brain becomes joint property of Cox Communications and Coca-Cola effective today. I don’t get it back until next semester’s papers resume publication, which may pose a slight problem during exam week. Apparently “working for the state” ain’t what it used to be.
According to the fine print, the brain will be stored in a giant vat of Dr. Pepper and subjected to repeated advertisements for Cox’s new digital programming lineup. If my future columns are disoriented and/or incoherent, blame it on the privatization.
So, before my mind goes off to a sugar-soaked, monotonous hell, I’d like to say it’s been an honor to share a little bit of myself with you, LSU. I hope this big chunk of black and white has been worth your while this semester.
“But I know we can’t all stay here forever / so I want to write my words on the face of today.” -Blind Melon