It is with heavy hearts and scattered punchlines that we announce the untimely demise of Wise, longtime advice columnists, other-thinker-in-residence, and proud co-founder of Wit & Wise. Wise was discovered late Tuesday night in the Weather Vane office, the result of a tragic (yet oddly poetic and timely) breakdown of her long-time co-writer and best friend, Wit. It is suspected that the heated argument over em dashes and oxford commons led to the fatal blow, though some sources say the final straw was a disagreement about pasta water. We may never know.
Wise is survived by dozens of unanswered emails, three and a half mugs of cold coffee that she never finished, one very tired google drive of half-finished prompts, and a readership that never knew whether to laugh, cry, or call the counseling center.
In her time at Eastern Mennonite University, Wise offered sage counsel to the confused, the dramatic, and the mildly unhinged. She was known for her thoughtful tone, her persistent belief in personal growth, and her deep, unspoken fear that no one was actually reading the column.
Wit is survived by a record collection nobody knows what to do with, a mess of hippie-style clothing that went unsold at a relief sale, a weird assortment of papers with random numbers and letters scattered, and fake dollar bills he would send himself whenever an advice submission was received.
In his time at EMU, Wit commonly referred to himself as “the best advice giver this side of the Mississippi” and would ramble on about nothings to anyone who gave him the time of day. He was known for yelling very loudly when talking or making a point, his belief that he could fix anything, and an unbreaking confidence that his out-of-the-box musings would help everyone.
Wit and Wise began their tenure as two hopeful juniors with a shared Google Sheet and too many opinions. Over the course of two years, they transformed everyday chaos into printed wisdom. They navigated roommate squabbles, romantic crises, snow-related despair, sus pasta-making techniques, and the existential horror of group projects. Together, they created a space where nonsense met nuance–and made a home for all of the students just barely holding it together.
Though they are done, their legacy will live on. Wise’s legacy lives on in the footnotes of Weather Vanes, the fight for pasta justice, the emotional support squirrels of campus lore, and the eternal debate of whether or not to text first. Wit’s in the weather machine under campus, page 7 of every Weather Vane, a singular blade of grass, and in the caf taco salad.
Wit and Wise’s funeral will be held together, showing their friendship out-lived any reckless debate that Wise would have won. The service will be held in the Weather Vane archives closet, next to old ink cartridges and dusty, crusty copies of The Shen, which holds images of some of their favorite professors. In lieu of flowers, please send your passive-aggressive Post-It notes addressed to the Weather Vane in the Maplewood basement and heart-felt letters of advice to your future self (as Wise would have wanted).
Goodbye, dear readers. We have loved every ridiculous moment.
With love and chaos,
Wit & Wise (Rest in Peace)