the Greater Nomadic Council

Through a Lens Darkly

While the fashion for the boys (I simply cannot call them men) on campus appears fairly static from year to year—ragged jeans too long, sandals, ball cap, and t-shirt—the uniform for girls changes as invariably as the seasons. With the start of each semester comes the observer's anticipation of what new style spread through the population. I can proffer no more feasible explanation for the rapid and universal acceptance of the latest trends among the sorority girls and their emulators (two groups which combine to form the substantial majority of the university's female population) than infection. The carriers of the disease, though, are themselves invariably only aping some celebrity's latest style. It's remarkable to see how complete the infestation is. Although in some years the symptoms appear less serious or noticeable than in others, this year's strain must be particularly virulent. Its primary sign is a strict adherence to the fashion opthalmologist's orders; all must wear these enormous sunglasses or be ostracized. At times, wandering around campus, mulling over verses (or pretending to do so), I wonder if I haven't somehow accidentally drowned—everyone around me wears goggles. Since Bono-glasses have supplanted last year's less visible strain of virus, I can only conclude that all these tinted girls are either blind or deathly ill, victims of this latest plague.