This is the end. Or the end is near… something like that. With the rumored Mayan apocalypse scheduled to take place a mere five days after my Dec. 16 graduation date, those statements may have a functional purpose whether Doomsday hits the rest of the world or not.
Though I’m secretly more excited than the Cubs would be if they won a baseball game to get the hell out of Dodge and take a break from all nighters and stressful deadlines, there’s something about saying goodbyes that brings a sense of morbidity to everything I do.
Statements like “This is the last time I [insert any Madison activity or undergraduate college thing here]” are permeating my daily vernacular with increasing frequency. It’s pretty strange to think I might never again slip on the rain-drenched crosswalk next to Bascom Hall on Observatory Drive and awkwardly laugh to myself so as not to feel embarrassed. Next Thursday will mark the last time I try to wave to that one person I’m Facebook friends with but don’t actually talk to in real life and have them completely ignore me. All right, so I sound like a pretty awkward, sad person here, but don’t pretend like both of those things—to some degree—haven’t happened to you.
Anyway, in the spirit of the death of what I’m told are the best years of my life, I’ve decided to write my own eulogy, just in case we really do all die on Dec. 21 and I haven’t even received my diploma in the mail yet (hey, at least I won’t have to pay off my student loans!). Please keep in mind that any detailing of uncomfortable situations or awkward scenarios of my life I’ve ever poured out to you via this page are meant to be funny, not sad (i.e. it’s ok to laugh—I usually do).
Jaime Lane Brackeen, 21, of La Crosse, Wis. died Friday, Dec. 21 after being swallowed by an abyss that opened up somewhere along University Avenue. Witnesses say she was completely oblivious the street had split and was quickly crumbling beneath her very feet as she appeared to be changing a song on her iPod. Sources close to Jaime say it was very likely she was playing Skrillex—one of her favorite dubstep artists (let us not judge the dead)—and mistook the rumbling sound of pavement disintegrating for a particularly intense build up of bass. Unfortunately, this particular drop would be her last.
What can be said to aptly do justice to this gem of an individual? She brought great joy into the hearts of all who crossed her path, and most notably to those who regularly read her columns featured on Page Two of The Daily Cardinal. Yet, while she was gifted in the realm of writing, her most notable trait was most likely her sense of modesty.
Yet, all of her shyness and inhibitions were lost as soon as she stepped on a dance floor. Anyone who ever saw her dance to Big Freedia (the Queen Diva. If you haven’t heard of her, look her up) will never forget the way all the blood rushed to her face as she placed her hands on the floor, elevated her hips and shook her ass with wild abandon. We can’t say she looked good doing it, but damn, did she enjoy getting her bounce on.
She did have her vices. Despite developing lactose intolerance in the later years of her existence, Jaime proceeded to eat ice cream like she was a castaway on an island in the South Pacific and it was the only available sustenance. Some might say Edy’s slow-churned French Silk was her Wilson.
This preference, though some might call it an addiction, came at the great detriment to her roommate who was forced to endure the uncomfortable sounds that resounded from her stomach on a regular basis and any other, ahem, side effects of the dairy. But this was just one sour drop in the milk bucket of her life.
Jaime achieved legend status at the popular Wisconsin Girl Scout summer destination, Camp Ehawee, at the budding age of 12. While on a three-day canoe outing, all campers in her session had to make use of the layers of pine needles on the forest floor as their sandbar latrine. Jaime’s counselors advised the girls to find a tree, wrap their arms around it and lean back so as not to piddle on their pants. Being a fairly well-behaved child, she did what she was told and picked what she purported to be a sturdy young sapling.
However, it was at this unfortunate time that we learned Jaime had a difficult time distinguishing live plants from those past their prime and, after a resounding cracking sound, she found herself keeping the dead log at bay from crushing her pre-tween frame with one hand while simultaneously attempting to pull her pants back up with the other. She received several mosquito bites from the incident and found an angry red rash from poison ivy on her leg once she made it to fresh air, which she had obtained during her frantic dash from the great outdoors. Yet her incident paved the way for future training sessions of Girl Scouts who were henceforth reminded that while using a pee tree, they should first verify that it is, in fact, alive.
Other notable instances of her life include, but are not limited to: that time she saw a guy get a blowjob in the middle of a Datsik concert at Electric Forest, the time she discovered the forest paths in the Arboretum and got so excited looking at the trees that she forgot to look at her feet and ate shit amongst the flora and fauna, her regular fist fights with one editor of The Daily Cardinal’s Opinion desk of which she always emerged victorious and the time she got day drunk and bought a dinosaur poster at Walgreens.
It was a long, sometimes awkward, more often hilarious and fun ride, and she couldn’t have been happier relaying her journey in this life to her avid readers. It wasn’t long, but it was enough.
That’s what she said. [End eulogy.] Keep it classy, Madison, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.
Xoxo, Gossip Girl.
Just kidding,
Jaime
Want to send this gossip girl your condolances? Email her at JBrackeen@wisc.edu.
