Muhlenberg Weepy :’-(


Hey, Weekly-heads. If you’re reading this, first of all: nerd! Second of all, sorry for calling you names. Maybe you know who I am (I hope not), or maybe you’ve just seen my name in this paper (again, I REALLY hope not), but chances are neither of these things are true. I’m not a regular writer, or even a big-boy section editor. Just a measly widdle layout editor, which is the one cooool job at the Weekly for people who are cooooool.

Being a layout editor means you get your own coooooooooool room in the Weekly Office, though I’m not sure why it only locks from the outside. It means moving words and pictures around in InDesign until either they fit on the page or your eyes fall out and you have to pop them back in with your hands. It means listening to Dreams by Fleetwood Mac on full blast from 6 PM to 2 AM and never, ever having to write except for sometimes. And, besides the editor-in-chief and managing editor, it usually means being the last person to leave production night each week.

That’s why it’s been weird this semester, my last semester at the Weekly and also ever, to find myself alone in my house on Tuesday nights, not melting my eyes and my brain out with Adobe Creative Cloud, and going to bed at a normal hour, and not listening to Fleetwood Mac at all. (Haha, just kidding — what am I, dead? I have a beating heart! There’s still blood in my veins! Thunder only happens when it’s raining, baby!)

I miss raving with my editor-in-crime, the indelibly wonderful and unforgettably wiggly Meghan Coyle, to the dulcet tones of the Ratatouille trailer and screening such cinematic masterpieces as “24 Hours with Robert Pattinson” by Vogue. I miss Karly “Car Keys” McCloskey, our visionary photo editor and also My Dear Dear Friend. I miss Melissa (managing ebitor) and Katie (resident TikTok historian) and Sara (resident Morissey historian) and Will (Wamser) and the other ones. I even kinda miss Bjork Measler (peperony-in-chease), I GUESS. Even though not only did she never apologize for giving me the measles, she also laughed in my face and called me a bumpy little freak. Thanks for nothing, Brock Sneezler!

I don’t know how to end this article. It’s probably safe to say we’re all pretty strapped for closure right now. I hope this means it’s not the end for us. I hope it means we’ll all see each other again.

If you’re graduating, maybe I’ll see you in October? And if you’re still a snot-nosed, tender-footed lil’ undergrad, I hope you’ll consider joining the Weekly as layout editor. But only if you are coooooooooooooooooooooool. I have a reputation to uphold, after all! Don’t ruin this for me.


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