Let's start things off today with some bad news: This will be my last column printed in The Eagle. No more Rusty Nails. Perhaps if I knew my job was on the line, I wouldn't have written a column that mocked my editors, but what can you do? (Actually, three semesters is a lot out of a college columnist. It's time to pass the torch.)
Instead of going nuclear and attacking everything and everyone I know with unbridled hostility, I am going to play nice today by reminiscing about my university experience. Lame? Absolutely! But it's my last column and I can do whatever I want. So bite me. Now let's make like November and give thanks to everything that shaped my AU experience.
A big thanks to the first people I met at AU: my freshman roommates. The seniors may remember them as drug dealers, but I think they had shining personalities behind the perpetual haze of bong smoke. Indeed, they taught me that drugs can be incredibly fun and phenomenally destructive.
After I left that opium den on Anderson Five-South, I moved to the nerdy Honors floor. Expecting a terrible time, I was surprised to find that honor roll students don't have to be nerdy. I give my Three-South friends thanks for teaching me that it is socially acceptable to get hammered off cheap wine before going to TDR to enjoy lunch.
Since this is an academic institution, it would be ridiculous of me to not thank the people who actually educated me. I feel as if I have had a lion's share of professors who were willing to go the extra mile for me, or, at the very least, taught me something new that I use in everyday life. Professors Middents, Lichtman, Titus, Fettig, Hessenius and Watson (whom, according to sources, some of the girls call "Professor Hot-son") all brought out the best in me ... something that only Ritalin had been able to achieve before.
On a sappier note, I should thank the two AU women who were goodly enough to date me during my four-year tenure here. I may be a single man now, but they have made a definite imprint on my college career. At the very least, they have given me more respect for people who maintain a relationship for years in high school or college. I used to make fun of them, and I still think it's kind of ridiculous, but I understand that what they're doing takes more work than I can conceive of doing at this point in my life. So I offer them respect, albeit begrudgingly.
Finally, I'd like to thank Judicial Services for giving me an arch-nemesis on campus. Apparently, it doesn't think drug dealers are good news. It also seem to have a problem with people singing Queen at the top of their lungs while drinking a Natty Ice. Or there was that time I was playing Beirut on Three-South when the resident assistants busted us and I got put on judicial probation. Good fun at a cost. So I reluctantly thank JAMS, and Ms. Katsura Karita, Esq., for teaching me discretion.
I can thank all sorts of people and be all sappy about it, but it's kind of ridiculous when you consider that I still have a semester to go. In a space of five months, I could fall in love or die in a plane crash. Unfortunately, I am more likely to move on cruise control, graduate and wait for the next important thing to happen. (Note: Family members are not allowed to ask me what the "next important thing" is. I don't know. Leave me alone.)
Although cruise control is nothing to be proud of, I still think the status quo is generally underrated. I like it here, and I think most of my colleagues like it here. Even though I need to get out of here, part of me doesn't want to go. (For this portion of the column, please play Eve 6's "Here's to the Night" or Vitamin C's "Graduation" in the background.)
On that note, I leave the humor column spot to some girl named Molly who I am told is nicer and funnier. It's a shame I have to leave so soon. Maybe you'll catch me in The Eagle later. Giving up this column will give me more time to hit on the sex columnists so I can see what pet name they come up with for me. If you read about a guy named "Mr. Foreskin," chances are that's me. In the meantime, I am going to try to write for The Eagle in another capacity. Will it be offensive and/or witty? No. But it will be me, and that's the best I can offer.
Lester Russell Allen IV is a senior CLEG major and history minor. This is the last installment of The Rusty Nail you will ever read. The Eagle, with a tear in its eye, thanks Russell for his prose and polemics. Godspeed.
