It will not surprise anyone to learn that this is my final column. In fact, I have been writing farewell articles for the last two or three months. The excruciatingly tedious spiral of self-destruction and ego-inflation began in March, perhaps earlier, and since that time, I have systematically offered my resignation, thanked my mentors and terminated this chapter in my own personal bildungsroman. Unfortunately, I resigned in the worst way possible: halfheartedly, nervously and sarcastically. My editor denied my offer and specifically requested that I provide some conclusive remarks to end my Sun experience. This is a decision he will live to regret.
Since I have already investigated my personal and political relationship to The Sun at length, I would rather just take care of some last-minute errands here. As an admitted expert in writing farewell columns, I know the temptation is to succumb to infectious sentimentalism, particularly when former colleagues write paragraph-long encomiums about each other. (I'm not even going to attempt a response. Checkmate, Zach.) Instead, I will obey tradition, which dictates that outgoing columnists explain their title in their last issue. My title is "March 10, 2006," and I have already explained it twice. But what the hell. After four farewell columns, I'm running out of material. For a full summary of my explanations, I direct the reader to previous columns. Here, one should note that 1) my other ideas were dismissed as controversial ("Carlos Linhardt," "Visa #4245 2353 3753 4224" "I Screwed Jesus Christ") or infantile ("The Chitchat Zone," "Loopy Lingo"); and 2) intense desperation can lead to plagiarizing a calendar.
If I have one regret about my Sun tenure, it may be the time I wrote a 800-word news item about my own death and then placed it in the Sun Archives circa 1998. In retrospect, this was a deplorable decision. To this day, it is my third Google hit. I would greatly appreciate it if someone would take this travesty down. Someone changed the passwords on me. Very funny. Secondly, I have neglected to thank Julia Donahue '06, whose unlimited intellect and endearing enthusiasm is matched only by her insatiable desire for flattery.
Initially, I had planned to compile my worst editing fiascos. However, several writers had suggested this lacked a certain sensitivity to professional decorum. In the interest of preserving their anonymity, I have organized the worst passages from my own writing at the Sun. Thankfully, most are from my freshman year. Others are from this very column. All display oppressive fatigue and grave incompetence, as well as some sort of confusion over how transitive verbs operate. Some were considered comedic (I guess). Others are embarrassingly sincere. Spelling and grammatical errors have been left intact:
• "In fact, one could argue convincingly that Spike TV is a worthy successor to C?ne and Camus." ("Fishing for Detergent," 1/25/05)
• "What were these creatures? Why were they relentlessly shoving spikes into their bodies? Why did their limbs tremble as they projected malicious smiles onto little children?" ("Blood and Wounds," 12/1/04)
• "Yesterday marked the grand opening of Wal-Mart store 4250 at the new South Meadow Square along Route 13." ("Wal-Mart Opens Doors," 1/27/05)
• "One day, an officer of the law saw me trying to extract infants from Honey Island swamp and put me in the town slammer." ("An Excerpt," 9/16/04)
• "These are the musical epiphanies only the most talented artists can bestow upon an audience, and on Gulezian?s last album, 2001?s Language of the Flame, these moments are remarkably frequent. One of the highlights is a cover of Stephen Fosters ?Oh Susanna? that extracts the song?s lyrical brilliance from the saccharine overtones it?s typically associated with." ("Technique and Emotion," 4/8/04)
• "I promised myself I wouldn't put a personal pronoun in the 'review' this early, but, like all things in this world, my promise was demolished under the tremendous, terrifying girth of three and a half hours of Henry Rollins." ("Poet on Steroids," 2/12/03)
• "The repercussions of this LP on the fruitful pre-hipster clique will be innumerable. This is like an instruction manual that indicates the myriad musical forms necessary to be cool. And the remainder is constituted by the most wonderful Italian cowboy dopplegangers of all eternity." ("Test Spin: Kill Bill, Vol. 1," 10/23/03)
• "The bane of any critic's existence is the relentlessness of all these genres that come into being and just will not leave, not for any price, not for any woman. We are critics." ("Schutz is Dead, 10/24/02)
This brief anthology attests to the immense difficulty I have had with the English language. I cannot tell whether The Sun hired me out of pity, condescension or sheer ineptitude. Regardless, I am grateful for my inclusion … and my impending release. In the battle against higher education, there are no winners. Cornell, you lost.
Alex Linhardt is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. March 10, 2006 appeared alternate Fridays.
Archived article by Alex Linhardt