THE ROAR: Ryan from the vault

At the turn of that eighth year, I often wonder what becomes of the President of the United States. The end of a job that demands responsibility, achievement, commitment and integrity. A scrutiny of every move ends (for the most part).


I once wondered; however, now I know. Just like our Commander-in-Chief, my term ends. The days of deadlines, editing, layout, reporting, picas, keeping others focused, and the red pen awaits the next. The experience and the growth that the position of Editor-in-Chief provides I will forever cherish. Yet, my work rests only at the end of this final column.

In the fall, my journey embarks on Washington, DC, where I'll be studying political science. Of course, by the time I arrive, Senator McCain's probability of life will have decreased by 70% according to the official reports from the 2008 election's 'Candidate Life Expectancy' report. Senator Scott Brown will have voted with the Democrats on every piece of legislation. Americans will remain brainwashed into the belief that President Obama's policies caused the recession. Health care reform will begin showing signs of success. Arizona's legislators will draft a bill legalizing the use of a taser on anyone who looks like an illegal immigrant. The illogical reasoning to slash hundreds of thousands out of the local school budget will be just that—illogical. And I will still not have my driver's license (just hilarious).

So I suppose this being my last column, I should push all sarcasm aside. These past few years of writing for The Roar never disappointed. In fact, many of my previous political allusions apply to my journalism experience.

When entering Journalism I my freshman year, the guidance department released their student “Course Drop Expectancy” report. According to the report, I had a 75% chance of dropping the course.

My political opinion appeared conservative; however, like Scott Brown, every single one of my columns expressed liberal ideals. The lack of newspaper readership wasn't caused by the last newspaper regime, instead, my misspelling of “Biddford” caused the turn-off.

When handing out newspapers, the ink collected on my fingertips caused speculation as to my citizenship. Suddenly, I found myself running from many border control officers with Tasers—for some reason they were in Maine.

In reference to illogical reasoning, the many pieces of writing that I have read with no clear angle and poor reporting could make the local government seem articulate.

Lastly, I managed to report on basketball games from Portland to Old Orchard, spend hours upon hours after school, and attend a thousand meetings without... my driver's license.

Oh, how I'll miss these days.