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Too cool for school

Erik Powers | Wednesday, September 17, 2003

Hey Tom, Tom-a-Loop! We put on the Sisqo CD and read your article. It was awesome! Once it hits your lips, it feels so good!

A good movie is hard to find. Sometimes you think you’ve found a good movie, and then you open up The Observer and some dude from Dillon shows up in one of the back pages ready to double-team the best movie since 2 Fast 2 Furious.

I was streaking with my friend from Morrissey, Ken Champa, through the quad past Dillon to the gymnasium when I passed the first annual Dillapaloosa Old School Party, where everyone was dressed as their favorite pledge. I especially liked the plethora of Big Red dressed as Blue (it was GLORIOUS!!). On my way I asked, “Honey, do you think SDH is still open?” So we stopped at the dining hall, which was lovely, and were waiting for the lady to swipe our cards. And I found myself wondering … what kind of Depends she was wearing … her diaper. Odds are they were probably the basic … white … absorbent. But maybe they were reusable, maybe they had deodorizers, maybe they were something … really cool that I don’t even know about.

But, umm … actually it was a pretty nice little Saturday. We went to LaFun. Yeah, to buy some post cards, maybe get some Flipside Info, stuff like that. We wanted to stop at Stepan, but I didn’t think we’d have enough time. So instead Ken and I had to deal with condescending misanthropes who fell off the bandwagon. Namely the one person I know of (whose name strikingly resembles that of the red bandana-sporting ninja turtle) had a few qualms with his post-adolescent peers. I challenged him to a K-Y wrestling match, but his heart failed when he saw that my top was off.

I apologize to you, truants of the Old School realm, but some of us relish pop culture to capture the laughter that sprays in our direction. Rekindling sparks of mirth are actions not of conversational plagiarism, but rather of reverence to a wellspring of wit. Doing so unites us in shared memories of laughter and easily fills conversational lulls. Perhaps you are a rock or an island, and laughter and loving you disdain, but I cannot stand the sound of silence.

I will mince words no longer. Basically, no log ever rose to the top by belittling the woodpile. So stop being a little bundle of sticks and quit barking up the wrong tree.

But other than that, Raph, keep truckin’. Good stuff.