We're into that rough period in the semester where everyone seems to be doing schoolwork -- writing papers and labs, meeting for group projects, studying for tests, memorizing lines for drama class. And, even the people with no pressing deadlines or academic aspirations to speak of, go to the library.
There are many controversial things to say about Homecoming -- the way elections always get so heated, whether we should even have a king or queen (or whatever they are called this year) and why people don't bother to vote. Aside from all of that though, Homecoming is just one fall weekend where UNC alumni come back to campus with their kids and spouses and remember what it was like to go to school here. For me, that's the really strange part.
One of my funniest Halloween memories came freshman year. I was with a large group of people that included my older sister and some friends of hers I didn't know. We started off at a house on Rosemary Street. While we were there, I noticed that one guy was especially quiet. Every now and then he'd laugh at a joke or say a few words to one of his friends. Other than that, he just sat, smiling, on the couch wearing a Superman T-shirt and jeans. Then, about 20 minutes into our walk down Franklin Street, a girl in a sexed-up nurse's uniform grabbed him, and they started making out.
While taking advantage of my Fall Break opportunity to watch mindless daytime television, I came across three dating game shows -- "Change of Heart," "The Fifth Wheel," and "Elimidate."
Lately, we've heard about different cultures in very piercing ways. Terrorists killed thousands of our civilians -- some, though perhaps not many, Palestinians cheered in response to the Sept. 11 tragedies; and in a videotape released on Sunday, Osama bin Laden reveled in our pain and threatened us this week with more fear.
Granted, I went to the N.C. State game in a Carolina blue band uniform. A certain amount of "One time at band camp ..." remarks and general comments about UNC came along with the territory. That said, State fans crossed the line. Things started off badly when sections of people couldn't even respect the patriotic moments during pregame. During "The Star Spangled Banner," some fans used "the rocket's red glare" and "the home of the brave" as opportunities to cheer for their team. A grown, but obviously drunken, man behind me called Sen. John Edwards and Gov.
I'm a ditz. In the past five weeks alone, I've locked myself out of my room twice, lost a sweater and set of room keys, left my clarinet in someone's car and misplaced my purse and UNC ONE Card enough times to make my roommate start noticing where I place them. Last semester I studied abroad in England. Within the first three days, I locked my keys in my room and had to call security to retrieve them, lost a claim ticket for my coat at a club and had to wait until everyone went home before they'd give me my coat, and left a sweater in a public restroom.
I love fall -- breezy days when jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts feel just right -- hiking, throwing around a football, those September and October afternoons where the light pours down in beams and makes everything glow. Friday made me think that fall would come soon, and I felt really happy in that muted sort of way that any good news has been lately. I almost felt guilty. Why should changing seasons really merit any attention in the wake of Tuesday's devastation?
I feel overwhelmed. I've sat in front of the TV for hours -- listening to analysts discuss terrorism and watching the clip of the plane going through the south tower of the World Trade Center. I've read at least a dozen newspaper articles about the tragedies. Even the foreign newspapers have those awful pictures of the burning buildings on the top of their Web pages with headlines about terrorism in the United States. I can't even check my e-mail without seeing a picture on the Netscape home page of a woman covered in debris, crying.
ay I heard a sweet story, and it's true. A man was reading the newspaper and came across an article about a 9-year-old orphan with cerebral palsy who wanted a family. Feeling sorry for the boy, he brought him home to his wife and two daughters, adopted him, gave him his last name and raised him as his son. The man is Jesse Helms; the boy is his son Charles. Even so, I can't make myself like Helms.
