Why does Wisconsin want to eat all my friends?
Well, not all of them. But the way things are going, I'm half expecting to go to Gaming Club the first week of college and find a note on the whiteboard:
This week's activity: mass exodus to Wisconsin.
Next week: ????
Of course, I'll have missed it. I always miss the boat on stuff like this. It's the price I pay for not being attentive to the rumor mill.
The campus will be deserted. All my professors will be gone; maybe they'll have left notes and tests, but probably not. At least the dorms will be nice and quiet. I'll sit by myself on the bus, looking out the window at the deserted streets. SCA meetings will consist of me practicing sword-shots in the park and learning how to tablet-weave from tutorials on the internet, desperately watching for others to show up. I'll hope that we just changed meeting places and I just missed the memo. (I'll be right, of course; it'll be a park somewhere in La Crosse or something, and occasionally they might wonder if they forgot to tell someone about the change of venues, but it won't be important. Not really.)
I'll come back home for summer again in 2013, having spent the year learning computer science or something from MIT's website (since all the professors are gone, remember), and my local friends will have decided not to come back, since the summer weather in Green Bay is so pleasant. My friend that is staying here will have transferred (and it will, of course, be to Wisconsin), since she didn't want to be the only one who hadn't left.
And maybe ten or twenty years from now, some scientists will make a study of it and figure out that some force of nature made turned Madison into a fleshy lodestone, pulling at people from all sides. But by then it will be too late; everyone (except me of course, since I'm not magnetic) will be drawn in already, crammed in with each other and joyfully forgetting that there are other places in the world.
And then a gaping maw will open up under the streets of Milwaukee and go "om nom nom people!" And I will hear it from my lonely little river town. I will climb our tallest hill and look out, and see all those folks in Wisconsin vanish, for good this time.
...curse you, Land of Dairy.
This week's activity: mass exodus to Wisconsin.
Next week: ????
Of course, I'll have missed it. I always miss the boat on stuff like this. It's the price I pay for not being attentive to the rumor mill.
The campus will be deserted. All my professors will be gone; maybe they'll have left notes and tests, but probably not. At least the dorms will be nice and quiet. I'll sit by myself on the bus, looking out the window at the deserted streets. SCA meetings will consist of me practicing sword-shots in the park and learning how to tablet-weave from tutorials on the internet, desperately watching for others to show up. I'll hope that we just changed meeting places and I just missed the memo. (I'll be right, of course; it'll be a park somewhere in La Crosse or something, and occasionally they might wonder if they forgot to tell someone about the change of venues, but it won't be important. Not really.)
I'll come back home for summer again in 2013, having spent the year learning computer science or something from MIT's website (since all the professors are gone, remember), and my local friends will have decided not to come back, since the summer weather in Green Bay is so pleasant. My friend that is staying here will have transferred (and it will, of course, be to Wisconsin), since she didn't want to be the only one who hadn't left.
And maybe ten or twenty years from now, some scientists will make a study of it and figure out that some force of nature made turned Madison into a fleshy lodestone, pulling at people from all sides. But by then it will be too late; everyone (except me of course, since I'm not magnetic) will be drawn in already, crammed in with each other and joyfully forgetting that there are other places in the world.
And then a gaping maw will open up under the streets of Milwaukee and go "om nom nom people!" And I will hear it from my lonely little river town. I will climb our tallest hill and look out, and see all those folks in Wisconsin vanish, for good this time.
...curse you, Land of Dairy.