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Senior Column: So long, dear Salty Spitoon

Being a graphic designer does not help in the slightest with trying to write this column, seeing that I cannot simply make you a picture of how I feel.

After four years of college, it has come to an end, and it is more bittersweet than I’d like to admit.
During my freshman year, I was a social butterfly. I remember talking to anyone and everyone; I even had a small (and very awkward) conversation with a girl who sophomore year would become my now wonderful girlfriend of more than two years (love you, Andrea).

In those days, homework was easy, frats were fun, and Center Court pizza was something I looked forward to every day (R.I.P. Bosco sticks).

At that same time, I found a few good friends that I have kept to this day, played in a few bands and found the guy I would room with for the next three years as well as be responsible for getting me involved with Magic: The Gathering. Oh, and also, I learned some things from school.

During my time at Bradley, I DJ’d at The Edge, became the president of the Digital Arts Team, a member of the Bradley Ballroom Club as well as Brave Sounds Entertainment, had two different internships and learned that I really enjoy a double Rum and Coke. However, out of everything I did at Bradley, the one thing that I will always remember is The Salty Spitoon.

When I was a freshman, I joined a band and played with them for three years. Throughout that time, we played several house shows. After the first one, I knew that I wanted to do that at my own house. So, when I became a junior and lived off campus, The Salty Spitoon was born.

A simple rental house with an unfinished basement and mold on the walls is where my fondest memories took place. We had 89 different bands play and 22 different shows in that basement. It was the bee’s knees except with more sweat, alcohol and music.

It didn’t matter what I had to do the next day. It didn’t matter the mess I had to clean up. All that mattered was everyone would come together to have a good time. And to everything that has happened, all I have to say is thank you.

Thank you to everyone who supported what my housemates and I did with The Salty Spitoon. Thank you for all the memories you gave me and gave to the hundreds of people who went through the doors. Thank you for supporting the local scene as well as all the touring bands that we helped support. And a big f**k you to my neighbors who called the cops and got the police involved that ended The Salty Spitoon.

At the end of the day, I have a few words of advice for anyone reading this. Do what makes you happy, and don’t stress. No matter what we do, in 200 years no one will remember who any of us are unless we start a war, find a cure for a disease or donate seven-figures to have a building named after us.

So, you might as well have some fun while you can and find people that make you happy.

Thanks Peoria for being such a big part of my life and shaping me into who I am today. Until we meet again, just remember: stay salty.

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