I know everyone is devastated to hear of my leaving. I expect everyone in black tie–late aughts, cabaret punk attire. It’ll be just like that meme where the guy is in the sweatpants, and then the tuxedo. I want everyone to do the second one, but dress like extras in the I Write Sins Not Tragedies music video. I had contemplated holding an elaborate living funeral for myself at this juncture, but since I could not secure club funds to hold it because “we need money to print the magazine” or whatever, I have smartly decided against it. Instead, we will be holding a candlelit vigil outside Williams 302 every Friday evening until the end of the semester. I will be giving away customized prayer candles with my face on them in exchange for donations to my “Connor doesn’t want to get a real job” fund. Canapés and champagne will be available upon request.
When I arrived here, I was but a twink. Now I am approaching twink death without ever crossing the threshold into twunkhood (if any gays would like to debate my status as a twink and would rather classify me as an otter, we can discuss it over a nice candlelit dinner with fancy wine that I will not be paying for, and then kiss with an appropriate amount of tongue). One Sarah Borsari took a chance on this scrawny little gay guy and let me pitch an article about Grimes and Elon Musk (aged like a bubble). I have been writing for Buzzsaw for FOUR years. That’s about 97.333 house fly life spans. I bet those house flies are so jealous that they cannot log onto to buzzsawmag.org and gaze upon my illustrious body of work.
Two of those years were as Sawdust editor, a laborious position in which I single-handedly held up the reputation and quality of Buzzsaw on my shoulders like Atlas. Many a funny little article has come across my desk, and by desk, I mean Microsoft Outlook. It was my sole responsibility to curate the premiere outlet of satirical writing for the Ithaca College community, making me what we call an “essential worker.” Over the years at Buzzsaw, I learned to be at least vaguely humorous, use Grammarly free version, monopolize conversations, and micromanage photoshoots to enhance my Insta feed. I leave behind me a legacy, but meanwhile, my heirs, Maggie and Aud, are away abroad–the deadbeats. Thus, with my final issue, I solo edit. I entered this world alone, and I leave Buzzsaw alone. It’s almost poetic.
On a real note, thanks so much to ex-president Mikayla, our current president Alefiya, and our interim president Simcha for enabling my craziness. Shout-out to Sarah Borsari for believing that I could keep this section alive, and all the editors at Buzzsaw who have worked on the magazine during my time. You could’ve stopped me from doing a lot of dumb bits, but you didn’t, and for that I’m eternally grateful. Thank you to all the writers who have contributed to Sawdust during my administration. I quite literally couldn’t have done it without you.
When Sawdust returns, it will be a new era, a new flavor of comical authoritarianism. Probably not as good, but quality control’s not my problem anymore. My oil-painted portrait will sit collecting dust in the defunct Buzzcave, getting uglier and uglier, Picture of Dorian Gray style. I might not have peaked in high school, but I have certainly peaked in college.
Your editor no longer,
Connor
Connor Stanford is a senior theatre studies major who is not crying because it’s over, but smiling because it happened. You can reach Connor at [email protected].