Bizarre occurrences: Sunday scaries

Campus Pictures-Spring
Morgan Brownell /THE REVIEW
On Sunday mornings, campus gets weird.

BY
ASSISTANT MOSAIC EDITOR

This place is full of bizarre instances of humanity and it’s magical.

Sunday mornings, especially, are…weird! Yes, weird. Sundays constantly surprise me with gifts of headaches, body aches and emotional aches. Like, hello and thank you for a great weekend!

But after dragging myself and my Sunday fever out of bed week after week to The Review office, it’s nice to realize that people—not including myself—are actually making sense of the day.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Sunday is the day to do whatever and not be judged. Literally, you can do whatever you want.

It’s the day of Sunday Scaries. I’ve seen people in full-on karate outfits fighting on the turf, a girl dressed as a doll head-to-toe with black dress shoes and corsets, and a girl wearing devil ears, without it being Halloween. I’ve seen goats grazing at the end of Benny Street—on leashes. Once I saw a kid making a parody of Kirkbride Jesus, pretending he was “Pasta God.” Yes, Pasta God—and boy, am I glad this dream became reality.

“He believes that as long as you eat pasta, you will be healthy,” Pasta God proclaims.

Amen.

There have been people fighting with fake swords in capes on The Green and people scaling buildings on South Campus.

I just recently participated in the weirdness by selling my five-month-old Betta fish on the black market—a.k.a the South Green. It happened in passing: me with the fish and a stranger with $10. I have no knowledge of my former pet’s present state.

Things often happen in the shadows of this campus and that’s totally one of the things that make this place so special.

It’s just a place of constant weirdness without concern of judgement and that’s something really cool. Nothing is judged. All is normal in the scheme of things, just because all is weird so much of the time.

Everything is normal in all strangeness, until Sunday kicks in and, in a daze of confusion, everything feels dreamlike behind sunglasses that hide our recurring hangovers.

Remember: next time you have the Sunday Scaries, this is normality, this whole strangeness that is our university. Take it in doses. Accept it and move on. Let’s just hope this bubble doesn’t give up on its South Green black market, underground Perkins rooms and those unknown, ever-changing Trabant multipurpose rooms.

Sunday Scaries, shout out to you for bringing me back to reality every seven days or so.

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