I think the absurdity of my entire existence can be summarized in my dislike of coffee.
Despite staying up until all hours of the night, averaging four to five hours of sleep a night my first semester as editor, working in a caf? and having a java-loving roommate, I still can’t stand the stuff.
This works out well, ’cause I’m pretty sure you can’t be a serious journalist without a complete disregard for personal comfort, health and sanity. So while weak mortals may turn to mere plants for energy, the race of super-humans who call themselves “Signal Editors” make due on their own indomitable iron will.
In my career serving The Signal, I briefly wrote a column that featured underwear as a masthead, edited more evolution versus creationism debate stories than I’d care to recall, used “balls in your face” in a headline and helped unleash Satan upon the world. All in all, I’ve led a fulfilling, caffeine-free life.
I would like to thank the staff of The Signal for making me realize that I’m not the only one in the world psychotic enough to give up one full day and many random hours every week to decide which on-campus events are worth painting on thin tablets of dead tree.
Here, I have seen the fine art of snark refined to such a degree that some of us can be sarcastic in our sleep. Or at least I assume we would be, if we ever actually got sleep. Regardless, I will forever miss the insubordination and verbal jousts as I resign myself to becoming a highly paid professional, or at least a reporter.
Now that I am leaving the paper, there will be a huge, 20-hour void in my Monday night schedule that I can only hope to fill with excessive amounts of drinking and sex with beautiful women. It will be hard to adjust I admit, but I am sure I will persevere despite the lack of editing to keep myself occupied.
Farewell, sweet Signal, and goodbye to both the good times and the bad. I will miss cutouts, and will never witness the glory of a fading picture, but I shall remain in spirit.
So long, and thanks for all the fish.