College V: Ace or disgrace

Lately I've been writing like I'm going to live forever.

"That's an interesting thought. ... That'd be interesting to write about. ... I could probably write something really cool about it. ... If it was Wednesday, I think I'd post about that. ... But I won't. ... Because it's not Wednesday. ... Or something."

I've been using my computer less, on a related note.

Whatever it is inside me that gives me the need to write, totally gets off on being withholding. Too busy humping the legs of compliments and giving puppy-dog eyes over my readers' shoulders to realize that I've been reading a lot, and there's a lot of stuff to read, and none of it is mine anymore because I'm reading so much that I don't write.

Right.

I had a moment of weakness, where I enjoyed the thought of wanting to write about something. I thought about reflecting on my summer and comparing myself to where I was two years ago before I left for college my freshman year. I didn't even have to write it to get the pleasure out of it. Instead of masturbating, I have waking wet dreams on command. My arm's getting less work. Can't push a pen very well with a weak arm. 

Writing used to be an embodiment of the life. A sacred stakeholder in uncertainty. It was my muse and my ruse. What do you want to be? they'd ask. A writer, so that I can write, I say. And then I remembered that Mark Twain wrote poetry and I thought "nuts, I don't do that." I am a one-weaponed warrior. While others boast arsenals of broadswords and sniper rifles and shurikens, I call myself a fighter holding an unblemished flail.

I'm here for the biggest and most important semester of my life. It's like the fifth sequel to a movie series about the biggest and most important semester of my life. It keeps getting bigger, being more important.

I worked my first day at Jimmy John's on Monday. Which included the following exchange:

Sara: Do you have the sandwiches memorized?
Me: No (sound of me dropping a tier in her mind). ... (I pick up a menu.)
Sara: Yeah, you typically won't have time to read the menu during your shift.
Me: Right.
Sara: I mean we consider that pretty much something to do on your own time.
Me: Oh, okay. (I fold the menu to put it in my pocket for later.)
Sara: Did you not get a menu when they hired you?
Me: Oh, um, well do you mean, like the sandwich study guide thing?
Sara: Did you get a packet? I'll show you-
Me: Yeah, no yeah, I got one of those.
Sara: Okay.
Me: ...
Sara: So.
Me: ?
Sara: It's just, those menus are really expensive.
Me: Oh, right. My bad. ... (Puts menu in pocket)

Sara's a manager, obviously. Vote for Jimmy.

After work I turned in my first article on the Illinois volleyball team. Writing it felt like working out for the first time in months. Finishing it felt like finishing my final set on eight reps instead of 10, because it was as many as I could do. I'm weak. I'm tired.

I'm back.

--Eliot Sill

Back

Somehow this worked out pretty exactly. I woke up later than my mom had planned, around 11:30, bringing the hours of sleep I had gotten up to five. I then packed, showered, and hit the road. After finding out via text that Jeff, whom I'm staying with until the dorms open on Sunday, was staying home that night and I'd need to find a place to stay, I did so with great ease. Upon arrival, I learned it would be against the rules for me to drop off the majority of my luggage into my dorm room before Wednesday, when it could be done for a nominal "early arrival" fee. Well, I explained my situation, and was escorted up to my room to drop off my numerous bags. I threw together enough clothes to make it through the week, somehow didn't forget to pack a belt, and got dropped off at the apartment I would sleep in later Tuesday night. The room in which I slept was thickly dark, save for a blinds-equipped window that was at the end of a misplaced hallway that stretched back down the length of the apartment like a spine. Despite this lack of light and no alarms, be they human or mechanical, I woke up at 9 a.m., giving me time to get ready and pack up before leaving for my 11 o'clock meeting. After the meeting, I made an inaugural visit to Silver Mine Subs for lunch and played Uncharted, which is a game I like. Then I watched an episode of Breaking Bad. Somebody died in it.

There's a peculiarity to all this in that it worked. Each blind step I took landed perfectly where I wanted it to. No stumbles or stubbed toes, which is how I'm used to living. I've had ideas circulating through my head today for a number of different things: things to do with my day, sports section improvements, blog topics, etc. But the issue with circulation, of course, is that something comes to you, you have it, then you pass it on.

I lament having my winter break end early, but I enjoy returning to school, where I have infinite resources to educate and improve myself, and open eyes to potential goals I can strive for. I've been quite tired lately, and soon enough it will be time to get back into the rhythm of college life and settle in for another front-loaded effort this semester. Front loading my semesters is a habit I can't kick, though it seems like the effort lasts longer each subsequent time. Perhaps before I graduate, I'll put together a good semester and score some GPA. Jeff asked me if I wanted to join his All-A's-and-B's-but-more-A's-than-B's pact this semester. I can't remember exactly how the conversation went, but I can remember not explicitly saying yes. What a missed opportunity.

One of my writers got an internship at MLB.com writing in New York on the Mets and Yankees, splitting time between the teams. Congratulations, Ethan.

Today was a rare day in which I looked forward to the future instead of feared it. Such feelings are just reminders that a new college semester is about to begin.

--Eliot Sill

Yup

Well, that's it, semester 3. Took my last final today. Woot.

Grades up in the air, life up in the air, rain up in the air, falling down, I'm not going home tonight. Or tomorrow. I'm sticking around a few days to tie up loose ends with friends and enjoy a few free days in Chambana that I thought I'd have experienced before the semester's end.

It was a busy semester, holy shit was it busy. I tried to read books, I tried to listen in classes, I tried to edit stories, I tried quite a few things. Once again the dynamic changed — with the influx of transfer friends — like the third season of an enticing television show. Life has this funny natural progression to it. The more you think you've solved things, the more you end up having to solve.

And so I am taking a couple days, Chambanning, and organizing myself, collecting my thoughts and my things before I go home for winter break. I look forward to it, but as usual I also feel a want to stay. I like my life here, it's occupied, explorable, and productive. My life at home is relaxed, easy, and slothlike. It's amazing how hard it is to choose between the two.

Shout out to Jing, Professor Unger, Rashard Mendenhall's aunt, and Lance for teaching me a bunch of cool shit this semester. Shout out to History, Journalism, and Black Women in U.S. Contemporary Society for being interesting and math for being easy this time around. To Kaplan and Jewf, for being really easy to work with, and all my writers, for not being a bunch of dicks. Especially Emily Bayci, with whom I am apparently no longer feuding, and actually reads this shit blog, often commenting to me how she likes people's posts other than mine. Shout out to Illini sports, there are more boring things out there, and Steve Jobs for being No. 1 celeb death this semester (which was a crucial moment for our football team, they've been winless since his death). Shout out to the Communications library, see you soon, and to my SHIT I NEED TO DO whiteboard, this is the first acknowledgment I've given you in weeks.

