Well, my dear and fluffy readers (imagine yourselves in Easter Bunny outfits), we are nearing the end. This will be the last installment of "Culture Tantrum." What, you say? No more weekly rants from a manic, obsessive music/film amalgamation of pop culture critique and devotion? Alas, mais oui, as with all good things, it shall end, so that new life might begin (namely mine, somewhere more like Los Angeles than Indiana).
With these last inches, I would like to say thanks, point out some memorable moments and, of course, throw a few tantrums.
First off, I want to extend the heartiest of thanks to every student participating in a ROTC program. Whenever I see you wearing your issued gear or in formal suits, I am filled with pride. You make me more proud of Notre Dame and of our generation. My father is a graduate of Stanford's Navy ROTC program, and he has requested that we attend your Commissioning Ceremony over commencement weekend. The long hours you put into training while here, and the time you have committed to serving after graduation, are a strong example of the strength and honor that should be asked of every Domer. For four years you have inspired me.
Second, I would like to thank the guy that sat on the opposite end of the dining hall table from me about a month ago. We were both eating alone, and after you put your tray down, you made the sign of the cross, were silent for a moment, and then made the sign of the cross again before eating. Your moment of completely personal prayer showed me that there's always some good in the world, even on one of the worst days of my semester.
Next, I want to say that the black posts are ugly and useless and I have spent the year going out of my way to walk on the grass because I am incensed that anyone would think it worthwhile to put up physical barriers where there has been a communal decision to create a footpath.
I want to thank the Waddicks community for hosting me and my wily band of academic misfits every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the past year and a half. What we cleverly titled "Waddicks Class" began as a haphazard meeting between classes and turned into a formal morning discussion that has been the highlight of my day every time. I know I've inadvertently forced some of you to sit through a dramatic reading of this column. May you be blessed with free coffee card stamps.
Special thanks to all the Joss Whedon fans on campus, as well as those who have unintentionally gained a hearty pile of Whedon trivia simply by existing in my realm. Fellow Whedonites, you've kept me going and reminded me that maybe one day I'll be able to speak to Nathan Fillion again, but without making an idiot of myself.
I want to extend a thanks to everyone who walked between Crowley and LaFortune during any of my voice lessons. My teacher's studio is on the corner of that bitsy quad, and if you've ever had the (mis)fortune of traveling past it while I'm squawking Schubert, I appreciate the aural tolerance.
For that matter, I want to thank anyone who has experienced my infamous "turkey call," a cross between a whoop and yodel which I use to get the attention of anyone I recognize across the quad. It is an extremely effective and distinctive way of getting someone's attention.
Finally, I would like to thank the staff of the Observer, especially the Scene department. My four editors over these past years have all been phenomenal. Freshman year I wandered over to the Observer booth at activities night because I wanted to write about movies, and I'm drawing to the close of a weekly column which has been one of the best challenges of my senior year. Thanks to everyone who pitched me an idea, and even more importantly, thanks to those who read them here in the center spread. I want you all to look at that lovely picture that accompanies this text and imagine my overly blonde, glasses-rocking (why did I ever wear glasses?) sophomore self looking at you and saying, "Thank you" (or, "You rock," or, "I like pie")
Remember, there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for.
The views expressed in this column are those of the authors and not necessarily those of The Observer. Stephanie DePrez can be contacted at sdeprez@nd.edu.
