Plattsburgh: We need one final heart-to-heart

“Thank you for being a friend. Traveled down the road and back again. Your heart is true, you’re a pal and a confidant.”

In case you weren’t born in the `80s, don’t have the Lifetime channel, or haven’t spent any significant time with sports editor — and man-lady — Matt Rosenberg, this is the theme song to the TV show “The Golden Girls.” I love the song. It’s one of those happy, but sad, songs that white people with guitars perfected over the years.  And it’s a song that streams in my head whenever it’s time to say goodbye.

And, folks, it’s time to say goodbye. Yep, just as quickly as I came, I’m gone, baby. This will be my last column in Cardinal Points. With my grand finale, I had two goals. Say goodbye to all you beautiful people —and the uglies — and have a good heart-to-heart with Plattsburgh.

First, Plattsburgh: OK, listen up. I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. This distinction was clear from the first day, when I stopped at a Burger King, ordered a double cheeseburger and saw it had mustard on it (really?). But there are people around here who generally care for you and appreciate you. And, it’s something that I should have considered before I ragged on you again, and again, and again and again. I heard the backlash, though — your supporters let me have it. Hell, even my adviser, Shawn Murphy, reminded me how  great he thought this town was every time I saw him (personally, I think smelling the poop in front of Yokum every day for the last 10 years or so has gotten to his brain — but, that’s just me).

So here it is, I’m going to be the bigger entity. Plattsburgh, I’m sorry. There. And the truth is, even though I’ll never step within 200 miles of this place ever again, this experience will always be with me. I mean, Plattsburgh, I’ll be reminded of you anytime I hear someone say they’re from Long Island, or whenever I eat a really crappy slice of pizza or the next time I watch “Deliverance.” And I know I’ll see some formation of this place when I die, go to hell and find out the devil’s lair is really just a recreation of Margaret Street on a Tuesday afternoon.

Ugh, OK, OK — that was a low blow, let me stop. You have some good, honest, hard-working people in you, Plattsburgh. And don’t let a city slicker jerk of a writer tell you different.  (This is excluding the d*cks in FYE who follow me around every time I walk in that place. Yeah, good luck selling CDs in 2010 — jackasses).

And now to you — the reader. Thank you for putting up with the circus I put into words every week. Whether you liked the column or not, I appreciate that you read it. Really, you did all I can really ask for.  Much love to the countless number of people who walked up to me and said they enjoyed my writing. You might not know it — but I needed that strength.

To everyone on E-Board: I’m not the long, emotional love-letter type of dude, so I’ll just say this — I got a lot more love for y’all than you will ever know — and more than I will ever admit … ha.

Special shout out to my man Joe, who held me down the whole semester. We’re in the same city, baby — don’t be a stranger. And finally, to my man Kris, the new and improved opinions editor. I wish I had some advice, but I don’t. You’re going to kill, man. I know it. 

(P.S.: Special note to Alyssa, the cleanliest most lady-like woman I’ve ever met: I appreciate her because she showers every day, and she is as dainty as a fairy. I appreciate her because, throughout my time here, she has never hopped on the desk and rocked herself in panic after something went wrong. I appreciate her because she has never told me “I don’t know, ask Jess,” whenever I asked her a question. And I appreciate her because she would never, ever force me to give her a shout out in my final column.)