College is like, you have this stack of problems and you just do whatever. That's been my experience thus far. And, oh yeah, definitely don't be a math major.

--Eliot Sill

Fast Times at Butler University

...because the day just seems to fly by when you're having fun.
by Brendan Cavanagh

Despite being an English major, I think I've only been assigned one or two papers all semester in my one actual English class (American Literature).  Therefore, I spent the last four hours or so working on my final essay of the year, due tomorrow. We had to choose from one of four prompts, so I chose this one:

     The image of post-revolutionary America as a diverse land of free, independent, individuals prospering through hard work and self-reliance is a break from the Calvinist ideals of community in New England.  This “new pastoral” or “republicanism” seems to have more to do with secular, Enlightenment principles than with Christianity.  In this essay, define the Enlightenment and explain how it influenced the concept of American identity.  In what ways did the national identity develop from these modern and secular influences and what, if any, influence did the Calvinist principles of the Puritans have on this new, modern nation.  Discuss at least three texts and use direct quotes to defend your argument. 

Alright! Now you guys are going to get a dose of what a typical English paper was like for me this semester. And who knows, you might come out of this just a little bit more educated. Quoth Judge Reinhold in the above video: "Learn it. Know it. Live it."

The American Enlightenment: A Reexamination of Existing Social Structures

            As individual American prosperity flourished in the late 18^th century, American citizens began to relinquish themselves from a traditionally strict adherence to communal, religious values and heartily embraced the ideals of the Enlightenment movement taking place in European countries like France and England.  Among the many components of such a vast intellectual revolution, three main tenets best describe the American attitude and approach to writing at the time: First, humans are rational creatures who can employ their inherent privilege of free thinking to logically explain the world and consequently experience unprecedented intellectual freedoms; Second, through the process of obtaining a valuable education, human rationality is ideally universal; And third, with the ability to rationally explain the universe, humans may understand the true form of all things.  After adopting the aforementioned beliefs of the Enlightenment, three well-renowned Americans at the time, Judith Sargent Murray, Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin, reconsidered the negative ramifications a once-dominant Puritanism had on an increasingly progressive American society.

            However universal the ability to reason freely, the necessary means to obtain an adequate education, and thus celebrate the intellectual fruits thereof, were not offered to everyone.  Primarily affluent, land-owning white men had the capacity to attend reputable schools, while the destitute (of either sex), Native Americans, African-Americans and women were, for the most part, unable to do the same.  In 1790, esteemed author and proto-feminist Judith Sargent Murray, who came from a liberally educated family, published a multi-faceted appeal in defense of the female mind.  “Are we not deficient in reason?” she challenges her male readers, “We can only reason from what we know, and if an opportunity of acquiring knowledge hath been denied us, the inferiority of our sex cannot fairly be deduced from thence” (727).  In keeping with the Enlightenment ideal of reexamining the world around her, once interpreted solely from a clerical point of view, Murray confronts the repression women had long suffered at the mercy of a traditionally male-dominated, once-Puritanical society.

            Simultaneously demonstrating an Enlightenment-era argument and exemplifying how women, too, are capable of rational thought, Murray employs a thoughtful reinterpretation of the well-known Genesis story of Adam and Eve’s fall from grace in the Garden of Eden.  Murray argues that men erroneously assume that Eve willfully chose to sin at Satan’s provocation, when in fact, she was tempted by Satan in his once-shining beauty into acquiring a perfect knowledge of the world around her.  Adam, in turn, sinned as well not because he, too, desired such knowledge, but because “he was influenced by no other than a bare pusillanimous attachment to a woman” (732)!   Therefore, by utilizing a biblical story familiar to a formerly religious region, Murray not only effectively conveys her dissatisfaction with female subjugation, but also tests the long-held belief that women are inferior to men, which the Puritan faith only perpetuated.

            Like Murray, American president Thomas Jefferson composed a rational essay to express his frustration with a current human rights issue in America.  In true Enlightenment fashion, Jefferson employs logical reasoning to challenge the historical lack of religious freedom in America, which was founded on the pursuit of individual liberties.  Published privately in 1784-1785 in response to a series of questions posed to him by the French Marquis de Barbé-Marbois, Jefferson’s “Notes on the State of Virginia” comment on a variety of subjects concerning Virginia, with Query XVII focusing on religion.  In order to combat prior animosity between distinct religious denominations in colonial America, Virginia’s declaration of rights in May of 1776 “declared it to be a truth, and a natural right, that the exercise of religion should be free” because, as Jefferson posits, “Reason and free enquiry are the only effectual agents against error” (661-62).  In a society that not long ago had been almost uniformly Puritanical, Jefferson’s idea of free enquiry was certainly polemical, as well as an illustrative example of the intellectual freedoms bestowed upon those who invested in the ideals of the Enlightenment.

            Furthermore, Jefferson encourages free enquiry by overtly rejecting forceful uniformity of religious convictions, a system which had prevailed in certain regions from the time the first fledgling Puritan communities were established in the early 17^th century until America’s declaration of independence from Great Britain.  Since the beginnings of Christianity, myriad innocent people have been punished for their religious beliefs, “yet we have not advanced one inch towards uniformity.” But, Jefferson asks, “Is uniformity of opinion desirable? No more than of face and stature” (663).  In his belief, not only does the Enlightenment illuminate the universal freedom to subscribe to any religious denomination, but also it guarantees an individual the liberty to be one of many, rather than one in many.  In other words, Jefferson admonishes societies, like those formerly established by the Puritans, for emphasizing the importance of communal values rather than secular beliefs and convictions.

            At about the same time Jefferson’s “Notes on the State of Virginia” were published, fellow diplomat Benjamin Franklin was in the process of writing his detailed autobiography.  In relating the events of his young adulthood in Philadelphia, Franklin implicitly describes his disgust with formal religious worship as a primitive act of embracing Enlightenment ideals in North America.   Although he professes to hold particular religious principles, he expresses misgivings about his minister’s sermons, which follow a formulaic, almost superficial approach to being a good Christian, rather than simply informing his parish how to be upright people of morality.  According to Franklin, the Presbyterian minister, as well as those of differing Christian denominations, spoke about religion “without any Tendency to inspire, promote or confirm Morality [and] serv’d principally to divide us and make us unfriendly to one another.”  While their biblical explanations of how to be good people may have had some validity, Franklin argues, “they were not the kind of good Things that I expected from that Text” (525).  Rather than blindly follow every word his minister uttered about morality, Franklin chose to individually find a rational method of attaining morality.

