I was asked to speak at my high-school graduation. Not because of my grades (which were abysmal) or because of my community service (which was ordered by a judge), but because I had made fewer enemies than most of my peers and had somewhat of a reputation as a class clown—though I realize now it had more to do with my goofy, gap-toothed face than my jokes. Anyway, I had about a month to prepare for the speech, and I knew it would be the biggest moment of my life up to that point. I thought about it every single day, but in the end I had so much fun imagining the endless possibilities (do I quote Ferris Bueller or Rage Against the Machine?) that I never got around to writing a speech. When graduation finally arrived, I read vague scrawls from a torn sheet of notebook paper mostly covered with cartoons.
I write this to you on my last day at Willamette Week. I've known for a month that I'd have this page to say goodbye on. I've had plenty of ideas for it. And when I think of all the people who have mentored and inspired me these past six years—four of them as music editor, my dream job—my eyes well up and I get a lump in my throat and I have to stop thinking about it or I'll cry at my stupid desk. So instead of telling you that "life moves fast and if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it," I thought I'd show you some of the cartoons I'd scribbled in meetings over the years. Thank you for reading.
WEDNESDAY SEPT. 5
THURSDAY SEPT. 6
FRIDAY SEPT. 7
SATURDAY SEPT. 8