Ah, my last column of the semester — and my last semester at that. I suppose this is where I get all sentimental in my undergraduate reflection, perhaps mustering enough good will to radiate advice out to some of the younger Gators among us. How quaint that would be, but any knowledge I’d be kicking wouldn’t exactly be worthy of an AAA rating. Plus, I’m not that generous. I guess the matter comes down to just how cliché I’m willing to allow myself to be. Answer: very.
It’s challenging to fully comprehend the stretch of time and experience I’ve traversed while in Gainesville. In the beginning, my ever-grinning demeanor would have been masked, clouded to be precise, à la Pig-Pen, except instead of being surrounded by a swarm of dirt and dust, I was constantly enveloped in a shroud of post-combustion particulature of previously primo dankness. Suffice to say, I capped emissions essentially to zero, enough to emerge as the mild-mannered, though often ridiculous, even slanderous, but nonetheless infinitely eccentric columnist you see on the page before you, in the circa-1992 mall-style glamour shot mock-up (it was so cloyingly obnoxious, I couldn’t resist).
What’s especially puzzling about this era, aside from the paradoxical, yet entirely familiar, oh-so-long-ago-yet-oh-so-recent aspect of it, was that it took me an entire school year to recognize that a dorm diet consisting of beer, bacon and candy did not constitute a physique-friendly menu. Granted, “lucid” was not always the most appropriate description of my state of mind, but such a concept ranks right above shoe-tying — which is to say it became a first class (perhaps AAA) addition to my absurdly extensive collection of forehead-slapping, eye-rolling moments, for which I don’t have the word allotment to delve into.
On the verge of creating yet another gloriously frameable memory for my folks, I find this supposedly momentous occasion largely perfunctory, and consequently, I’m pretty ambivalent about the whole ordeal. However, I could just chalk that up to the fact I’ll be back for another tour of duty, grad-style. Still, the need for reflective consummation seems undeniable, and even though I didn’t want to preach wisdom, the compulsion to do so is all too unyielding. In compromise, I’ll leave you with some observations.
First of all, the last time the higher of the two water fountains on the east end of Library West’s third floor was in working order, a Bush was in the White House. Someone should get on that.
Wearing cheap neon plastic wayfarer knockoffs is a great way to advertise that you took the short bus to grade school (your optometrist would concur).
There are a surprising number of people who’ve yet to learn how to ride bicycles. There are an even more surprising number of these people who choose to half-pedal, half-wobble their way through crowded sidewalks. Stop that.
The current population strain on the U.S. prison system should not be referred to as the “penal crunch.”
If the sides of your shirt were ripped at any point other than while you were lifting, see the wayfarer comment above. And if they did, buy a new shirt — it’s a gym, not a nip-fest.
As much as I hate being badgered by the person-shaped flier dispensers that frequent this campus, I’m even more put off by the unnerving manner in which the Jehovah’s Witnesses stand silently holding their Watchtower rags. So, I will indeed help you distribute your club’s handbill to the ground and/or nearest trash can.
In comparing how much knowledge I’ve garnered via coursework versus through browsing Wikipedia, honesty favors the latter. At least I’ll be acquiring a piece of paper that implies otherwise.