            In true Enlightenment fashion, Franklin embarked on the rational pursuit of moral perfection by designing a series of thirteen steps which, if meticulously followed, would logically allow him to “live without committing any Fault at anytime…[and] conquer all that either Natural Inclination, Custom, or Company might lead [him] into” (526).  Initially careful not to include any step that might be solely associated to one particular religious sect, Franklin finally settled on: Temperance, Silence, Order, Resolution, Frugality, Industry, Sincerity, Justice, Moderation, Cleanliness, Tranquility, Chastity and Humility.  True to his resolution to remain resolute in his affairs, Franklin continued adherence to his precepts for the remainder of his life.  Over time, he reluctantly discovered that some virtues, like Order and Humility, were more difficult to master than others and that naturally, humans are bound to err.  Although his attempt to achieve moral perfection was not entirely effectual, Franklin demonstrated the highly rational and increasingly secular mindset adopted by many Americans during the era of Enlightenment.

            By the end of the 18^th century, strictly Puritan settlements stressing communal values and stringent adherence to the Christian faith had been all but overcome by generations upon generations of economically-motivated landowners, artisans and common citizens of various denominations and beliefs.  With such secular motives in the people’s minds, a movement like the Enlightenment was guaranteed to enjoy widespread success in America.  For those who were fortunate enough to obtain a modest education, like Murray, Jefferson and Franklin, reevaluating the evolving nation’s previously established social structures was imperative.  Not to take advantage of the ability to rationally discern right from wrong is a mutilation of one’s intellectual privileges.

If you actually read this, for the love of God, give me a call or a shout out. I want to pat you on the back. Real gently.

Gratuitous Confessions of a College Student With an Actual Beard

by Brendan Cavanagh

I can easily recall the circumstances leading up to the first time I shaved. As I sat in the kitchen, basking dreamily in the afterglow of my first seventh-grade all-school dance, my father entered and illuminated me to what was a copious amount of bristly mustache-hairs for a twelve-year-old. Because my dad allegedly began shaving and taking his coffee black at the same age, he dragged me to the upstairs bathroom where he placed me in front of the mirror and shone a bright light in my face to point out to me what I had previously ignored- facial hair of more substance than the peach fuzz most of the fellows in my class wouldn't have the capacity to grow until the middle of high school. Naturally, a cliche Father-Teaches-His-Son-Life-Lessons scene a la 7th Heaven ensued. I think Fenton Hardy stopped by to dispense advice on sleuthing and being a gentleman while Cliff Huxtable made silly faces and did a goofy jig in the corner. Anyway, I learned that night how to apply shaving cream and use a disposable razor and discern which aftershave doesn't assault my nasal passages while stinging like a bitch on little nicks left by the occasional, uncoordinated slip of the wrist, and when I returned to the kitchen with fresh-smelling, waxen-smooth visage, my mom snapped a photo of my awkward amalgamation of sheepishness and pride. I believe the picture is still floating around in one of the numerous photo albums around my house.

For a year or two after that I never grew much more than a sparse amount of short, wiry black hairs in random areas of my face, so I didn't hassle with all the unnecessary howdy-do and brouhaha involved in basic shaving routine and simply went for the dry shave, with few accidents. As high school wore on and my collection of each of the eleven season of M*A*S*H grew, my facial hair became less patchy and consistenty stubbly, thus requiring me to dust off a finely-aged can of Barbasol and shave on a regular basis. I think by the time senior year rolled around, I was finally able to grow a worthy facsimile of a beard, which I decided to incorporate into my basic weekend schedule, which looked something like this:

1. Nap immediately after school lets out
2. Lazily carbo-load for pending cross country race
3. Endure shortness of breath and confusedly half-hearted pats on the back from the coach who doesn't
    remember my name at Saturday's race
4. Sit in a parking lot with friends and pray for a party or something new to talk about
5. Grow "beardish" to look ruggedly handsome and have something to talk about in aforementioned
    parking lot

I detect traces of beard, there, on my face.

Alrighty, then came college. For most of freshman year, my modus operandi involved growing out my beard, which was never really anything more than a half-beard at most, at school until the next time I got a ride home, so I could give the impression to the folks back in dem ole cotton fields back home that I lived an untamed, ragged Grizzly Adams-esque existence in my dorm. Then I'd go ahead and clean myself up- that is, get a shave and a haircut, only this time it didn't cost two bits because it was all taken care of at my house.

Before and after, if you will.

Then, because my boss at the country club wanted me to look presentable when greeting members for three hours at a time in a sun-baked parking lot, but also because I just felt like it, I didn't grow a single beard all summer until the week or two leading up to my return to school. Perhaps it was simply laziness, or an act of curiously-manifested apathy. Perhaps my face, in an act of pointed irony, was cold during the hottest months of the year. Or most likely all of the above combined with a maddening desire to grow a legitimate, un-creepy mustache (still a little creepy-looking, presently). Whatever the reason, I stopped shaving in August. Well, actually September. I have shaved one time since coming back to school two months ago. In just a few fly-by weeks, I grew a pretty lush-looking beard, got bored and shaved. Then I decided in September that I could grow out my facial hair until Halloween, so that if I arbitrarily decide to assemble a costume that requires a mustache or a beard, then I'll be set. In case you're wondering, I do, in fact, have an idea for a good Halloween costume. I'll wear obnoxiously loud clothing and my old round glasses- the ones that resemble Harry Potter's har har- and shave everything but a looping mustache and scruffy sideburns and moonlight as John Lennon, circa 1967 (around the recording of the "Strawberry Fields Forever" single and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band).

 Lennon, in red, is what I'm aiming for. Maybe I can pull off George Harrison, I don't know. But damn it, I want Paul McCartney's mustache! Like all the time!

But I digress. Here's the thing about having a beard: people really like it. I admit, what I'm about to say makes me sound a little bit like Narcissus, but hey, we're awesome, handsome men and we should be allowed to boast our best qualities in some form. As the beard gets longer, some friends' and mere acquaintances' interest in it piques. If they see me for the first time in a little while, they'll say something along the lines of, "Heyyyy, I'm liking the beeaard," usually accompanied by an unconscious stroking of an imaginary goatee. Sometimes it catches me off guard because I normally have enough facial hair, but truthfully, it's continually reaching unprecedented lengths.

My God, I could probably knit a sweater with the cornucopia of hair trimmings I'm bound to shave.

Now, I'll allow that I'm a fairly humble person, so I don't like to make much mention or display of my beard; however, due to the fact that it is on my face, it is something I must visibly display. But then again, why else am I growing it out? To supplement a costume and look good. So it's weird that I'm very lackluster about having to let people see it, while at the same time secretly wanting people to acknowledge it. I guess I'm just bitter because I inexplicably miss shaving.

