Georgetown University’s Newspaper of Record since 1920

The Hoya

Georgetown University’s Newspaper of Record since 1920

The Hoya

Georgetown University’s Newspaper of Record since 1920

The Hoya

Even at End of Act, the Play Continues

SENIOR VIEWPOINT Even at End of Act, the Play Continues By Tim Haggerty

Courtesy Tim Haggerty Reflection: a mirror’s job?

You’re not as interesting as you think,” they tell writers, and though the advice seems universally applicable, it is also a bit disingenuous. Readers, you see, don’t care about you nearly so much as they care about themselves.

That explicates the otherwise inexplicable boom in “everyday observation comedy,” the backbone of which is the old-and-aggressively-nude-men-in-the-locker-room line of observation. This sort of comedy, which your humble author currently embraces ironically, leaves its audience saying things like, “Yeah! What is the deal with that?” or, more pointedly, “So true!”

Into such a world, we grizzled veterans of The Hoya offer our “senior reflections,” so named to encourage all forms of strained metaphor and overzealous soul-searching. Apparently, this tradition began before the ghosts of Leavey 421 started soul stealing.

By virtue of our association with said newspaper, we are almost institutionally unqualified to offer any sort of “advice,”counsel” or “friendly guidance.” As you may have noticed, one of us has been losing his mind slowly and publicly while the rest of us have been doing so quickly and quietly.

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What we’re really doing on these pages is crafting our own tombstones out of the limestone of selective memory. Twice each week for varying durations of the past four years, we’ve contributed to this newspaper; now that we’re done we are allowed 600 words to create linguistic shadows that will linger longer than we dare.

That is the greatest conceit of the exercise: suggesting that we will be remembered. But we appreciate the white lie. We can forget that things will go on, probably improved, without us.

Not to sound sullen, though, because the inverse is just as true. After these four years, we’re able to go on, no worse for the wear, without Georgetown. We come here looking for a service of limited duration, and by the time four years are gone, some people resent that limit.

That’s the greatest thing about college – that it kicks you out with the subtle grace of a graduation ceremony, confident you now have the skills to relieve your rear end of your body’s weight.

For some people, that kick smarts. They embrace the snapshot view of history, which suggests that life is a series of phases, each of which can be captured in a photograph. Life, for them, is the album of these images, connected only by three metal rings and acetate paper.

This sort of view lends an air of drama to every ceremony, whether Girl Scouts “bridging” ceremonies or college graduation. Everything starts to look like the final scene of Sleepers, the final meeting of friends whose shared life experience has driven them separate ways, but separate ways together.

I’ll be proud to have a diploma, but I won’t be so deluded to think it symbolizes a new stage of my life. If life broke down into stages, we would have to worry about losing our audiences. We’d worry about going from Broadway to Rahway. We’d stretch to please others and lose ourselves.

Which is why you should shut up when you’ve said your piece. If it’s not interesting enough to write, it sure isn’t interesting enough to read.

Tim Haggerty is a senior in the College and a former editor in chief, senior news editor and senior Guide editor for The Hoya.

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