Signatures

s, though, is that I’ve completely forgotten about it. I mean, I vaguely recall agreeing to take it this summer when some brownnosing third year orientation leader told me that David Waldner was the closest thing I would find to Jesus Christ at UVa. But it’s been a while. I should probably aim for a perfect score all things considered. What do you suggest?

Slightly-behind-the-curve first year,
Beatrice Jones

Dear academic epicurean,

You demonstrate an attendance policy indicative of an academic maturity well beyond your years. If you can somehow maintain your lifestyle of consistent absences, permanent distractedness and general laziness, then one day—when you are a fourth year living on the lawn alongside other likeminded individuals—some secret society will probably construct a monument to your perpetually vacant lecture hall seats, your excuse-riddled correspondences with your unimpressed professors, and your legacy of improvised exam-based successes.
In the meantime, however, we suggest going to Alderman, finding someone capable of deciphering its backwards shelving system and then checking out David Waldner’s book or something. Read it really fast. If we were you, we would then write him a really super thoughtful, incomparably elegant, extra-special email all about it. Then we would probably sleep with him.
Good luck passing everything!

Fuck school,
-The Dec

Dear Dec,

I have a lot of feelings, and sometimes I cry in class. Mostly it’s my moral philosophy class, because we’ve been talking about euthanasia lately, and nothing gets me worked up quite like the mental image of Dr. Kevorkian ripping a cord out of an outlet in a hospital room. I mean, we don’t even talk about what happens after you die in that class! How am I supposed to handle a lecture on euthanasia with any measure of dignity when all I can think about is death and dying and Hugh Laurie pulling the plug on my comatose alter ego?
Anyway, I think it would really help me maintain my in-class composure if you were to provide me with an exhaustive explanation of what happens once you’re dead. I’m pretty sick of breaking down in the back row every Tuesday and Thursday morning, not to mention the fact that my TA always shoots me disapproving glares whenever he catches me sobbing in discussion. So please tell me what it is that happens when you die. Really.

An inquiring spirit trapped in the midst of a metaphysical wasteland,
Phil Osopher

Dear Lachrymosilosophy student,

Sincerely,
-The Dec

Dear Dec,

I need some help. My band is in some serious debt! After a year of playing out, we earned enough money to start investing in our art. However, we quickly realized that we had no idea what we were doing. We blew all of our money recording with Timbaland, nobody is buying our shirts, and we’re on the bottom rung of the ladder in terms of Charlottesville bands. I mean our tunes are pretty sweet. Our parents love it. Any suggestions?

Thanks bro,
Bassist of Incredibly Twiztid

Dear Incredible Twister,

Have you ever heard of a little band called Parachute? They used to be called Sparky’s Flaw. Yeah, they’re pretty big now. It’s time to start doing what they did! Change your name to a bland, one-letter word: something like....Safety Net. That’s a safe name. Girls will like that. You want girls to like your band too. Lots of girls like Parachute. Do you like girls?

You’re never gonna make it,
-The Dec