There are some redeeming qualities to having a beard, though. For instance, the other day I volunteered to aid an English professor man the English department's booth at an informative seminar for prospective freshmen. I was polite and conversational, and thus hit it off well with the professor and some of his colleagues from other departments when we had an informal rap session between breakout sessions. One of them was my Principles of Reasoning professor from last semester, so he asked me how I was doing, and was a senior? I said, "Au contraire, mon frère; I am a sophomore." The professors appeared shocked. I told them that I tend to have that effect on people due to my beard and good posture, to which one of them remarked, "You do have nice posture." But you get the point. Having a beard, in part, makes me look older and elicits both increased attention and respect, which I guess allows a little bit a leeway in certain situations. I really can't say how, exactly, but maybe I'll be offered a job or served alcoholic beverages before I shave again.

Finally, I do dig being told that the beard, in addition to my Ray Ban glasses and the fact that I cross my legs when I sit down, gives the impression that I am a plebian English-major-turned-published author. I mean, I guess I have to look the part, and apparently resembling an author is enough to convince someone that I am. Take that, Christopher Paolini.

Oh yeah, I also resent being told I look like a lumberjack when I wear red flannel.

The Netflix Dilemma

Brendan < nearly unlimited Netflix freedom < time < money / education / social activity

by Brendan Cavanagh

Like a freshly-struck match, August seemed to begin and end in one hot, instantaneous flash of major personal changes. During what seems now a very brief month, I stopped working near-daily shifts at Illini Country Club for the summer, left my family at home to begin life as a sophomore at Butler and just before the month was extinguished, I bit the bullet and entered into an account with Netflix.

I felt like it was manifest destiny. The problem is I would sit in my dorm room with nothing to do, and I'd want to watch a movie or a television show. I don't have a car, so I couldn't rent a video. Once I got a video from the dorm's help desk in the lobby, but there collection is really only useful if you're a fan of every single installment of every single blockbuster franchise from Transporter to Disney / Disney Pixar to James Bond: 007 (by the way, the movie I borrowed was Disney's Sleeping Beauty. It's one of my favorites). And then, I would always try to catch up on television episodes I had missed from present or past seasons on the Internet, but there would only ever be a few available episodes to watch, if any. Ultimately, an undeniably innate moral obligation guided me to Netflix.

Did I want to pay monthly fees? Well, there is a one month-long free trial, and if I only pay for instant watch on my computer, I only pay $8 a month and can still borrow DVDs from other libraries that I plan to watch at some time in the near future when I feel like it. And $8 a month is a pretty pretty pretty small sum of money, if you think about it. I thought about it, sought some advice- basically, the third base coach was waving his arms frantically and yelling at me to run home. So I ran. I ran fast.

Since then, I've consumed instantly watchable movies and television programs as I imagine would a man who's just returned home from months of isolation on an uninhabited deserted island in time for Sunday dinner. Let's take a glance at my viewing history:

*

Holy ghost. A minute ago I arbitrarily searched Ned's Declassified School Survival Guide on Netflix and discovered that it is, in fact, available to watch instantly. And although only limited episodes are available on DVD (except, for some reason, Iceland has all three seasons), all three seasons are on here! Take that, Iceland!

*

I started off hesitantly, afraid and unsure of the power I had just been afforded. The first thing I felt like watching was a Scorsese-directed documentary on Bob Dylan I had seen three times already, No Direction Home. So after I fortunately found it, I spent a few days watching it in casual installments of varying length. Then the following weekend, for some inexplicable reason, I just had an insatiable craving for some terrible stand-up comedy, which in itself is hilarious, so I did some browsing and came across an interactive improvisational comedy performance hosted by Whose Line Is It Anyway?'s Colin Mochrie and Brad Sherwood. Despite my fondness for Colin back when I thought Whose Line was absolutely hysterical in fourth grade, I knew this improv bit with the less-gifted, recurring guest, Brad, had to be dumb enough. Boy, did I hit the nail on the head. The first night I subjected myself to gloriously punny program, Two Man Group, I made it through about seven minutes of a painfully unfunny "sound effects" sketch followed by one in which Colin & Brad, like puppets, could only speak to one another, their bodies manipulated entirely by two willing audience members. Basically the show's formula consisted of unfunny sketches initiated and further exacerbated by lame audience participation. Essentially Colin & Brad played comedic custodians- like a janitor might attempt to contain and clean up a first-grader's vomit with that ubiquitous, malodorous sawdust, the two man group took bad sketches and made them just a little bit more tolerable. Anyway, I wound up wanting to watch seven more minutes the next night, but since then I've lost my taste for it.

If you don't believe me, see for yourself.

I went on to watch an uncharacteristically substantial amount of stand up before easing my way into contemporary, small-time shows I never finished or got around to watching when they were on the air. I plowed my way through The League's defensive line, laughed at Louis C.K.'s believably bleak life in Louie, revisited season four of The Office, began season season four of 30 Rock, fell in love with the unfairly and prematurely cancelled Party Down and ultimately embarked on a mission to work my way through the entirety of Rescue Me, a show I had always looked over before it wrapped up on TV this month. So far, I'm on season three and still going strong. In addition to the aforementioned titles I've started several seemingly random features, though most can be attributed to nostalgia, like an episode of Rugrats, Austin Powers in Goldmember and The Ghost and Mr. Chicken.

The problem is this: am I spending too much time watching Netflix? I manage to squeeze it in most days between procrastinating on homework, eventually doing it, spending time with friends and accomplishing other banal tasks. So I guess I really am not wasting my life away on Netflix. My instant watch history just seems overwhelming when viewed all at once. At the risk of looking like Peter Sellars in Being There, I feel like it's not done me too much harm. Though I do wish I would spend more time reading books or getting homework done in advance. But then that's just it- if I allot myself small proportions of Netflix-watching time, will the inevitable monthly payments be worth it? Should I watch as much as I can in order to get my money's worth? At this rate, I will be, but I don't want to feel like I'm contractually and fiscally  obliged to watch obscene amounts of TV. My first scheduled payment is in two days. Do you think I should go ahead with it? They have Ned's Declassfied...

Nothing's Gonna Change My World

by Brendan Cavanagh

Upon returning to my seasonal home at Butler University for my sophomore year, I face a minor dilemma. Does the fact that I am no longer a freshman make me that much different than the innumerable n00bZ that clutter the campus with their false displays of confidence and know-how? Of course it does! It took me a year, and I successfully earned my right to strut about in a royally snobbish fashion, casting the most awfully scornful looks of dismay and disgust at the supposed freshmen (hope they're not previously unseen sophomores!) who mindlessly clutter the lunch line or lollygag talkatively to one another as I try to pass through the clogged arteries that are the school's corridors.

