The trees are breeding, the tour groups are in full swarm and the academic end times are upon us. I don’t have my cap and gown yet, but I already feel that sickly mix of dread and apathy that means our time has come. And sure enough, there’s less than a month until roughly a quarter of us ride off in the hellish chariot of post-graduate life, pulled by a hairy mutant beast out of Revelations and sponsored by University Career Services.
What’s the difference between Vladimir Putin and a chicken trying to cross a road?
For anyone unaware, we’re currently making our way through the Christian season of Lent, a period commonly associated in the popular imagination with affluent suburbanites who nobly commit themselves to exorcising Oreos from their diet for about 40 days each spring.
So you don’t care about basketball. You don’t pray toward the Smith Center five times daily, you don’t get a sense of humble reverence in your heart from reciting the names of UNC point guards into antiquity — and maybe you don’t feel anything toward Duke but a vague antipathy.
If a tree celebrates Presidents Day in the forest, does it make a sound? And at what point do we care?
Making sports analogies is like being political on Facebook. It gets you a lot of attention, and you can be saying intelligent things, but it’s nothing some blogger hasn’t already beaten to death, and unless you’re astoundingly subtle you’ll alienate half of your audience right off the bat — but we keep doing it.
The short answer: It depends. But otherwise there’s a lot of ground to cover.
It was pink and smooth, a peaceful sea populated by roaming herds of bell peppers and stale bread. It was also gazpacho, and I was supposed to eat it.
Well seniors, this is it: the point of no return. For those of us eligible to graduate — whether you’re a headstrong, dedicated junior or a boring, credit-conscious senior — something fundamental is changing.