How do you start a piece of writing like this without sounding cliche? Beginning with a question certainly doesn’t work. I’m not writing another Info Hell paper. But the question has been stated, so I’m just going to roll with it.
This is my last column for the Emerald. This is my last week of school. I’ll only be in Eugene for something like 20 more days. So I say to the Emerald City and everything in it that I love, goodbye yellow brick road.
Yes, I know, that is even more cliché, and I am not even a big Elton John fan, but every day I wake up with a totally random song in my head, and today it is Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. I only know that one line so it is particularly annoying, but it does seem to fit my mood.
Goodbye University mysteries. Why can’t I take a class on meteorology? As a desert transplant, I wanted nothing more than to learn why it just keeps raining and why the sky fluctuates between a two shades of gray rather than the traditional blue and black. I still don’t know. Why doesn’t the EMU have a Chic-Fil-A? I thought all colleges had a Chic-Fil-A. I’m not sure I’ve even seen one in Oregon at all. Why oh why did they close the café in Collier House? I miss my 9 a.m. coffee-bagel-Emerald ritual of freshman year, and I’m sad that no one else will be able to see just how much whipped cream someone can fit on top of a strawberry waffle. How does Duncan McDonald stay so tan? I’ve tried stamping my foot while talking about grammar, but I exude none of the authority or pigment that he does.
Goodbye commenters. No, not commentators; that is what I am. Commenters are the people who leave comments on my commentary online. I’ll miss everything from the kind words, to the kinship of strangers who share my obsessions, to the PETA members who think I’m a murderer, to the College Republicans just learning how to smear, and that one guy who used his comment space to tell me the real history of the Alamo as told by his grandmother. According to him, I’m an unethical, life-hating, NRA-loving, Rammstein-misunderstanding, dirty lib named Amy. But he also thinks I’m smart, thoughtful and a good writer. So thank you commenters of the world, for taking the time to read my little opinions in this little paper and making me feel so big.
Goodbye Eugene. You have certainly shaped up some since I moved here. Freshman year everyone ate their burritos in sun-dried tomato tortillas, and now we have one Muchas Gracias and another under construction (two blocks from where I am soon moving away from, but at least others will benefit). Granted the 24-hour Mexican chain’s name doesn’t end in “bertos” and they call pico de gallo “Mexican salsa,” but at least it’s something. Aside from the burrito deficiency, Eugene is great. I don’t care what anybody says: Downtown is awesome. I have spent many days and nights roaming around and just generally being happy where I am. I made great friends and fell in love here. I rarely have to drive anywhere, and when I do everything takes five minutes. I wouldn’t trade my four years here for anything.
Goodbye to an entirely Oregon lifestyle. I’ve worked at this paper selling ads and writing this column. I drove 80 miles a day for Pony Express. I produced an afternoon talk show on KOPT. Not once did I ever have to work for a non-local company. I never have to go to the mall, because I buy all my clothes at thrift stores. I shop at WinCo and Kiva for groceries. I rent movies from Big City Gaming. I eat hangover breakfasts at Brail’s instead of Denny’s. I’ve only been to the new Best Buy once, and that was to buy the R. Kelly “Trapped in the Closet” DVD, which I don’t regret. For a girl who grew up in urban sprawl loving chain stores and freeways, living in Eugene was just what I needed. I probably wouldn’t even know what sustainable living is unless I’d lived here, and now it’s an important part of my life.
Now there is no way I can end this column without sounding totally cheesy. Actually, right now I wish I had developed some signature tagline to sign off on all my columns, because then right about now you’d be waiting for it and I’d be tearfully cntrl-C cntrl-V-ing those very words from last week’s column. I would feel more closure. Instead I’m just stressing about the 15-page paper I have to finish by Thursday. But I bet that last sentence touched you deeper than all the other things I’ve been talking about, so I’m just going to roll with it.