Of course, I don't really do all that, but damn it if I don't think these terribly sadistic thoughts all the time. I have this weird inherent desire to distinguish myself from freshmen this year; most likely an amalgamated fear of blending into the crowd and going on unrecognized for my extra year of experience. Perhaps this stems from my choice to distance myself from the fraternity process. Without a house porch upon which to smoke cigarettes and spy on passing freshmen, or myriad articles of clothing boasting the letters of a particular house, I rely solely upon aged external features to wordlessly profess my seniority, so to speak.

Then there are internal conflicts that cause me to question how much I've really changed in three months. For instance, I still make it a bi- or tri-daily custom to stroll along the very same adjacent neighborhoods blocks that I habitually traversed in my second semester as a freshman. As I pass along the same tired, posh houses I've viewed a million times before in undisturbed peace of mind, I could truly be any age, living out any year of college. Hardly anything has changed around the neighborhoods, and as for me- same outfits, same music, same routes- how can I honestly argue that there exists a major dichotomy between me and the person who walked these same streets last semester?

But what am I trying to prove? Why should I strive so hard to have freshmen respect that I am older than they are, and thus "more experienced?" If my freshman self conversed with my bitter, sophmoric conscience, he would think to himself, "Wow, that piece of mind is a dick."  I know that all I wanted last year was to be respected for what I was able to bring to the table, willing to be molded and impressed upon in the hopes that learning from an adept, intelligent and college-weary mind would better me. I assume most of these freshmen are the same; they know they're freshmen. They know they are the bottom of the barrel, but they also know that they have to start somewhere. What right do I have to discard their enthusiastic and humble beginnings of the next chapter of their lives? Hell, some of them are indubitably smarter and more talented than I am (for the time being). Instead of harnessing all of my energy into non-verbally assaulting their inferior status, I should strive to serve as some sort of mentor, aiding them in their first year of schooling. That being said, I will not help all of them because some are already obvious douchebags and are beyond my assistance. Try as I might, I'm not Oskar Schindler.

"Eleven hundred freshmen are now capable sophmores...you've done so much."

"What about this car...or my ring...I could save five more. But not that tall kid who rides a longboard; he's such a status-obsessed toolbox."

Good morning, No. 3

I shifted my weight around on my bed, trying to convince my subconscious brain to let me get back behind the wheel of my actions, and despite a valiant fight from my leaden limbs I emerge victorious. I rear my eyelids back as far over the balls of my eyes as far as whatever muscles that work your eyelids will take them, so as to say, "alright assholes, wide awake, we're actually doing this now."

Exhausted from the strenuous internal battle, I let my head fall back on my pillow, my eyes not daring to lower themselves any. Day 3. Here we g'oh shit. What time is it?

For a brief moment I allow my eyelids to close. Breathe in, breathe out. I turn over and grab my phone. 8:34. Ha. And here I was worried. It explains why my alarm clock hasn't gone off yet. After using a few synapses to offer a very brief mental apology to my eyelids, I allow them to close again There it is. Alarm clock fires away. I turn over to shut it up, and climb out of my lofted bed, embarrassingly impressed with my 3-day on-time streak.

It's a new year. Yeah. That's for damn sure. Hopefully I can keep this up. Habituate myself. Timely Eliot. That's what they'll call me. Damn these showers. I'm sitting here waiting for a decent shower (criteria: hot water, fair amount of water pressure) to open up, and of there it is, dick number one. The showers at my dorm suck. No median between the shower room and actual shower, there's no place to put clothes if you want to keep them dry, and your shower hook is outside your shower. I'm in for a ton of dicks this year. Whatever. So yeah, a shower opens up.

I've been working so much at college thus far. I'm surprised I'm not dead tired. I'm dead tired. I need coffee. I need cocaine. I need something. I am not going to fall asleep in this shower, but I will be chillin' in here for 45 minutes unless I get something. I've had no time for fun. I've had no time for nightly socializing. And it's goddamn syllabus week. I'm overdevoting myself, clearly. Fronting, so I can see that I'm getting A's. Then I'll stop caring.

No.

Why can't I give a damn this year? I mean what's so different? Towel. I mean, what's so different about those next weeks. Yeah sure, there'll be more to do. But I'll be interested. That's the core value. Have interest. Then you'll succeed. I could do really well this semester. I just have to not get distracted every damn night by stupid unimportant things. Damn unimportant things. Why're they so damn interesting?

Clothes. Music. Shoes. Sunglasses? Fine, sunglasses. My red ones, as they sortof go with my black and red-pinstriped polo. No undershirt. I can pull off no undershirt, yeah, so you know I'm older. I'm not a freshman. Clearly, I mean, look at me. I absolutely know what the fuck I'm doing. On top of my red sunglasses I stuff my 130 dollar headphones. They sound wonderful; they are wonderful. They look slick. I look slick. I am slick —headphones and sunglasses. Together, they are my don't-fucking-talk-to-me accessory.

I'm gonna take the shit outta these notes. Rich Martin? He won't get a word off without me analyzing its meaning, entendres, undertones and linguistic origin. Oh my gosh this is so boring. I wish I were closer with ... a lot of these people. Journalists come from all angles, though. Some of these fuckers are just here because they're nosy. Some of them are here on the sole premise of loving sports. Some just want attention. Some people've got it, though. A lot of these kids have got it. It's about the molding the scoop. Taking the scoop and turning it into story. Not turning it into an article. Not into a fantasy though, either. Just a good story. Virginia Tech. Reporters. Yeah. I don't know how exactly I fit into here anymore. Pretty good. Maybe not perfectly.

I need more flair with my writing. You can't say fuck in journalism. You can't even say I, really. At least not until you've reported yourself soulless. I'm pretty good for it, though. I mean, the stories I do do are typically good. Shit, I've got like nothing down. And this is not keeping me awake. I need to get breakfast and coffee after this.

Why do people make their coffee the same way every damn day? Here I am, making it the same way I did yesterday, with not a strand of questioning in my body. Not much of anything in my body, really. Better down this coffee. Augh it tastes so bad. It doesn't taste good, it feels good. This drink feels good to drink, but it doesn't taste good. Yeah ladies, headphones, sunglasses and coffee. I am so indie. And yeah, these are fucking Reese's Puffs.

--Eliot Sill

Dumping the hot girl

It's like breaking up with that gorgeous girl that everyone envies you for having. Yeah, I know she seems like all you could ask for, but I don't know man, it's just not working for me. I hit this point every year with summer.

Summer is the sexiest thing on the planet. Go outside at night; it's pleasant, not freezing cold. Go to work in the day, make money. Don't want to socialize? Great, do nothing for as long as you want. Assuming you aren't in summer classes (oxymoronic and regular moronic) and don't work a 9-5 job, summer is unquestionably tantalizing.

