Daily Free Press: You know this week is your final word. Seth: My final thought. Surely, I can’t be limited to just one word. Daily Free Press: Yes you can and you will be … limited. So make it good…
I decided to hold a round-table discussion with my closest advisers to decide what my final word should be. We were not all equals in the round-table discussion (which I guess totally contradicts the whole point behind the round-table discussion) because I was perched 15 feet above everyone else, and my chair was made of the nicest leather. To my bottom left sat Marty, a simple man with a simple brain who thought simple thoughts. “‘A’ should be your final word,” Marty chimed. “It’s simple.” He was immediately shot by one of my strategically placed sniper riflemen. “How about ‘fedora,'” said Jane. I rubbed my chin thinking I might like to go out on “fedora.” I threw Jane a soft-baked chocolate chip cookie for her effort. Jonathan, the over-achiever in the group, spoke out of turn and was immediately shot, but I think he was going to say, “Greatness,” and though that would be a pompous word to be my last, it did have a certain verbal flair. As my advisors kept talking, my mind began to drift. I started having many clever final thoughts, and as much as I wanted to think in terms of simple final words, I just couldn’t help myself: Placing blame: In 1994, at the height of baseball card trading, I stole several packs of Fleer Ultra baseball cards from a convenience store called Sheetz. I would like to blame Sheetz for carrying baseball cards and Fleer for creating such a visually appealing brand of trading card. I would also like to blame Ken Griffey Jr. and society in general. When I was in seventh and eighth grade, I was cut from my junior high school’s basketball team. I would like to blame the head coach, Scott Flynn, for not seeing my “potential.” I would also like to blame the members of the team who could not find it in their hearts to show up to the “Get Seth on the Team” rally, which I organized. I would also like to blame Spudd Webb and Mugsy Bogues for giving me false dreams of basketball immortality. Noah Goldstein is just like any other Jewish kid, with the exception that he remembers his bris perfectly. Forgiveness: I woke up this morning and my alarm clock was extra loud. I decided to show it forgiveness. I went to shower and realized my roommate had sold the showerhead in an effort to aid his addiction to painkillers. I decided to show him forgiveness. I walked down the street and tripped on pavement that was poorly constructed. I decided to forgive the pavement, but I also resolved to find out who the construction team was and put them all on my “list.” As I bent down to get fingerprint samples, a Frisbee hit me on the temple, giving me a concussion. A hippie-like figure approached. “Sorry man, can you ever forgive me?” “I can forgive,” I responded groggily, “but I will never … Who are you?” The war in Iraq. Iraq? Iraqu. That’s better. There is something I want to get off my chest. I got an 1170 on my SATs. There, I said it. It’s out there. Let it simmer for a few seconds … Throughout my time in college I have told people I received anything from a 1200 to a 1590 to avoid the ridicule. I basically just kept rounding up. On several occasions, I have played it cool by saying, “You know what? I don’t even remember what I got.” For those of you who read and enjoy this column, I hope you don’t feel bamboozled or hoodwinked. For those of you who hate this column, it will come as no surprise that I did receive an 800 in math. Professional sports lose their luster when you realize these athletes who get paid millions and are glorified on TV were the same kids who excelled in gym class. I don’t understand why people who work in clothing stores like the Gap are entitled to wear a headset. I know it may be more convenient, but I think in this case, convenience should take a back seat to practicality. I mean, it would be convenient if everyone had headsets – babies, dogs, cats, me. I would love to have a headset. But I know it certainly isn’t practical. Fighter pilots talking about “Bogies” and “Wingmen” deserve headsets. The question, “Do we have that hunter-green crew neck sweater in a large?” should never be heard over a headset. Gay marriage. Gaaaaaaaaaay marriage. Gay gay gay gay gay gay gay gay gay gay gay gay gay gay! “Gay!” I screamed, coming out of deep thought. The group was silent. “Sir,” said a voice 75 feet below me. I think it was Heidi. “Do you really want ‘gay’ to be your final word?” “It’s not really funny,” Billy screamed. Always pressure to be funny, I thought. “You don’t want people getting the wrong idea,” Regis yelled. “Fine,” I said in a huff. “How about ‘testicle’?” A hush fell over the room. They loved it. They would love it. You could hear a pin drop, so I dropped one. “Ouch!” I heard down below. “Heidi is dead!” Someone screamed. Goodbye, Heidi, goodbye.
Quickly I would like to thank Lauren Saul for illustrating my columns for the last year and a half. Simply put, she’s amazing. Also, I would like to sincerely thank the readers of this column. It has been my pleasure.
Seth Reiss, a junior in the College of Communication, has been a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press.
This is an account occasionally used by the Daily Free Press editors to post archived posts from previous iterations of the site or otherwise for special circumstance publications. See authorship info on the byline at the top of the page.
