Obligatory Letters From The Outgoing Editors

The future of the Every Three Weekly is uncertain, my friends. Between graduation and the loss of two other staff members to study abroad programs, the producers of the vast majority of articles for the last two years' issues won't be returning next fall. What does this all mean? Well, there will probably be a summer issue acting as both a "Best Of" and "Welcome, Freshmen" edition. After that, and possibly some uncomfortable silence, no one's quite sure. The question is not whether we have talented staff members returning: we do. The question is whether we can find enough new to add to the old. Next fall we'll find out. Until then, here are the final thoughts from those leaving us.

Amol Parulekar After three years and 26 issues, I'm hanging up my E3W pen. I'd like to thank everyone on this campus that gave me the opportunity to make you laugh, cringe, and cry. The E3W has given a lot to me--it's easily the single most important activity that has defined my college existence. I never would have thought a simple idea cooked up by three engineers would grow into a campus event involving 15,000 issues distributed eight times a year. However, 116 of my stories later, here we are.

This paper gave me an outlet, it introduced me to my girlfriend of 27 months, and got me in cahoots with my writing partner and good friend Paul Malewitz. Sure, it's pissed off some people and irrevocably damaged ties with others, but that's what life is.

What lies ahead for the E3W? I don't know. Perhaps it's my arrogance to think the E3W won't prosper without me, or the knowledge that 3 other major contributors will be leaving with me this issue. All I ask is that the future editors take a look at every issue and ask themselves, "Could we have done better?" And if there ever is an instance when you don't respond with a quick, resounding "no," close up shop. Don't jump the shark, and don't turn into the Simpsons.

But who knows? Perhaps the E3W will grow into something beyond my imagination, even a formidable opponent to the Onion. I'll eagerly log onto everythreeweekly.com from my sunny LA apartment where Paul and I will try our hand at writing scripts to see what the post-Amol E3W is like. Wow. I'm attaching my name to a story. Broke the first rule of E3W writing. Fuck.

and nbsp,

Yoni Brenner When I first decided to enter the priesthood, believe me, I lot of people told me I couldn't do it. "You're too young," they said, "You're Jewish," they jeered, "You're a woman!" they cried. And then they would say, "Oh, sorry," and, "You were far away, we couldn't tell," and, "You've got to admit, you've got a really high voice." But naysayers be damned, I did it.

I remember when I announced my plan to conquer the Incas. "You're crazy," they said, "Hernando DeSoto did that 500 years ago," they said, and "That's not a conquistador hat, that's my turtle, Uncle Yoni!" But I did it. And I became a legend.

What have these stories taught me? That there's nothing more innately human than lying. Really, have you ever heard of a puma faking an orgasm? Of a hamster committing tax fraud? No. Of course not. And making things up is what the Every Three Weekly is all about.

So, I'm proud to have written many a lie for the E3W, from Ralph Williams' experiments in basketball, to the EU's standardization of ethnic slurs, to the carcinogenic effects of large headlines. (My ego and I have compiled my full E3W credits at http://www.umich.edu/~jbrenner/)

This tradition in mind, I give my priestly blessing to the next generation of writers, and to you, the reader, for, uh, I guess, reading. So, in all sincerity, I thank you.

From the very bottom of Brian Clarke's heart.

and nbsp,

Brian Clarke When I think about the essence of comedy, I usually start to giggle uncontrollably. That's because comedy isn't about you laughing at me, it's about me laughing at you. I write primarily to amuse myself, as do most good comics. Not to say that comedy is created in a bubble--unless you're a bubble boy, like in that movie Backdraft. The very best comics actually do amuse others. But if a comedian's first thought is about the audience, he or she has lost sight of what's important.

So, when I joined the Every Three Weekly in the Fall of 2000, it was an outlet for all of the amusing of myself that needed to be done. And when, at the end of that school year, I bullied the head editors into making me a copy editor, it was because Yoni did most of the self-promotion for the both of us. Cheers to his inflamed ego.

I want to thank the editors, writers, and staff of the E3W, who give us whatever greatness we have. And I also want to thank the students who pay that "Activities Fee" on their tuition to sponsor us whether they like it or not. Hopefully, though, you all have enjoyed the paper and my writing these past two years. Though if you've ever found yourself in class, reading a headline like "Future-Predicting Monkey Just Wants to Eat Bananas" and scratching your head in confusion, just know that the chuckling you heard behind you might have been me. But don't worry, I'm laughing at you, not with you.

Before I go, I have to reveal a little secret. As a going-away gift to you, we've included a belated April Fools' joke in this issue: one of our stories is real, not made up at all. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised at which one. If you think you've figured it out, email your answer to threeweeks@umich.edu to claim a free E3W button or bumper sticker.

From the very bottom of Brian Clarke's heart.

and nbsp,

Paul Malewitz In saying goodbye to something one's been a part of for three years, the temptation is to choose the route more sappy. Every year we read farewells in various publications, fondly describing "late nights with pizza and friends while getting the issue done." These experiences are presented as if they were exclusive, world changing, and different from those of the readers. Screw that. If you've never stayed up late, had friends, or eaten a pizza, maybe someone leaving a student publication shouldn't be your biggest concern.

Rest assured, there is no hidden, life-changing message in this text, and you won't need to achieve full wistfulness by spinning a Michelle Branch CD and planning your scan of the final sentence to coincide perfectly with the end credits of Felicity's series finale as it plays on your VCR.

I just want to say thanks. Thanks for reading our paper. Thanks for those of you who came to Louis Black and cheered when they mentioned the name of this publication. Thanks for letting me print an article every year with a character named John Anderson who was essentially me being bitter about something, and kudos to the guy who got pissed and started yelling at me on the Diag the afternoon I thanked him for ignoring me and told him to have a nice day.

But most of all, thanks for having opinions. Thanks for telling us we were shitty when we were shitty, thanks for saying we were good when we were good, and thanks for sending in all manner of weird comments and ideas (yes, the letters are real) just to get cheaply made bumper stickers and buttons.

So now I guess it's back to updating a long-neglected website, before setting off for California with a pile of screenplays. If you happen to have any connections...*makes "call me motion," then lamely stares at the ground*...um...yeah. If you get bored this summer, I'll be around. Stop by the Heidelberg's open mic on a Tuesday to say hi. If you're not bored, well, thanks for tuning in. I'll miss you crazy kids.

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