Cheers & Jeers

Tyler Sperrazza, Staff Writer

This past weekend was the beginning of my favorite time of year.  The marriage of the NFL regular season and the MLB postseason is one of the best ideas that rich, white men have ever had.  I sincerely request that our professors take this into account, and begin assigning less work outside of class, so as to allow us the appropriate amount of viewing time each week.  If not, at least let us discuss the scores from the weekend for the first five minutes of class.  We’re flexible.  Go Bills!    

JEER of the week to Unnecessary Storytime
This most egregious phenomenon has probably taken place in every one of your classes at least once already. Within the first two weeks of classes you have most likely had to listen to the incessant ramblings of “that” fellow classmate, who just had to tell a quick story that is in no way relevant to the topic at hand. Isn’t this college? Shouldn’t the professors be able to silence the student with a quick slap across the face with their framed Ph.D.? And yet, without fail, your ears will be assailed with a story about “Uncle Touchie’s Naked Puzzle Basement” because some overzealous student feels their terrifying childhood memories are relevant to the German Blitz of the Second World War. So to those students,who have a burning desire to share irrelevant information in order to hear themselves speak, please, for all of our sakes, wait until after class. I’ve spoken to some professors about this and they all stated they would be more than happy to hear your story during their precious five minutes to walk from Reilly, to their office and then to the Science Building. And if it seems like they aren’t paying attention to you, just try harder to grab their attention. Trust me, they care about your stories, and cannot wait to hear one after every single class session; your stories are the reason why they went to school for ten years and became professors in the first place. Don’t disappoint them.
CHEER of the week to Make-out Rooms in the Library

Now, if you have been a student at Le Moyne for longer than a day, you certainly know of the rooms to which I’m referring. If you have been here longer than a day and are still uncertain as to what I’m talking about, just ask one of your non-virgin friends and they’ll be able to help you out. These rooms serve a pivotal function on Le Moyne’s campus. They offer much-needed relief to those couples searching for uncomfortable, semi-public, non-air-conditioned make-out spots. These rooms are perfect for a mid-day or late-night rendezvous, when the stress of studying just becomes too much to handle. Now, there are those who would prefer to use these rooms as “private study areas,” and to those people I have just one thing to say. Shame on you. Noreen is plenty spacious, and provides wide open areas for completing school work in a suitable fashion, and since the enclosure movement of the late 19th century, she is even forced to put up little walls between you and other students sitting at the same table. So please, if you need to get studying done in private, may I suggest one of the dark corners on the second floor, or the torn-up couches near the Le Moyne Archives? Please leave the creepy make-out rooms available to those who wish to use them for their intended purpose. And to those who plan on using those rooms for said intended purpose, don’t be upset if pictures of you making out are posted online… next time, close the blinds.

Jeers to Emergency Exit Alarms

I was all settled down to dinner last night at my favorite table in the Caf. I was with my usual group of low-lifes and we were involved in various shenanigans and tomfoolery. I was about to take the first bite of a delicious entree prepared by Pat at Magellan’s (you’re my boy, Pat) and found myself rendered deaf by a high pitched wailing sound directly behind me. I turned and saw a freshman leaning on the wall next to the Emergency Exit Door, clearly rattled by his embarrassing experience. Now many of you may have found yourself in this same predicament, as it seems to be a regular occurrence, happening at least three times per meal. My question is, why are there alarms when people are trying to leave? I’m going to neglect the obvious issue of these doors being more sensitive than the men’s swim team after man-scaping before finals, and instead focus on the ridiculous notion of alarming the inside of doors. What possible reason could there be for alarming a door from the inside – other than the need to trap people and prevent them from leaving? Shouldn’t these doors be alarmed on the outside, so as to prevent sketchy people and commuters from getting into the Caf? Why do we care if people leave through those doors? It would aid in cutting down traffic at the main doors, and cut down on the amount of dishes that needed to be washed because of how many would get stol…..oh right. Well, they’re still too damn sensitive.


 CHEERS to Tim Hortons

Now, I’m from Niagara Falls, which means I’m basically Canadian. I’m not necessarily happy about this reality, but it’s my own cross to bear.  Usually this cross is cold, overly-friendly and a terrible driver.  However, when I walk through the doors of a Tim Hortons, I’m reminded of just how important our neighbors to the north are to my happiness. No offense, Mr. Paul de Lima, but your coffee tastes like poop that pooped out more poop then decided to vaguely try to taste like coffee. This reality has forced me to explore other means of getting my caffeine fix. I tried illegal narcotics for a bit but man, those really mess with your social life. So I wandered aimlessly, around this Central New York wasteland, desperate for something better than the sludge at Kaffe Nuvo, but also not priced by the ounce and sold by pretentious SU students with shoes made out of wheat-germ. Then, I found it. It was as if the Canadian coffee gods had answered my prayers. Tim Hortons. Thompson Road. Open 24 Hours. Now for those of you who have never had the experience of “Timmy Ho’s” (that’s what the cool kids are calling it these days), I feel sorry for you, and hope you will venture out to this caffeine Mecca and pay tribute to the god of fresh coffee that makes DD taste as fake and processed as the DD’s on Pam Anderson. Trust me, just walk in and order a “large double, double and a PB&J donut.” You will find yourself in a state of breakfast Nirvana, and will never want to leave.  You’re welcome, eh.