Do You Know What the Problem With the Youth of America is Today?

We’re numb. We’ve grown up in an age of technology, when huge romantic gestures can be typed into a computer and sent through an e-mail. Chivalry is nonexistant, calling the next day isn’t even remotely required. We don’t subtley romance, we don’t date. We drink too much, fall into bed together, and should we happen to find the person attractive the next morning, we might deem them worthy of possible attachment. But we’re so numb that we run blindly into things hoping to feel something. We grasp for whatever concepts of true feeling we can find. For a lot of us, blind alcoholism and drug addiction do the trick, for others its an unbelievable series of casual hook ups lacking emotional attachment from one end, the other end, or both ends, for some others it’s cruelty to one another, even more of us join fraternities and sororities in the hopes of feeling some sort of bond or connection with one another. We run full speed into impossible relationships, knowing the will fail, maybe subconciously knowing at least we’ll feel sadness. We’re disrespectful and arrogant, but the world doesn’t belong to us. It never will belong to us if we continue to carry on in such a fashion. There used to be poetry, and music, and appreciation for things in life that could make you feel something without help. Kandinsky’s painting Composition No. 4, for example. (German Expressionism), or any painting by Rothko. I don’t advocate that we all live lives of solitude and contemplation, but why must we constantly make the wrong decisions? We all learned the same lessons in grade school, were taught the same principles. So why is rape and sexual assault so common on college campuses that we barely bat an eye when it happens. Why do boys need to feel so powerful, and why do girls need to constantly surround themselves with assholes. Looking around, at the female sex, all of us fall for the boys that treat us like dirt, worth nothing more than their new topsiders. And why do the nice boys seem to become less and less frequent? When did it become okay to hold the door open for someone and not say thank you? When did it become okay to barge into someone else’s room without knocking? When did sexiling become commonplace? I want to scream what that senator screamed at Senator McCarthy, “Have you no sense of decency, sir?” But I can’t claim to be entirely free of fault, I fall into the same patterns as every girl on this campus. We need to refind something other drugs, sex and booze to lift ourselves up. We need culture and society, and we need wilderness, too. We need eachother in the most base sense, but we cannot touch. If for one day we let everything drop behind us and tried something new? And I am so afraid that this is how my life will proceed until I die, that this is how my generation will use the world and their lives, and that this is what I must be. I’m not speaking in a feminist, or pro youth or any sort of terms, I’m talking in a what-the-hell-are-we-doing term. Am I the only one that sees the degeneration of my peers? Do they not see how hard they are going to fall?

And must I fall with them?

My RA is the Cooler Than Yours

I don’t know how many of you followed my high school blog, but one of my last entries was a conversation I had with my future RA. This future RA turned out to basically be the coolest RA in the history of forever. Why? Why do you ask?

Well, Saturday evening, I walked back to the dorm with a bag full of plastic cups, cranberry juice and orange juice. Alex, my RA, was outside on the steps enjoying a cigarette. He asked what I had bought, and I responded by asking him if he was on duty. He responded in the affirmative, but said he didn’t care. I invited him if he was bored during his rounds to come have a drink with us.

An hour later, around 9 30pm, as we were all enjoying our screwdrivers, there was a knock on the door. It was Alex. “How is making sure none of your residents are drinking?” I asked him. “Fine, fine,” he said. “Would you like a drink?” “Yes, Please.”

Moral of the story: If your RA is as cool as mine, let me know.

Oh. My. God. That is like soooo college.

Good afternoon, fair readers!
I started up this blog to really share my stories about college and my experiences here. Well, this may have to be my last entry, because I just had the most “college” morning of my life. I went to bed at 4 AM, which may be the latest (or earliest) I’ve ever gone to bed before in my life. When I finally woke up again at 12 30, I rolled over and put my feet on the floor, and looked around me. My room was a disheveled mess, as on Friday and Saturday nights I don’t clean my room. Ever. Then, I noticed a large bruise on my arm. And on my leg. And on my hand. And on my other arm. Now I’m a pale kid. I also bruise freakishly easily. And I remember everything I did last night. Everything. I just don’t recall so much bruising while doing it. So college.
Then, I glanced out into the hallway to see my friend bringing a tour down the hall. Which is not normal because tours usually go through the new dorms. Head poking out my door, I inquired as to the change. She informed me that the normal tour dorm was locked, and that she wanted to show the tour a room. So she brought them down to her room. I went back into my room, in just a t-shirt and underwear to clarify, and went to check my e-mail. I hear someone call my name, it’s Caitlin, “Can I bring the tour in there?” she asked. In my groggy and hungover state, I agreed, and went to make my bed. 3 families and Caitlin walk into my room. And then I remember I’m not wearing pants. Caitlin points out the size of my room. A mother points out to her son my three Led Zeppelin posters. I stood there. With no pants on. Cowering. The end came too slowly.
Finally, when I was walking back up the stairs in the dorm from breakfast, I dragged myself around a corner, looked down, and saw a crumpled up thong. Clearly used. I was stunned. I just stared at it. Disgusted. Then I walked back up to my room.

Does college get any more college than that?

PassovA!

Is it sadistic and twisted and wrong if I offer macaroons to unsuspecting victims just to see the looks on their faces?

Special Edition: Can You Define College in a Single Photo? I think I can.

College…is hard!