Yet here I am, anxiously awaiting the return of college and, along with it, diligence. There will be homework, there will be obligations, tan skin will be replaced with chapped lips, days of the week will again become relevant, boredom will become stress, discomforting heat will turn to shivering and sickness. 

That sounds not at all appealing. Neither does being away from my beloved Springfield friends. Neither does sharing bathrooms, dorm food, sleepy lectures, waking up late for class,  missing the bus, trying out and not making improv troupes, or going to parties I don't actually want to be at. 

Summer is like stopping time. You can do whatever you want. Grab that American-made freedom by the balls and swing it around — make it your bitch. But, nothing's happening. So? Why am I not okay with this?

Schoolyear, as I'll call you, you are one ugly whore. You show me no loyalty, treat me like crap, look like an abused dog, and practice poor hygiene. I can't believe I'm saying this, but, come back to me baby. I miss you. Don't judge my tastes, guys. She's crazy in bed, I swear. She knows me. We're just good together, okay? 

--Eliot Sill

College review — Experience of the Year?

When one first enters College, it can be a bit overwhelming. Where to start? There is so much surrounding you, yet you feel like a fish in an ocean, not knowing which school you belong to. The problem is that sometimes, college gets a bit ahead of itself, demanding too much from the attender and forcing relationships without giving them the necessary time to burgeon naturally.

College's first week is one of its highlights. The problem, however, is that it's so different from the rest of the experience that by the time you're halfway through the second semester, you wonder if you were even attending the same institution back then.

With merciless amounts of drinking (about half of it probably of the underage variety), you glean the impression that your liver is going to be doing two-a-weekends for your entire collegiate career. This isn't the case; there's actually much to do at college that doesn't involve drinking.

Eventually, as the first week ends and schoolwork becomes a necessity, you get stuck with your first choice as an attendee: is College a social forum or an academic forum?

This postulation seems difficult for many attenders to work out. In fact, whichever facet you choose to prioritize, you'll be under the impression on several occasions that you're doing it wrong. This leads to a lot of mentality changes over the course of your two semesters. Without stability, it's hard to say whether you're attending an academic or social institution; and as much as you'd like to claim it as both, college has sparse moments where it actually functions successfully as a socioacademic domicile. This leaves me apprehensive to label it a multidimensional maturational medium due to its lack of consistency to do this on a microcosmic level.

Eventually the workload steepens, and the general collegiate populace will glide down the spectrum from social enticement to become more academically attentive. Beautifully accompanying this is the atmospheric shift from summer through autumn into winter, serving as a sordid reminder that your thousands of dollars aren't going towards your friend groups, and that college isn't meant to be your playground.

On an extracurricular level, college succeeds where life's previous effort, High School, failed. It raises the stakes on the attender, raising the level of difficulty in the process, without dropping — and, in fact, increasing — the standard level of interest. There is a genuine feeling of productivity in the achievements of collegiate asides, as opposed to the apathy-chocked emptiness and general feeling that no one cares of the extracurricular activities in High School. Among others, "Student Media" and "Improvisational Comedy" are two of college's biggest hits, along with other more career-oriented clubs. The relationships formed in these extracurriculars at first tend to feel forced, but eventually gain legs, leading to solid new found companionship.

Overtoning the experience of College is the feeling that what the attendee is doing has a sincere and prevalent effect on their future, inclining them to take seriously and cherish intimately the opportunities they are handed. This adds an exhilarating aspect to further separate this effort from High School, and is definitely an element that was missing in earlier life efforts such as the feel-good Middle School.

In spite of this, many choose to spend college fraternizing (or sororitizing?) and drinking and hooking up with strangers for some good, clean (fingers-crossed, anyway) fun. This is certainly one route that can be taken with college, speaking to its versatility and openness to interpretation. Others, meanwhile, will throw away financial aid money attending every music group that claims to be good that comes to town, also a viable way to spend four years.

The drinking in college doesn't stop, but merely slows, stirs and speeds. After the first week, when seemingly everybody is waiting to hand you free beer, you work out relationships and establish your connections to enfranchise your illegal habits. Look out for cops though, and don't carry large wooden objects, or you'll have a $300 ticket like my stupid, stupid roommate.

"Thanksgiving Break," the long-winded odyssey "Winter Break" and party and dancing themed "Spring Break" provide a three-part respite from the traditional grind of the college experience. Because of this, College doesn't quite flow as well as it could if it cut down on some of the extra malarkey. "Finals" and its reprise, "Really Finals" punctuate each semester, giving college an epic ending showing that it was going for more of an academic feel all along.

This is a nice tidbit to figure out, but one that you learned too late to save your grades. Especially your Journalism class, which is embarrassing, because that's what you're trying to do with your life.

Overall, college is a spellbinding experience, and one that should be as fully explored as possible by its attenders. Despite striving for too much at certain junctures, it rolls along quite nicely and should provide a great experience for me for years to come.

8.6/10
--Eliot Sill 

SB DUB 11 WHOO!!

Classic is driving. The iTrip is disappointing and staticky as usual, but we still get ruffled sound from my iPod (and not his), this passenger door is howling because of the air passing through it; apparently the repair from the car accident Brian and I got in over summer didn't patch up the door completely. This car is like, four-out-of-ten crappy, but it has nothing on my brother's '93 Buick that we drove (successfully) 12 hours to and from Green Bay, Wisconsin, so we should be good.

I like the highway. There's a bunch of cornfields and far away farm buildings, but other than that, it's just super speedy cars and changing scenic skies. Also, if you're lucky, you have a good friend or two to enjoy the ride with. Right now, we are trying to pass a car that we're like, 70% sure is a cop, but he's being a dick about it and driving all fast and stuff.

Today Classic and I venture to Missouri, the University of. This makes two other-college visits for me, and two for Classic. Last time was Bradley. What a piece of shit waste of time that was. Anyway, we are going to visit Sunday Robert and we have about three hours of driving ahead of us. I hope to make a bunch of road trips over the summer, some of which will probably be to see Robert as he dickishly elected to spend his summer in Missouri for the sake of in-state tuition. Broke bastard.

College, the beast we have made it out to be, has smeared my pile of friends, that used to be concentrated in one town, all over the face of the US. It was worse last semester, but everyone lives elsewhere now. If I visit you, it means I give a shit about you. Spending time with friends used to be a de facto aspect of life, now I have to work for it. Maybe I'm supposed to focus on myself for a while now, or maybe I'm supposed to dump my friends and find new ones. Either way, I'm not havin' it. Here's to clinging to the past.

