Sunday morning sillies

I was going to write a grand exposition on the Meaning of Life for my first column as your new assistant opinion editor, but instead I've decided to talk about the cattle auction channel.

Have you seen this thing? Channel 75, I think. It's amazing. For those who haven't experienced the majesty of stumbling upon this pile of pure gold, the cattle auction channel is exactly what it sounds like. People buying cows. Lots of cows.

It's the auctioneer who really seals the deal. The whole thing sounds like a song, a melodious weave of numbers and cattle names. The guy's got the voice of an angel. And he stamps the gavel to the beat sometimes. Oh that gavel.

I was watching it this weekend. Sunday morning, in fact. You know those times when you wake up after a night of heavy drinking feeling kind of funny? Like hey-I-think-I-might-still-be-pretty-hammered funny? Everybody's face is bobbing with a goofy giggle, laughing at nothing and not caring. We call it the Sunday Morning Sillies, and it's prime time for cattle auction watchin'. Great rhyme, Michael, great rhyme.

It was a moment of pure joy. A fine, January light was filtering through the windows in my apartment living room. The iPod in the corner was still looping some infinite playlist. There was a musty smell of lingering hookah smoke from the night before. Usually it smells nice in there, but the Dean's Office took all of our candles away and called them fire hazards.

And of course, that auctioneer singing his song. It was the first weekend back of a brand new semester, and friends were gathering downstairs. A pretty awesome toy lightsaber was being tossed around. Of course there was the recap of the night before, somebody vaguely recalling an event while everyone else fills in the details. We were munching on a severely burnt DiGiorno's supreme pizza that my roommate had left in the oven overnight. He'd started cooking it, but just passed out before it was done. Talk about a fire hazard.

We were all still slightly drunk, but not yet hungover. The Sunday Morning Sillies is all about embracing that bittersweet feeling, the knowledge that for this brief moment, everything is nice and funny and buzzing real hard. And sure, soon you'll be really hungover, but that's not what important. Just a cattle auction and some lightsaber fights. Maybe a little China Panda too.

So as aimless as this first column must sound, if there's a message to be found it's buried somewhere in that last paragraph. New semesters are a time for new beginnings, Richmond. Get in the spirit of things. When you wake up feeling kind of funny, run with it. Embrace the moment, the buzz, even though you know full well soon you're gonna need some Tylenol. And when you do, you'll know the true beauty of the Sunday Morning Sillies.

Now if you'll excuse me, I better wrap this column up. It was due like two hours ago.

Shit.

Contact assistant opinion editor Michael Gaynor at michael.gaynor@richmond.edu