I signed up for classes recently.
Normally, advance registration is a happy time for me. It's a time when I realize that the one or two terrible classes I inevitably have each semester are drawing to a close, a time to have a few beers and drunkenly plan my future. ("Ooh, I didn't know you could submatriculate into the Graduate School of Education! I'll do that!" "Hmm, what about double majoring in Political Science and English?" "I hate the English major requirements. I know, I'll make my own major!" And, of course, the worst decision of all -- "I'll be a writer!")
But this year, advance registration has been a somber time for me. As frequent emails from Penn remind me, I'll be graduating in May, assuming, of course, that I don't fail my Astronomy course. (Not necessarily a safe assumption.)
But I don't want to leave. Please, Dr. Gutmann, don't make me leave. It's not like I'm going to have a job after graduation anyway. Why must you make me leave?
It's not that I'm a huge fan of Penn, as such. I have no school spirit. I've been to two football games in my time here, and no basketball games. I probably won't be donating any money any time soon, if ever, so the letters I've already received hitting me up are, to be honest, not really worth anyone's time.
I just really, really like college.
Sure, I may not have had any experiences resembling anything I've seen in Animal House, Old School, or hell, even Revenge of the Nerds, but this place is great. For four years, I've done, well, very little, and my parents have paid for it.
I won't miss professors who, in order to prove that they have 12-inch dicks, purposely give impossible exams to students taking stupid general requirement courses, a two-hour line to see a freshman advisor who never knew my name, being misdiagnosed at Student Health, the food at 1920 Commons or The Daily Pennsylvanian.
I will miss staying up until four every morning for no good reason and not worrying about having to do anything the next day, impromptu poker games and people-watching sessions on Locust Walk with my housemates, Bui's, 34th Street Magazine, West Philly (seriously, it's a great neighborhood) and free beer.
It's tough getting old. I'll be 22 in less than a month, and I'm already waxing nostalgic. Bear with me, it'll probably be happening a lot over the next three issues, my last here at Street. But, hey, it's college -- it's not like I have to take responsibility for my fuck-ups anyway.
God, I love this place.
Sincerely,
Alex Koppelman