Hello friendly reader(s).
Hopefully you were able to stick it out alone during my long absence following my discovery that college is actually kind of hard. That kind of took me by surprise. Who knew?

At 8:30 am this morning, I had a massive test in Political Philosophy covering Plato, Hobbes, Aristotle, Augustine, Machiavelli, Thomas Paine, Edmund Burke, John Stuart Mill, J.J. Rousseau, Adam Smith, and Karl Marx. All of it. Everything. I actually met for 4 different study sessions. Monday night I met with the boy who sits next to me, and we got essentially nothing done because we both were similarly ADD. Tuesday afternoon, I got an e-mail from a girl in my class to several students saying “I know this is kind of awkward but…do you want to study together??” So I typed up my notes into a study guide, printed one out for both of us and met her in the library after dinner. Another classmate studied with us. After an hour and a half or so, we split up, the girl taking my study guide and promising to add to it, and reprint copies. We met back up at 10:30 and studied until 11:30 in the basement of the HUB. This morning I woke up early, met her at 7:30, continued studying at breakfast, and met up with another boy from our class who quized us on things we definitely had not thought of. During yesterday’s study groups, I was kind enough to tap my inner jewish mother and bring essentially all the non-kosher for passover snacks I had in my room to unload them on the unsuspecting goyem.

If that wasn’t ridiculously painful enough, (between stabbing myself repeatedly in the eye with a dull fork and that political philosophy test, I’d pick the former), following directly after Political Philosophy this morning, I had an Art History quiz. Which doesn’t seem too bad, so let me elaborate. We needed to memorize and be able to name by sight 57 paintings, the artist, the style, and the time period. For example:
Picasso – Les Demoiselles D’Avignon – Cubism – 1907 to 1915
or
Ball – Dynamism of Dog on Leash – Italian Futurism – 1910 to 1920.
And we were only tested on 18 of the paintings. So imagine memorizing years, years that overlap through symbolism, french impressionism, post-impressionism, and british pre-raphaelite.
After that class, I was just about ready to collapse.

And to share yet another learning experience: I should never, ever, under any circumstances, be allowed to participate in even the most distant form in anything having to do with my taxes. I was sent a packet by my father of things to sign and forms to fill out for taxes, including a check. So I took the check, and did what I always do – signed the back. I don’t write checks all that often, or at all, really. I don’t even have my checkbook at school with me. A few days later, I get an e-mail from my dad, who uses CAPS when he needs to make a point.
Sarah: you signed THE BACK OF THE CHECK you were only supposed to sign THE FRONT I knew we should have done this when you were at HOME you’ll get the check again sign it CORRECTLY.
And my dad doesn’t use the best grammar when he’s writing e-mails, so here’s to you dad.

Continuing along the vein of things I’ve learned recently: expo marker does not wash of the upper leg so easily. So if, for some reason, you ended the night with I LOVE (Insert Name Here) verticall written up your leg, you have to wear pants. For a week. In 80 degree weather. I am never, ever trusting my friends with markers. Ever again. Never.

So, fair readers, I will leave you with this lovely message left on my Facebook wall by a friend of mine attending seder with me this evening: “tomorrow we are gonna get DRUNK – 4 cups of wine, heck yeah”.
Happy Passover, for those of you who are religious, and Happy Four Glasses of Wine at Seder for those of you who just love being Jewish that much.

LONG LIVE ROCK & ROLL

I don’t have any direct link to this piece of news, but I’d like to comment on it anyway. A man in a taxi in London recently asked the driver to play The Clash – London Calling. The cabbie heard the lyrics “Now war is declared and battle comes down”. And immediately alerted British authorities. The man was taken into questioning and missed the flight that he was trying to take.

I have one thing to say about this: What the fuck?

If there was a man in the back of my cab talking to someone else about blowing up the plane he was about to board, then yes, I would call the authorities. But a line in a song? The Clash?!?! What height of ludicrous paranoia have we reached in the English speaking world? Rock and roll does ont signify terrorism. Although I would definitely argue that emo/pop-punk are a terror to the name of rock. But honestly, Rock & Roll is not only music, but it signifies something greater than a single person. It can unite a cause (Live 8 and Live Aid), it can yell angry hateful things to a government, and above all it can say extremely pointed things about a society (The Kinks, THE CLASH).

When does the most forward thinking type of music turn into something terrorist? It’s ridiculous.

I Never Realized Exactly How Typical a College Student I Am

I usually like to think that I function at a much higher level than my peers. Intellectually, physically, emotionally. Perhaps I’m deluding myself to some degree, but I’d like to continue doing so.

That was, until, I woke up from my 6pm nap. I awoke hungry, despite having recently eaten dinner. So, I rolled off my bed and to the refrigerator. Now, usually, there’s nothing in the refrigerator. But there’s always the hope that the tooth fairy dropped by and was feeling pity for a few overfed college students.

Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to my refrigerator – 7:45 pm – April 2, 2006:
(Sorry, Mom.)

For those of you who cannot see well, let me go clockwise from the upper left.
(1) Half empty bottle of Ice Tea, (1) Nearly empter liter of Captain Morgan Rum, (1) Less than frozen Tangerine Slushie, (1) Nearly full liter of Smirnoff Vodka, (1) Cup of Chocolate Pudding, (1) Cup of Cinnamon Applesauce.

And that’s it.

I’ve done it. I’ve become typical. The shock may just kill me. Either that or the Smirnoff.