Confession time. One of my favorite shows on television is HBO’s “Sex and the City.” I know, I know. But wait guys, don’t revoke my man card just yet – allow me to explain. I’d be willing to guess there are a few other men out there who have snuck a peek or two at the musings of Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte for one reason or another.

I have a running joke amongst friends and family. It’s not fall out of your chair kind of funny, it’s the kind of thing that just sounds believable enough to be possibly true and might make your chuckle a bit. The joke is that on graduation day I plan to shake President Gary Ransdell’s hand and, with the kind of hops former Olympic gymnast Kerri Strug would be proud of, will turn a cartwheel on stage for all to see.

W.E.B. DuBois once said “…through history, the powers of single black men flash here and there like falling stars and die sometimes before the world has rightly gauged their brightness.” I am reminded of these profound words as I think about a call I received one morning from my mother.

I didn’t know any of the three young ladies who died so tragically last week traveling across the highways and byways as so many of us do daily without thinking. Like many other of my fellow Western peers, I only know their names and have seen the sorrow and outpouring of love and support that their untimely passing left behind.

I want to get in the spirit of Thanksgiving. I really do. But there is something bugging the heck out me as I try to digest the endless amounts of blatant Turkey Day propaganda floating around the media outlets. The biggest is all the fuss being made over a protein that apparently has been linked to causing throngs of turkey eaters to drop into deep slumbers shortly following Thanksgiving dinner.

Let me take you back to the scene of the crime. It was about 1 p.m. on an random weekday afternoon last week, and I had just finished a test. A brother was hungry. Walking along the catwalk outside of the fine arts center, I glanced at Garrett Food Court as an obvious and nearby choice to satisfy my midday hunger beast.

I’ll preface this by saying that the following is in no way meant to discourage readers from voicing their concerns. As the open forum and champion for complete free speech as we know it in this country, it is paramount for people to have a place where they can feel free to express themselves as they see fit.

He never sits still. He never stands still. I even wonder if first-year Hilltopper football head coach David Elson can be still enough to go to the dentist. Even when he’s sitting he’s moving his hands or something. Elson’s energy level is what drives him.

When issues are brought up that have the ability to affect the masses, inevitably there is always someone or some side of the issues that is left out. The letters that have poured in regarding Greek Village have been great. It shows that students at Western don’t mind voicing their concerns about issues that affect them.

For those of you who just met David Elson for the first time last season, you should know that he’s been putting in work on the Hill for many years. We all remember the scene. As Hilltopper alums and new and old Western fans alike celebrated the school’s first ever football national championship, it was Elson the players chose to splash with Gatorade as ESPN cameras peered in.