You know that Ego of the Week question, “There are two types of people at Penn …”? Well, after a little social experiment I took part in these past couple of weeks, I would divide Penn into BlackBerry users and everyone else.
It’s no surprise that smartphones took over campus long ago, but I didn’t realize the ubiquity of the BlackBerry in particular until I suddenly found myself without.
When I was a freshman, my Intro to Sociology professor began a lecture with the following question: “By a show of hands, how many of you agree with the statement ‘I am a feminist?’” In a room of over 100 students, only three hands went up.
I didn’t go to class last week.
A disclaimer: I’m not one of those people — the kind who view lectures and seminars as obstacles to “experiencing college.” I love my classes.
When I think of Homecoming, I don’t necessarily think of football games or seeing old friends. I don’t think about tailgating or special alumni receptions or anything related to Penn, really.
I think of high school dances.
You know what I’m talking about.
I have several nicknames — none of them good — that I would like to share with you: Negative Nancy, Pessimistic Polly, Debbie Downer and Fatty McLovehandles.
Last Friday night, a mere 12 hours before I would sit for the impending doom that is also referred to as the LSATs, I called my mom for the requisite night-before-the-exam confidence booster.
New Student Orientation: the best week of the academic year. Giant parties, free (albeit watered-down) booze and no nagging schoolwork to ruin all of your fun.
April is my favorite month of the year. Another bleak winter is washed away by daytime showers. All of us who hibernate through the winter come out, and you are able to witness campus waking up from a deep sleep.
I rarely got in trouble as a kid. Sure, I received the occasional detention for talking in class, but those ended shortly after I began copying lines from the blackboard.
What’s wrong with kids today? It’s a question that has followed us from our jelly shoe-clad childhoods, to our MTV/TRL/TGIF loving adolescence, to our Not-Penn-State and definitely Not-Berkeley-circa-1960 University of Pennsylvania.
I discovered at the tender age of five that I was in possession of a very vivid imagination. I never hung upside down on a jungle gym, but rather from a tight rope in the middle of a floating circus in the sky.
For students who develop a Big Three inferiority complex as soon as acceptance letters roll in, the desire to perpetuate a “Work hard, play harder” Social Ivy image seems contradictory.
As I write this, there are several other things I could, or rather should, be doing. I should, for example, be writing my 10-page paper (D-Day minus 2), doing my 200 pages of reading (D-Day minus 1) or studying for my midterm (D-Day minus 4). What I should not be doing is watching reruns of Full House or taking multiple naps.