Oh come on, it's not as if you didn't expect it. That's right, of all the world's great thinkers, I've picked the Eagles to kick off my farewell to The Cavalier Daily -- because I can check out anytime I like, but I can never leave.
Okay, I'll admit it. This Hotel California reference holds a slightly different meaning than my many past references to the -- let's face it -- overrated 1970s hit. I've spent many nights in the backroom repeating those haunting words, and as 2 a.m. grew to 3, 3 a.m. to 4, I often added, "We are all just prisoners here, of our device."
And in between my late-night tabletop dancing to the soothing sounds of Marvin Gaye, I couldn't help but wonder why the hell I'd agreed to put academics, friends, family and sanity on hold for The Cav Daily.
Yet, in hindsight, it all seems so clear. I may have stayed a prisoner of Newcomb basement, but, I'm finally willing to admit, I was one of my own device. And in the end, the moments kept me there.
It was writing my first story on crumbling Lambeth stairs, and, as a first year without even a full month of college under my belt, desperately searching U.Va. maps to figure out where Lambeth was.
It was a homemade spaghetti dinner with my news staff, and knowing we'd all successfully bridged the gap between co-workers and friends.
It was waiting -- and waiting -- for Gore's concession speech while standing in the freezing Nashville rain, surrounded by reporters from the Post, the Times and CNN.
It was meeting Emily Roper sliding down Pav trays in the snow, because all the fourth years said we should.
It was breaking down and crying because I had to cover a TA's murder, and I wasn't sure I had the strength in me to call her family and friends.
It was dressing up for Garden Parties, that somehow never took place in gardens, and knowing I was part of a storied U.Va. tradition.
It was nervously waiting in an unfamiliar Lawn room while my fellow staffers decided my fate, and afterwards overfilled with joy at winning elections entirely meaningless to the outside world.
It was walking into Newcomb Hall on a Monday afternoon, and knowing the second I entered the newsroom, I'd be glad to see someone, and someone would be glad to see me.
And, of course, it was a drinking society.
Yes, over the past four years, the Cav Daily has morphed into something far greater that just a newspaper to me. All of those moments have joined together to form a home.
Don't worry, I'm not going to get ultra-sappy and say I wish this same experience upon everyone. Rather, I'm trying, perhaps unsuccessfully, to introduce the thank you portion of this column. I suppose you could consider this the meat of the farewell, and my previous ranting and raving, bursting with self-righteousness and gratuitous flattery, the shell. As someone who ordered a Baja big burrito almost every Friday night for a year, I must say I'm pleased with that Tex-Mex analogy.
And so, drum roll please . . . the thank yous you've all been waiting for.
David Gies -- You were the first professor who took the time to introduce me to the wonderful student-faculty relations on Grounds. Thank you so much for making my job covering faculty a breeze
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