At last, spring has finally arrived. Or so the calendar reads. Surely, from what I can remember, we recently ended all contact with winter. I am almost positive that on my schedule, this term is labeled “Spring Semester.” And yet, even with these factors, any evidence of greenery or vegetation has yet to be witnessed around Stony Brook. Despite the month, a “spring” has yet to be in season. Luckily, the SBU Planning Committee has decided to plant clusters of flowers across campus—giving an illusion of a thriving, greener, community. I feel as though I am immersed within a garden, truly.
I may not always be in a receptive mood for humiliation, yet I somehow manage to find myself in disastrously demeaning circumstances anyway, aka my entire college experience. The tuition fee was essentially a premium to convert my life into material that could be misjudged as Shakespearean tragedy. And it would seem a judgment has been passed not only from my own introspection, but from others as well, particularly Stony Brook faculty.
Socially, humanity has adopted a multitude of conventions and mannerisms to compliment any social setting. But what about etiquette in social bedding? Surely propriety can resume once all frivolous activities come to a sticky end. Will there ever be a remedy for the awkward exchange of morning-after eye contact?
“No residents shall have or harbor pets or other wild or domestic animals in the residence halls. Pet paraphernalia, equipment, supplies and food are also prohibited. Exception: Not more than one aquarium (fish tank) of 10 gallons or less per room will be permitted. No flesh eating fish such as piranha are allowed.”- Stony Brook Terms of Occupancy.
After reading this conspicuously written query on the main page of the SBU Undergraduate Admissions website (in dauntless, ominous red), it is difficult to not feel disgust for the college application process.
The advent of yet another academic semester is nigh. But I’m sure most SBU students are only too aware of this fact, what from last week’s harrowing escapades. Last week, our little student body enterprise led us into the stultifying conditions of the SOLAR website, and on behalf of Statesman staff and faculty, our hearts reach out to those in need or to any injured party at this time. SOLAR victims remain in our hopes and prayers. Spring enrollment usually provokes an excited atmosphere among college students; an over-eager nature inhabits every undergraduate. Buzzwords like DEC, credit or major put an already wintry, biting climate on edge for the residents here on campus; class shopping invokes a painfully subtle apprehension for the future. To put it baldly, we become acquisitive barbarians during this time of the year (well, more so than we are on an average day). And what an apt demeanor for the holidays it is! To hell with propriety—in lieu of buying others a gift, why not obsess over shopping for the ensuing course load ahead (Happy Holidays)?
Yet another inexplicable phenomenon is quickly permeating society today. That peculiar human desire to control what confuses us is steadily gaining in popularity. We have all experienced this feeling at some point: the tendency to result in absolute, merciless tyranny when dealing with train connections or perhaps the occasional bus schedule. Or maybe even others’ religious behavior. This has certainly become a favorite among university faculty.
The term “freshman year” has the tendency to elicit the response of a sort of pained laugh. This occurs not only for current university students, but also for anyone who attended their first year of college. The phrase has become a subject of suppressed memory, and apparently, even hysteria. Because of this expression’s association with crippling discomfiture and inexperience, an entire year’s worth of recollection eventually becomes horrendously funny. If there were any appropriate motto to subscribe to when entering University, it would be to just laugh through the grief- nervous, restrained laughter.