Lists are like crack to organized girls. We can add to them indefinitely and make them look elegant and important with curly handwriting. Awesome. Most of my lady friends agree. Even some dudes. Lists rock. They keep you classy even if you spill coffee and wine all over them. They make you feel accomplished even if you never cross anything off. They're general ego boosters. Which is why when I was asked to meditate in class — yes, it's one of those feel–good classes made for seniors that's pretty much like group therapy — I took the time to make a list. Duh. This time about classes. With one semester left in my undergraduate career (gawdfabid!) I'm dumbstruck. Photography, graphic design, Urban Studies, something with Childers, like four more classes in my major. There were too many. And it's not like I'm the most curious student in the world. I've never taken more than four classes at a time. I admit to always checking Penn Course Review to make sure it isn't too  hard. I started to curse myself. Bad, Jess. You should have taken at least six more courses. And summer classes! Pass/fail. Take 'em all! But then my professor snapped me out of my list–lovin' heaven and insisted we share our what we learned from our forced meditation. Learn? Apparently I didn't learn anything in four years. I cringed. I tried to hide under a desk until I realized the irony. I was asked to meditate. In a class. That counted for my minor. And made me happy. So instead, I made a list of my favorite classes starting with the unofficial one right here on these pages.

Street 101. Get at us,


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