This column, along with Messrs. Fox and Melder, will be among the last three run this semester by the most venerated text since the Gospel of St. John. I must warn the reader that this column will be different than any I have written before, and, most likely, any I will write for the rest of my term, however long it lasts, as a Reveille columnist. Instead of the usual boiling pitch I pour onto anything that I don’t like, I’d simply like to say thanks to those who have helped me through what has been perhaps the most difficult four and a half months of my life.
First and foremost, I’d like to thank my parents, Bryan and Susan for not beating me senseless, for, well, the past 21 years of my existence. They put up with more nonsense from their eldest son than anyone else would have borne. For that, I thank them.
I’d also like to thank my siblings, Lauren, Shannon, and Jason, for also not beating the living Hell out of me, though, now that I think of it, they have tried at one time or another.
To the various breweries, distilleries, and wineries that also helped me through this dark time in my life, I also give thanks, and a hefty portion of my pay check. Same goes to the Chimes, where I have season tickets.
To my roommate Ben, whose insightful comments, pithy rejoinders, and generally slurred conversation (matched with, I might add, perhaps the most deft of sniper skills in Halo), I also give thanks. That, and he has a 13 hour bus ride to Atlanta this weekend, so I get the room to myself.
To tobacco growers worldwide, from Kentucky to the Dominican Republic. Your produce brings me closer to geographical wisdom and oral cancer every day.
To George W. Bush and the rest of the War Party, who have tried harder than anyone since the Viet Cong to put more American soldiers in harm’s way. Also, I am thankful that Bush is president, because, frankly, his material writes itself.
To two individuals who I cannot name, but those who know them will easily be able to identify them. They are my examples of those who have suffered from ingratitude this year. One is my favorite professor, who has perhaps lived more history than most students know. The other is one of the ill-fated English (who taught me the greatness of Henry IV Part I) instructors who got the shaft for the grandiose Master Plan that is supposed to turn LSU into another University of Texas or Virginia (note to all, not a chance in Hell). Both of them have faced greater trials than I this semester, yet still cared about how I was doing. I wish to thank them, even in this quieted manner made necessary by our own uncertain times.
Lastly, I wish to thank my fellow members of the Reveille staff. It’s a privilege to work with all of you, and I look forward to returning next semester.
All right, enough of that. Time for one last bash. I was recently reading another “newspaper” published mostly for LSU students when I happened upon an article dealing with various articles of clothing. Now, while I don’t wish to attack whoever wrote, and, moreover, whoever allowed the article to go to print, as individuals possessing, at most, room temperature intelligence, I do want to know who in God’s name confuses a Union uniform with that of a Confederate’s? My God, even I, a lowly native of the Keystone State (Pennsylvania, for those of you from Bunkie) know what colors the Union and Confederate forces wore. Then again, what can one expect from a paper who heralded Bush’s two and a half hour visit to the troops inside Baghdad (the equivalent to a jaunt to Circle K to buy cigarettes) as showing the president’s respect for his troops. I personally think he’d have more respect for them if he’d refrained from sacrificing over 400 of them in his idiotic invasion of Iraq, but, well, I suppose we’ll always have these differences.
I wish everyone the best of luck on their finals (I know I’ll need some for myself). As for this semester, I wish to quote the above mentioned professor’s quotation of Beethoven’s alleged last words, “Applaud friends. The comedy is finished.”