Staff Editorial

Editorial Cartoon




Leaving Houston makes you wear fat coats, date stinky guys and become a pro-wrestler

Camilla McElligott

New Year's, Schmoo Year's. This year, it was another alcohol-ridden drunk fest -- especially if you were stuck in New Orleans with a plague of Aggies intoxicated by football fever and Bud Light.

As the Texas A&M Aggies and the Ohio State Buckeyes faced off in the Sugar Bowl, Bourbon Street was engulfed by the sounds of country folk and old men doing little jigs on every corner. 

The two sets of farming football fans spent the evening accusing each other of being hicks, when in fact, thereís a fine line between an Aggie and a Buckeye. After all, both of their mascots really suck. 

So, amid the stench of garbage, vomit and school spirit, I inched toward New Year's Day with two of my best friends and a stuffy nose (which helped stifle the olfactory bothers, though the auditory offenses were still sharp and putrid).

At midnight, my friends and I toasted each other with beignets and then fought our way back to the Hyatt after almost being run down by a vicious "Soul Train" line.

One of my friends who was missing-in-action the whole evening had woken up at seven in the morning to tell me she was leaving. I didnít see her until five the next morning. 

She is one of those people who chooses to be missing. It's part of her aura. However, this elusive, annoying trait has become a much more prevalent part of her personality since she became a New Yorker (NYU student).

What is a "New Yorker" you ask? Well, it gives you the expressive license to say things like, "I miss New York so much" (in a really dramatic voice) and wear things like all black, faux fur trimmed clothing and mean-looking go-go boots.

Is she truly a New Yorker, or will she always be a Houstonian trying to blend in? When does she cross the line in the sands of coolness? If she married Woody Allen, would that suffice?

My other friend (I only have a couple) attends the University of Chicago. Convinced his school attracts freaks and claiming to suffer from a lack-of-sunshine induced depression, he is forced (by the elements), to wear a "Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man" jacket and hat.

He is the opposite of Fur Girl. I think he spends too much energy rejecting the Windy City, energy which could be used to warm him up and dispel the need for the fat coat.

So, will he ever blend in and accept his plight or will he forever walk the streets of Chicago with the natives pointing at him and saying, "Look at that foreigner in the dough boy coat?" What a poetic existence.

Another friend, who ventured to Brown University in Rhode Island, seems to be maladjusted to the small town of Providence. She neither wholly rejects or accepts the town, but in some ways it has wholly corrupted her.

Her internal boyfriend radar seems to have been deadened by the workload of her classes and the boredom which is her night life. Right now she likes a stinky boy with bad teeth who doesn't return her affection. I hope she doesnít end up with a stinky husband and five stinky children.

What have these cities done to my friends and what will become of them? Perhaps I will form a professional wrestling team and they will be the stars.

Fur Girl will pull a disappearing act and stomp her competitorís face into the mat. Coat Boy will horrify the other wrestlers into submission with his mere appearance in the fat coat. With Stinky Boy at her side, Brown Girl will clear the arena in one single bound.

And in the bleachers, the Aggies and the Buckeyes will be swapping spit cans.

McElligott can be reached at

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