This is the last day of the fall semester, 1998, before finals. There will never be another semester like it in form or time. But that is not what this column is about.
In keeping with the spirit of Seinfeld and his TV show about nothing, that is exactly what this column is about, nothing.
No, this is not a sappy senior goodbye column. No, there is not going to be any complaining about unjust laws and regulations by the school or government at large, no debate about the effects of second-hand smoke on the public, no gender bashing issues of the opposite sex (or whatever your preferred orientation might be), no bah humbugging the holiday season or good will preaching for that matter, no complaints about the Associated Students Federation (ASF) Forum’s tasteless newsletter which appeared to be one enormous advertisement for the Marxist, Leftist, Anarchist Collective or the fact that their Holiday Dinner gravy had the look and consistency of tapioca pudding (and let’s not even talk about the mashed potatoes, how does one screw up mashed potatoes? Come on ASF, MASHED POTATOES?).
That is right, no in-depth critical look at the short comings of the University’s various departments, whether it be housing, financial aid, or administration. No ranting or raving from a disgruntled basketball fan that there is not going to be a season this year for the NBA or the fact that this editor’s favorite NFL football team has been mathematically eliminated from the playoffs.
It is pointless to complain that this is my first academic year since the first grade in which my involvement with an athletic team is nonexistent, especially after finishing second in the nation on last year’s volleyball team and not being able to play this year in hopes of winning the national title.
There is no share, element or part of this column that is about anything at all, concerning any kind of cohesive idea or coherent thought.
Despite the fact that the Spot closes at 5 p.m. everyday next week during finals because, evidently, people do not eat in the evening, this is not a column complaining about the Spot or Davenport’s inconvenient hours and food quality or lack thereof.
In exercising my freedom of speech, this column is going to be about nothing; not anything. No, not even something. In fact it is the exercise of not speaking that is being practiced.
After all, we all have better things to do with finals right around the corner than to read a stress-inducing article about the fact that next spring about a third of the general education classes will drop from four units to three units.
Instead of getting migraines or ulcers we all need to take some time out for ourselves, no matter how busy one may be, and relax even if it is just taking a walk outside and breathing in some nice dirty Inland Valley air spawned from the Santa Ana Canyon, otherwise known as the Santa Ana winds.
College should be the best time of our lives, and as long as everyone keeps their heads screwed on right, have a live-and-let-live attitude (or for Dr. Kevorkian live and let die), and we do not lose sight of what is important, which is different for each individual, then nothing — that is right, nothing — can stop the next generation of working class citizens from accomplishing anything and everything they want in life.
Oh, by the way, the drop from four to three units part was just a joke.
Ryan Allen, a senior communications major, is arts and entertainment editor of the Campus Times. He can be reached by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.