“I don't want to become immortal through my work. I want to become immortal through not dying.” - Woody Allen

I'm supposed to fill this space for Candace. I’ve had crap running through my mind all week, (especially when I was supposed to be thinking about my portfolio) but now that I'm actually sitting down trying to put them down on paper, I can’t think of anything to write about.

The only thing that’s coming to mind right now is the Comm department's mysterious spontaneously combusting chairs, and you probably don’t want to read about them. Well, that, and the Weatherbug warning map is lit up like a Christmas tree.

Eventually, more chairs will spontaneously combust, providing amusement for the Comm majors of the future. Eventually, the bad weather will blow over and, eventually, my leaky car will dry out.

I guess the point I’m trying to clumsily segue into is that time stands still for no one, not for people, leaky cars, or chairs. Eventually, you’re going to get to your last semester here; eventually, you’re going to be in the same panic mode as the rest of the graduating class. Eventually, you’re going to get a job, grow old, and die.

Okay, maybe you’re not planning on dying. Maybe you’re planning on spending the next couple of hundred years fighting other immortal people and cutting their heads off, or cloning yourself and transferring all your thoughts into the clone. If so, don’t do that because immortality would probably get old real quick. That and you’re ripping off a bunch of different movies and books, and you’re going to get your butt sued off.

Okay, I’ll be honest. Getting old scares me. I’ve lived roughly one third of my life so far, and there's so little I’ve actually seen and experienced. Seventy years do-esn’t really sound long enough.

There’s never going to be enough hours in the day, and things are always going to be disappearing. Life’s too short, for me, to waste my time being mad at people. If I'm going to have this little time to live, I might as well try to enjoy it.

And now, for something completely different and alphabetical: Prof. Bruce: Thanks for teaching me not to be petrified when speaking in front of people.

Prof. Collard: Thanks for the calendar assignment, and the positive reinforcement.

Prof. Freed: Thanks for putting up with us in Photojournalism, and for teaching us that there is no such thing as a photo slave elf.

Harold: Thanks for unlocking the TV studio.

Glenda: Thanks for helping me find missing Comm professors.

Prof. Hoyer: Thanks for letting me borrow your printer.

Prof. McCutchen-Parrish: Thanks for teaching news writing, bleeding all over my papers, and for bringing everyone cookies and coke when it really mattered.

Prof. Nanney: Thanks for teaching us that yes, we CAN do infographics, and teaching us how to avoid getting sued. Prof. Norton: Thanks for clarifying what the plural of “Elvis” is (It’s “Elvises” for everyone who cares).

Prof. Ogg: Thanks for seriously listening to our concerns in the Senior Seminar interview.

Prof. Robinson: Thanks for telling us the story about Sam Donaldson and Satan in my intro to broadcasting class.

Prof. Steinke: I never had class with you, but I apologize for first pronouncing your name as “stinky”.

The entire Pacer Staff: Thank you for not killing each other, even though I know the temptation was there.

So, in the words of Mr. Spock, Live long and prosper. And stuff.