Last semester, I had a favorite person in Madison. Working out at the SERF, I used to see the same guy many afternoons. He was pretty hard to miss.
He was the screaming guy.
This guy wasn't lifting the most weight in the gym, but every time he completed his fifth or sixth repetition of an exercise, he would let out a wounded, triumphant scream.
Everyone in the room thought he was crazy, myself included. After all, it's hardly normal for a man to let out a blood-curdling scream in a crowded gym, no matter how proud of his achievements he is. To top it off, he would pace between sets, mumbling softly as if convincing himself to spare the rest of us his godly wrath.
We used to roll our eyes at this, hoping to polish our muscles in peace. But now I realize the screaming guy may have been onto something: taking pride in our accomplishments, no matter how meager they may seem.
In nine days, my most meager accomplishment will arrive: graduation. There's no applause in order. I've been in college for two presidential elections, three Halloween riots, a nationally covered abduction hoax and UW getting caught for inserting a picture of a black student into a school brochure. College, like a good night at the bar, can only go on for so long. In my case, the lights have been turned on, the waitress has rejected my advances, and a cab is waiting outside for me. Five years is enough, the bartenders say. I'm not one to argue.
So two Saturdays from now, I'll step proudly to the Kohl Center stage, too proud to worry that I missed the deadline for a cap and gown and will look like I'm crashing my own commencement. Chancellor Wiley will smile and pronounce my name correctly (it sounds like \Aimless Poser,"" sir). Then, I'll pause for a moment while a university photographer takes my photo for a brochure that will say ""UW-Madison: If He Can Do It, You Can."" Then they'll Photoshop a cap and gown onto me so that the ad makes sense. Then maybe add a black student, too, just for old time's sake.
Then, with my barely-earned diploma in hand, I'll let out a scream as I prepare to venture out of Wisconsin for good. No teary-eyed gazes at Lake Mendota. No melodramatic group hugs. There's no need for overbearing sadness and sentiment. Besides, hasn't everyone been waiting for coasties like me to go back to New York anyway?
At graduation time, students are always told that it's a transition into a bigger, realer, more challenging world, that it's a transition into greater responsibility and burgeoning adulthood. Just like high school graduation. Gearing up for graduation, the idea of moving out of college and into the real world seems crazy. In Madison, we're subjected to love and heartbreak, to being surrounded with gifted people we can't keep up with, and to walking around College Library to see how many attractive people will never know our names.
If anything, Madison is too real sometimes. That's why we need to scream in celebration of the stupid things we accomplish. If you manage to pass finals or wake up Sundays with no hangovers or not regrettably hook up with someone in your dorm, you deserve to scream in victory. And you will when you finish UW, too.
So in late June, I'll wave goodbye to Madison and enter the fictional world. The Blue Velvet Lounge staff will wear black armbands and retire my barstool. The hairy roommates, the evangelist missionaries, the hot astronomy TAs, the farmers' market and endless sea of cargo pants will all be part of an early chapter turned past, as I move forward to the next.
But if anyone needs to find me, it won't be hard. You won't need to e-mail me or check the phone listings.
Just go to New York, and look for the guy in glasses screaming his lungs out.
Thanks for reading, kids.
This is Amos' final column in The Daily Cardinal. He can be reached at AmosAP@gmail.com.