Being in Springfield again, as usual, is weird. I guess I'm still not used to not living in a different place. I'll grow up one day. It's different this time though, because it's warm outside. It feels like summer again. But it's not summer 2010 again. It never will be.

Spring Break and I have had our quarrels over the years. It's not long enough, and merely serves as a preview of what you will be able to do after you go through two of the hardest months of school you'll have throughout the year. But this one is shaping up pretty well. Brian and I have thus far survived our trip to Missouri and are looking to have a couple chillaxing days in Columbia, which we are hoping isn't another shit town (we drove through forty on the way here). The scenery changes from just cornfields to hills, cornfields and crappy towns pretty much as soon as you hit the MO/IL border. It's quite amazing, really.

I hope to do a lot of adventuring this summer. I realize that all the traveling I ever did until I was like 16 was done with my parents. Now I have the ability to go anywhere I want with my friends over the summer. And that sounds pretty awesome. Except the part where gas costs a shit ton. Last summer Sunday Robert had this stupid plan to walk to Champaign and back over the span of a couple days. I was kind of down, but at the same time very aware of how dead I would be.

Last summer I wanted to hang out in Springfield at the same places with the same people every night. This summer I want to camp, road trip, make money, and play Final Fantasy. It's no longer a time for goodbyes and bittersweetness, but a time to make something of myself and do a little growing up. 

--Eliot Sill  

College: Some Thoughts from a Guy Who's Trying Real Hard to Become a Professor-type Person

[Note: Conor called me at 10:39 on Friday evening asking me to pinch hit for him for his Friday Classic Brian. But, since the last time he called me and said, "So...do you want to do me a favor?" he asked me to stick my hand in a toilet, swish it around, and flush it, with the phone near enough that the sounds could be heard, this seemed like a relatively minor task, so here goes.]

Considering that most of the people writing and (I think?) reading this blog are in college, I thought it might be interesting to give you a few thoughts about college from someone who's been through it as a student and is now going through it again as a graduate student/teaching assistant. As an undergrad, I majored in English and minored in music and theatre at Truman State; as a PhD student, I teach freshman writing and TA at Loyola University Chicago and will start teaching low level lit classes next spring as well. Here are some thoughts based on those experiences.

Do not underestimate the importance of the first impression you make on your professors. Your punctuality, attentiveness, preparedness, and quality of work in the first month probably shouldn't be more important than those of the third month of the semester, but realistically speaking, they most likely are. I don't know any professors who actively count those sorts of things more at the beginning, but all the 'firsts' of the first month or so of the semester are what a professor uses to develop their picture of you - the picture which will form the context for everything else you do in their class. If, in month three, something goes wrong in terms of attendance, turning in a paper, etc., you want the professor to think, "Oh, that's so unlike them," not "Here we go again." Make sure that they see good habits as the rule with you, and slip-ups as the exception. Again, this is an intangible, because I don't know anyone who is actively biased in this way, but I suspect that, to varying degrees, a first impression can have a significant impact on your overall credibility with your professors. If you have a really stellar first month, and slip up a few times in month three, I'm willing to bet that it'll hurt you less than if you have a sloppy first month and do fine in month three (when the prof probably already feels they 'know' you and is paying more attention to other things). Note that this is probably less true of papers than of, say, punctuality, attendance, and reading preparation. I recommend that you always be prepared all the time, but realistically speaking, if you're going to try extra hard sometime, do it early.

If you miss a class: 1) Do NOT tell the professor something really stupid, like "I just had so much going on that day" or "Don't worry, I'll always be on time on Wednesdays because I have to get up at 6:00 for my fraternity" (both of which are excuses given to professors I know this semester). Saying nothing is better than saying something that makes you look like a moron. 2) It's a toss-up whether it's better to give a true, albeit unhelpful explanation ("I just overslept") or say nothing. Either one maintains your integrity, so I'd say it's up to you. 3) If you do think you have a pretty good reason for your absence, feel free to explain it to your professor, but don't do so in a way that makes it sound like you think they OBVIOUSLY should ignore their own syllabus to excuse your absence - many professors might cut you some slack (or might leave some slack in the syllabus), but approaching anyone with power over you with an attitude that reeks of entitlement can only hurt you. A humbler approach is more likely to work in your favor. 4)If your professor has a few 'free' skips built into the syllabus, then generally you don't need to excuse them, and silence is fine. But keep in mind that if you use them as blow-off days and then you get sick when you're out of skips, you may well get burned.
Also, if you're leaving a day early or coming back a day late from a break (Thanksgiving, Spring Break, etc.), DON'T give some lame excuse about some other unlikely thing that has come up at the last minute that, honestly, for reals, has nothing to do with the fact that this is the last class period before break. It just makes you look dishonest. If something like this actually DOES come up, you might consider silence or you might consider saying, 'Look, I realize this sounds unlikely, but XYZ came up. I understand if you still need to treat it like any other day-before-break absence, but I just wanted you to know it wasn't intentional' or something like that. Again, judgment call.


Think hard about what you want from college - a lot of things that aren't advertised or offered are possible if you pursue them assertively (but without an attitude of entitlement). When I was in undergrad, I REALLY wanted to take a playwriting class that had been offered a couple of years before I was around to take it. I went to the professor and told her that I was very interested in playwriting and hoped very much she might be able to offer the class again before I graduated. She was flattered by the interest, and also interested in teaching the course again, I think, and as it turned out, she was able to get it on the schedule for my last spring semester. That semester, there were two courses I really wanted to take - 1) Advanced Creative (Fiction) Writing and 2) Playwriting. I was worried that they might be at the same time, so the semester before, when the schedules were in the process of being made, I spoke to both professors and they were able to find out the tentative course times for me - lo and behold, they overlapped, making it impossible to take both. I asked if the times were set in stone - the ACW class was, as it turned out, but the PW class wasn't (yet), and the professor told me if I could find a time that worked in her schedule and the department's schedule, etc., she'd consider requesting they move the time. I found a time that she actually liked better than the original time, and everyone was happy. However, this would not have been possible if I hadn't been proactive. Now, this exact situation would probably not be as easy to arrange at a larger university like OU or U of I, but the general point still holds - a lot of things are possible that aren't obvious if you know what you want, educate yourself about them in advance, interact respectfully, and pursue your goals. No one has time to do this with everything, though, so you have to think about your priorities and then pro-actively protect them. Similarly, this semester as a grad student, a class I was supposed to teach got cancelled for administrative reasons at the last minute; long story short, having to rearrange my semester on three days notice meant I might fall 3-4 months behind in my time-to-graduation (by having to prolong my coursework by a summer or semester), but by being assertive but respectful and working with the department administration and, through them, the graduate school administration, I was able to get the issue fixed without losing any time. This was after what had looked like (and been presented to me as) a couple of dead ends, but I figured I had nothing to lose by thinking up my own solutions, and happily, one of them worked out for everyone. In summary - know what you want, respectfully go after it, and some of the time, at least, things will probably work out better than if you just go with the flow of what the system presents to you.

