In my three and a half years at Street, I have succeeded in making a jackass out of myself in front of my friends, professors and relatives. I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Though my name will still appear on the masthead next week, this is my last real issue on staff after seven semesters here, and as such, I would like to leave a final message to all my doubters and critics.
To whom it may concern: Fuck you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be funny every week?
I hate this column.
In the years leading up to my time as editor-in-chief here, I never took this space seriously, or even read it on a regular basis. And when I took it over, I figured it was no big deal, that no one would read the damn thing anyway. In fact, most of my friends read this column on a regular basis, mostly so they can tell me just how unfunny I am. Thanks, guys. You're awesome.
Worse than that, though, are the strangers who every so often tell me how funny they think I am. This does tend to pose a problem, as I know I'm not funny, and suddenly I feel pressure to actually be funny, and then fall flat on my face. Like, for example, right now.
Then there's my family, like my cousin Andy, who remembers practically every time I've used the word "fuck" in this space. (I use it a lot. It's a good word.) You'd think that, being a successful and newly-married 30 year-old, Andy would have better things to do. And, of course, there's my mother, who calls me every Wednesday afternoon to ask, "So, will I be proud of your letter this week?" What she really means, I've come to understand, is, "How many curse words will you use/Who will you insult/How embarrassed will I be if anyone I know reads your column and realizes you're my son?" Thanks, Mom. Love you too.
And, finally, and perhaps worst of all, there are the people who, for some strange reason, want to be mentioned in this column and bug me incessantly about it, like my friend and former housemate Ilena, who fancies herself my muse and has admittedly saved me from some columns that were, even by my standards, horrendous, or Caki, who asks for a shout-out every week, or Minna, who ran into me on the street a couple days ago, asked me how my Thanksgiving was, then said, "This week, you should write about how funny I am." Good idea, Minna. I'll get right on that.
-Alex Koppelman
