One of the creeping signs of adulthood (other than that your year of birth slides gradually farther and farther out of reach on online forms) is the increasingly persistent worry that you missed orientation.
The Washington Post writer shows how if you think procrastination stops once you leave college, you’re woefully mistaken.
That was the whole point of coming to Harvard: to meet all these interesting great talented people who were going to do great things. But when these Great Things go from theory to practice, it hits you in the vitals.
For some reason it has become traditional to pepper graduates with advice.
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Someone moved the stakes higher. At college, if you awoke with the kind of headache usually reserved for Greek gods who were using their crania to give birth to other Greek gods, you did not really have to get up and go anywhere. In life, you do.
I would like to say that I regret nothing of the past four years. Actually, I do regret one thing: not having donated one of my eggs to those people who advertise in The Crimson, because, hey, that’s serious money.
All in all, the only thing I would advise against is cheating. Usually the people on either side of you have even less of an idea of what they are doing than you do.
I remember one party at the Delphic where someone offered me punch, and I woke up several weeks later in Equatorial Guinea with a great tan, surrounded by fun individuals who were only kind of involved in human trafficking.
Right now, connected parents are one of society’s most inequitably distributed resources.
So why all the uproar over excessive alcohol consumption?
One of my hobbies used to be telling people that I found certain jokes offensive based upon my peculiar life experiences. I had to stop because people started taking me seriously.
Since coming to college, I have learned extremely little about a bizarre range of oddly specific subjects.
Maybe, before leaping into bed, everyone should sit down and fill out comprehensive forms that cover our opinions on politics, philosophy, free-range chicken, and that one episode of Sex and the City where Samantha confronts those transvestites.