On a related note, if you want something from college that your school doesn't offer, think about starting it yourself. I heard about 24-Hour Theater from a friend at Bradley University, so I started it at Truman. My wife Michelle really wanted to do some children's theatre work, so she petitioned for an independent study course, got a professor to agree to oversee it, talked to a local elementary school and partnered with a teacher and his class, and did a really cool semester-long theater project with 20-odd fifth-graders and maybe 5-10 theatre students. On a larger scale, Chicano Studies programs, Women's Studies programs, and many other university classes, programs, and departments now available to you were first formed after students demanded them (in various ways and at various decibel levels, figuratively speaking). Again, the message here is, decide what you want, and decide how to get it - the way things work right now isn't the only way they can work, though institutions often change slowly, if at all.

This goes for professors as well. Not all professors are equally clear about their expectations, grading criteria, attendance policies, etc. Think about what you want to know, and go after the info in an assertive but respectful way, but think about how you'll come off first. You don't want to be the guy who says "How many free skips do we get?" in class - that will never help you. Also, asking "Will this be on the test?" will probably never help you. Sometimes you might learn that it's not on the test, but sometimes that question will get it put ON the test, and it always makes you look like someone who wants to do the least work possible. Most of us do, at some level, want to be efficient with our time, but you have to think about image, too. Ask "How would you recommend we study for the test?" rather than "Will this be on the test?" It gets you essentially the same info without making you look bad. If a professor's term paper prompt (or other assignment) is unclear, poorly written, etc., consider tactfully asking for more specifics in class, after class, or in office hours. If their response is still unhelpful, consider asking if you can look over a good example from a previous class or something like that, so you can be sure you have an understanding of what kind of work you're being asked to do. If that fails, too, your obvious options are limited, but I might suggest trying to track down someone who's had that prof in a previous semester to get their opinion on what the prof is looking for. As a teacher and a writing center tutor, I can tell you that easily half of what is wrong with student papers is failure to actually address the assignment called for in the prompt. Sometimes it's because the student hasn't carefully read (or properly understood) the prompt, and sometimes it's because the prompt is bad or unclear, but it's always bad news for your paper if you don't address the issue soon in your writing process.

If you're emailing a professor, ALWAYS format the email formally, and make sure if you have a 'signature' tacked on to all your emails, that it isn't super casual. Consider any written communication with a professor a professional communication - not all professors care, but most prefer to have "Dear Prof. xxxxx" at the top and something like "Sincerely, namenamename" at the bottom, and it can occasionally hurt your image with the professor to send them a really sloppy email. On a related note, especially once you start thinking about internships, jobs, study abroad programs, etc., make sure that your voicemail recording is professional and informative. My sophomore year I studied abroad in London. one day I checked my voicemail and had a message from someone in London about the program; they sounded a bit annoyed, and I realized it's because before they could leave their message, they had to listen to a 30-second recording of 'Springtime for Hitler and Germany' from the Producers soundtrack. Change your message before that happens.

Know that your professors are busy, and it's sometimes easy to slip through the cracks in their attention or annoy them by wasting their time. Don't email with questions whose answers are on the syllabus - that hurts you. You have a right to use their office hours to get help, but make sure you're doing so in a time-efficient manner, and if you make an appointment, don't blow it off. Everyone appreciates a person who makes it evident that they take your time seriously and don't want to waste it.

Note from a writing teacher: if your paper doesn't (implicitly or explicitly) answer the questions "So what?" and/or "Who cares?" with regard to your topic and thesis, it's probably not a very good paper and you should rework, at the very least, your intro and conclusion. Also, the conclusion of your first draft often functions well as the introduction of your second draft, allowing you to finish with a more complex and insightful conclusion the second time around (that takes the first conclusion as its starting point).

Be as careful with credit cards (and debt in general) as you possibly can in college. I know way, way, way too many people who got in more debt than they needed to by thinking "Well, I'll just put it on a card and pay it bit by bit - it's only a couple thousand dollars, that's not too bad," and who are still paying now and/or are trying to avoid bankruptcy and/or spent ten (or more) miserable years sending most of their disposable income to credit card companies. They are, if not evil, at least highly dangerous corporations that have make many a person's life a living hell for quite some time. Be careful around them. Also, if someone at a desk in the Student Union says you get a free pizza (etc.) if you fill out your info for a credit card application, but that doing so doesn't mean you're approved and get a card, so don't worry, DO NOT DO IT. They are not telling the truth (whether they know it or not), and you WILL end up with a credit card you probably don't want and that is hard to get rid of. Worse, if you don't know it's coming and just throw it out as junk mail, someone could find it and use it to rack up money under your name (I know people to whom this has happened). I know college = debt for most, but handle your debt with the utmost care.

Read your professors carefully, figure out what kind of prof they are, what they prioritize, what they don't care as much about, what they're good at, what they're bad at, and use that information to ensure that your experiences with them go smoothly. Professors, like all teachers, have very different skill sets (and competence levels) and you need to be able to work as effectively as possible with all kinds, even the bad ones (though avoiding those is a better idea when possible). This is also good practice for bosses later on.

Writing teacher talking again: plagiarizing well takes about as much effort as writing well. If someone fails at plagiarizing well, they're screwed. If they fail at writing well, they do okay-ish. Plagiarizing is not worth it. They might get away with it from time to time, but it only takes getting caught once to really, really screw someone, and frankly, they have it coming, because everything they do to cheapen their degree also cheapens your degree in the eyes of everyone who looks at their lazy, corner-cutting work later in life and thinks, "They graduated from _____?? I thought that place had standards," and then values your degree a little less as a result.

Take your end-of-course evaluations seriously. Most professors value and adapt in response to detailed, thoughtfully-written student evaluations; evals that are one or two sloppy sentences are easily ignored and frankly not that helpful to you or anyone else, whether they're positive or negative. This is a chance for you to tell the professor and their superiors how they're doing - use it! I know of situations in which a professor has had their course load shifted away from a course they taught particularly poorly twice in a row (as the thoughtful student evals indicated). If you didn't like how a prof did, your eval will be taken more seriously if it is fair and well-explained and less seriously if it is vindictive, personally attacking, and generally mean-spirited.

Well, I think that's probably enough for now. However, if you have other college-related questions for someone who's on my end of things, feel free to post them in the comments and I will be happy to respond!

Sean O'Brien (for Conor O'Brien)

Robert - Meet Robert