The mission of the Life columnist isa tricky one to define. Many of us like to recount our more salacious activities mixed with a fair portion of self-deprecation. Some of us prefer to meditate on themes and aspects of the college experience as represented by our goofy adventures. Some of us choose instead to pour out garbled drivel. Most of us like to be funny. I think all of us, though, through whatever structure, are trying to decant a few ounces from this magnum of experience we have here at the University and hold it up to the light. What a bottle we have to work with, though.
A particularly perceptive gentleman of my acquaintance recently described the University as "schizophrenic," and I think in many ways that is an apt observation. I always say that U.Va. is everything to everyone, but the malleability of the experience naturally produces intense centrifugal forces that tend to separate us into a thousand groups and sub-groups. I'm always amazed by the variety of ways by which people know each other; first-year dorm connections give way to organizations or apartment complexes or clubs or Greek life, and we're all caught up in a vast web of shifting knowledge that links many of us together.
The schizophrenia of the University isn't just a social phenomenon, however. Perhaps, more accurately, it is both a social phenomenon and something more. Sometimes I get the feeling that things are just bizarre here. Certainly this is often a social affair. For example, I was sitting in class the other day when, without any provocation, one gentleman asked if the professor enjoyed ferrets. The professor's bewildered response (in the affirmative) started a two or three-minute conversation among the class about the comparative virtues and vices of the ferret. To clarify: We sat there and talked about whether ferrets were cool or not. I mean, I've never known a ferret on a first-name basis, but I'm at least puzzled as to how the species related to the subject of the lecture.
But often this strangeness has nothing whatsoever to do with any social context. Some weeks ago, I was strolling toward the University down Rugby Road in the evening when a young man came running out of the darkness towards me. I was somewhat alarmed, but the gentleman's business proved benign, at least as far as my person went. He leapt a fence somewhat down the street from my position, ran up to a house, ripped off a decorative item and fell to his knees, bellowing some sort of primordial cry to the skies. I still really don't know how to deal with that.
Perhaps it's just that my standards are too high. I rather expect the world usually to be, well, usual, and the University, though it provides me with constant stimulation and entertainment, fails spectacularly at providing the everyday. This is perhaps the best example at my disposal to illustrate the point: A while ago, a gentleman of my acquaintance was walking down Rugby Road to do his laundry. Encountering a group of his friends who were in the process of grilling, he put down his explosively blue laundry bag in the extreme corner of a parking lot and walked over to spend a few minutes in conversation. Seconds later, he heard a variety of horrified shrieks and spun around to see that an SUV had entered this little-used parking lot and somehow managed to nose its way into the furthest corner before reversing directly over his incredibly visible laundry bag. My friend walked over and discovered that his bag had been ripped, his clothing stained and his pride irredeemably scarred. As the car began to exit the lot, he turned and said, "No need to apologize. This happens to me all the time." A woman leaned out of the window and shrieked, "He DID apologize!"
Honestly.
God, I love it here.
And I'm not even going to start with the religious zealots on the South Lawn.
Anyway, my friends, no matter how you choose to live here, in the end we're all of us joined, if nothing else, by the improbability of nearly everything that happens. If you'll take my advice, just lean back and drink as deeply as you please of the world we've been given here in Charlottesville.
And enjoy the weather. At least it's starting to smell like fall.
Connor's column runs bi-weekly on Fridays. He can be reached at sullivan@cavalierdaily.com.
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