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On the surface…

Justin Tardiff | Friday, February 18, 2005

Little did I know that yes, distraction can be found even in the secluded and dusty 13th floor of the library. I was soon distracted by the very table I was at – it provided even better literature than that which was published on bathroom stalls of my former inner-city public high school.

There is so much history – so many emotions etched into the wood surface. Each vandalizer leaves his or her mark, in hopes of becoming an eternal part of underground Notre Dame history, as an honest attempt at reaching out to the future generations to come to this very table or in hopes of achieving a work ethic, such as:

The ever-present political catfight: “Bush Cheney ’04 -> Kerry Edwards ’04!”

The love declaration: X <3's Y

The obviously deep music lyric best remembered when in a melancholy mood – oftentimes caused by such courses as calculus, mechanics and contemporary topics.

Phone numbers, both real and fake, depending on the writer’s bravery: because how are you supposed to meet your Domer soulmate if you sold your soul already to engineering?

The ever-philosophical question such as, “WHY let the dogs out?”

ND logos, from the crudely scribbled to the “I did no studying whatsoever” sort.

The bashing of inferior schools, such as cough BostonCollege cough.

Remnants of our dying language: “OmG nD is s0 1337x0rz! X-D~” The fearful ones will opt for this better, 21st century way of writing. The time slot for vandalism is safer when all words are abbreviated or substituted by numbers and pitied keys of the keyboard that are seldom used.

Words of encouragement: “D is for degree.”

Let’s not forget the Bible passages – we are at a Catholic school, after all.

Teacher reviews. A wooden table does not have a profanity filter like http://www.ndtoday.com.

Or the default, “What’s Her Face and So And So were HERE” or four-letter word.

Nevertheless, it is an ever-changing piece of furniture. Readers will look to read the fresh additions proudly showing off their recently etched selves, from the modest ballpoint pen message in the corner to the obnoxious permanent marker prophecy that seeks to cover all the others. They all eventually become one inky entity, seeping into each other, fading into the wooden past…