Letter to Mom, creative poem to profs give freedom

I sit here today (that's Wednesday to you), locked in a battle with forces far beyond my control. I am both pleased and dismayed to report that I am losing this fight and therefore, there will be no column today. Yes, that's right, no column indeed. Why? Because it's springtime, otherwise known as the time to start shirking as much responsibility as possible in order to go outside and play. It's 80 degrees outside. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping and all I want to do is throw my computer out my lofty fourth-floor window, watch it splatter like beans and go frolicking in the wind. My struggle is made even more difficult because it's supposed to rain tomorrow (that's Thursday to you) so it's not like I can let this beautiful weather slide by and catch it then.

So, I'm losing this battle and, as I said, there will be no column. Rather, there will only be a cry of intense suffering brought on by the inhuman tormentors striving to drive us all to certain madness. That's right, it's bitching and moaning ( . . . oh, so I guess then it is a column after all . . . ).

You see, this struggle with the weather will continue for some time and it's only a matter of days before we all break. Before long, Dukies everywhere will be lying around campus in their skivvies, pretending they're at the beach. And though the assignments will keep coming, all work will cease, thus hurling us into a tailspin that will end with nothing more than a killer tan (/burn) and membership into this semester's GPA Square Root Club (membership requirements include a GPA that gets smaller when you square it).

But what can we do? How do we stop the weather? Study carrels buried in the windowless corners of the Perkins sub-basement are one way to go, but that's far too depressing for an 80-degree day. There's got to be a better way to get around this.

Ah yes, and there is. We just have to talk to the teacher and make them understand. They say that always helps. So, in the name of the great force of nature that drives away the clouds and lets the sun shine, I appeal to that other great force of nature which does its best to keep us as pale and stressed as possible until we finally escape to Myrtle.

To the profs who steal spring, here is my plea. (Of course, this excludes any of the brilliant and wonderful professors who I happen to have asked for recommendations and whose assignments I do with great joy, verve and pleasure . . . ) Ahem.

How do you do it?

How do you foresee?

Could you give it a rest

Til the weather gets cold?

For these tasks you assign

And these chores you impose

They're making us farty,

They're making us old.

So now put down those papers!

Stop grading that test!

Cancel all remaining assignments for the rest of the semester (heh, heh, heh).

And chill out, take a rest

I'll tell you what,

Old buddy, old prof

How bout we fake some dean's excuses

And take the season off?

All right, that ought to do it. What, with all that passion and eloquence, they'll be running for their swimming trunks in no time!

Oh . . . but what if they don't care? What if they staple our heads to coursepaks and trap us in Perkins and make us memorize chemical equations and irregular verb conjugations? Oh, the stress! The despair! Woe is us! What to do?

Well, I thought I was too mature for this, but I guess not. There's only one last hope: a note from our mom. It always worked in high school; maybe it will save us now.

"Dear Professor: My precious babies are not to strain their eyes in any way as the eyes are a very important part of the body. Kindly excuse my darling children from any work that would require use of these wondrous and invaluable organs. Additionally, do not keep my little munchkins indoors. The doctor said it isn't good for them--Vitamin D, you know. I'm sure you understand. Sincerely, The concerned mother of the altogether brilliant, gorgeous, delicious, delightful and not spoiled in the least Duke student body; P.S. Please arrange for my refund for all unassigned assignments."

Present this note to whomever happens to be making your life miserable at the moment. If it works, you're set. If it doesn't, if anyone actually has the gall to question Mom, feign shock and outrage. Sputter. Then throw up your hands and storm out of the room. You're now free to go play. Good luck, and I'll see you on the outside.

Wendy Rosenberg is a Trinity senior.