A little less than three years ago, a 19-year-old kid packed up his life into a 1998 Dodge Caravan. He wore a green hat and was crying, partly because his freshman year was over but mostly because of a severe dust-mite allergy. He didn’t clean his room that often. Earlier that day, there had been hugs and handshakes as his floor-mates, his family, left for the summer, one by one. He stood in the middle of the empty room, sweat soaked and sniffling, looking out the window at the sunset. Because he was the only one on the floor, he said out loud to himself, “Well, that’s one year down.”
That kid was me, more or less. In the intervening years, through a series of fortunate an less-than-fortunate events, that kid became me. Now, I’m getting ready to pack up again. Not my dorm, or my room, but my office. My notepads, my coffee pot, my cough syrup, and a box full of back-up articles.
I will not be doing any crying this time. Because as much as I’ll miss this little closet of an office and this page where I ramble every week, it’s time to go. It’s time to get back to what I really enjoy, what I haven’t had time to do in a year. It’s time to get back to writing, to get back to taking an interview while driving down the highway, to get back to why I fell in love with this magazine in the first place.
While I won’t be graduating until the end of this quarter, I will forever look back at these past 30 issues as my last year of college. This note is my graduation speech, my farewell to all of you wonderful people. Though I have probably poked fun at, insulted or outright yelled at each and every one of you, you, our faithful readers, are wonderful. Because without you, we’re nothing but a stack of colorful toilet paper.
Editor in Chief
P.S. Don’t worry, I’m not leaving just yet. I mean, what graduation would be complete without a graduation party? I’ll see you kids next week in 2010’s Distorter.