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My roommates having been lulled to a deep mid-day sleep by the spike in temperature in our un-AC’d Haines triple on Monday, I feared that I might be the next to drop dead when I picked up my assigned reading for the afternoon, the 148-page West Hollywood Housing Technical Report. Fortunately, there was hope for both of us that day. For them, the intermittent buzz of text messages received and occasional processions of loud, unruly packs of students passing by our window eventually woke them up. For me, I was in possession of the latest Oxy Weekly, and that, I thought, would keep me alert, engaged, and entertained enough to discourage sleep as I read it in bed.
Not so. Three hours, two sweat-soaked sheets, and one howling fire alarm later, I woke up in my lofted bed, banged my head off the ceiling as usual, and followed the herd through Haines’ unintelligible corridors to the parking lot. When I got back to the room, the full horror of my three lost hours dawned on me: the Oxy Weekly failed to hold enough of my attention to ward off a very unnecessary nap.
Perhaps I am the only one with this affliction. Maybe we have one of those “It’s not you-it’s me” things. If that’s the case, I tell you, dear Oxy Weekly, that I am sorry and need some time on my own. I have needs too, and an above-the-fold fling with the Times (N.Y., L.A., or U.K.-sorry, I like to read around) would serve me well right now. To me you are predictable, inflexible, and morosely mundane week after week. I suspect, however, that my own qualms extend to other readers as well, with whom you have been prancing around in awkward fashion for some time.
So Weekly, get a grip on yourself! Here is some encouragement:When I see your font face/ There’s not a thing that I would change/ Cause you’re amazing/ Just the way you are.And that’s not just me quoting Bruno Mars. That’s me lying too. Weekly, from the heart I tell you the truth. Just the way you are, you are pretty. Pretty average.
Weekly, if you want me to be closer to you, get closer to me. All I ask for is the occasional feature story. You know, those long fluffy bastions of newsprint-induced tears everywhere. Commission your best staff writer to do the job, preferably a National Magazine Award finalist, Pulitzer Prize nominee, curmudgeon who can use a phrase like “sardonically aping” in speech without blinking, or someone who can simply spell their full name correctly.
That feature you did with Campus Safety last year? Ten thousand lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start. But not enough.
Construct a long-form article that pairs pithy observations with stunning turns of phrase in a successful attempt to reveal startling insights on the nature of modern life at Occidental College. (It’s a small, private liberal arts school in Los Angeles.) Submerge us in the full depth of the human experience, probe deep into the soul, and bring us back to the surface, gasping for air and singed with cognizance. Let us consequently walk in newness of mental life and revel in our heightened awareness. Let the article’s observations trickle down nicely into our hapless intercultural dialogues.
Give me courage to bring the Weekly to bed again. Keep me from having to tell my newspaper friends, “Yeah, I read part of it all the way through this week.” Offer Oxy’s literary cognoscenti-with their highlighters, snippets of Faulkner and Morrison, glasses, and rolled-up sleeves-reprieve from CatAList. And give us all reason to refrain from poking each other on Facebook and watching that YouTube panda sneeze yet again for a cool twenty minutes each Wednesday. I know you aim to please. Please, do something unpredictable once in a while!
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