I feel as if I am less worthy a human being than those with whom my articles have graced the pages of America's Oldest College Newspaper. Why? Well, the thing is, I don't have much to say that is of significance. I don't have any issues on which I'd like to expound -- no social commentary that will render you, the reader, more literate, more aware of what's going on in the world around us. Neither do I have anything to say about the Student Life Initiative. I mean, except that I think it sucks. And that the only problem we have with underage drinking is the fact that we, as a nation, create an atmosphere that compels the youth to cower in dark and smelly living spaces to drink (namely, frat basements -- an atmosphere that potentially leads to bingeing.)
I heard from my roommate, who heard from someone (and I, myself, have heard, first-hand, from someone, who knew someonewho was from Louisiana) that in New Orleans, they've lowered the legal drinking age to like, 16. Or something. And even with their tolerance of alcohol consumption at a younger age, it's not as if New Orleans has deteriorated to the effect of holding bacchanalian, orgiastic events once a year at which people drink a whole lot and indulge in public nudity in a frenzy to get trinkets thrown at them. Actually, nix that, I think being 21 to drink is a federal law. (Damn my sources.) But, you know what I mean. In other countries, alcohol doesn't hold half the lure it does here, simply because responsible drinking is encouraged and indulged in earlier on in life. Even in Cancun, clearly the 51st state, or at least a commonwealth of the U.S., you're permitted to drink at 18. Evidently, a sign of a higher form of civilization.
I will now segue into the subject at hand. I will do it so effortlessly that it will be undetectable to the naked eye.
It was the summer of '99 I was tan, practically carcinogenic, and carefree. It was around the time that people started dropping that dirty little phrase: freshmen fifteen. I remember laughing them off and mentally vowing to return from college a lithe and sinewy version of my former self (something reminiscent of Linda Hamilton from Terminator II -- without that scary liquid metal man eesh). I was presented with a going away present in the form of Billy Blank's Advanced Tae-Bo tape. They knew. They knew, even if I didn't even when I didn't believe.
'03 Orientation (Week 1): Pass on the ice cream offered at my cluster icebreaker. I'm going to eat HEALTHY. Feel self-righteous and pity the weaklings obviously not possessed of my fine mettle. Some time later: Am offered a breadstick by my UGA. Succumb. Wonder whether EBA has developed a cult following.
Week 2: Do laundry for the first time in my life. My god, doing laundry is SUCH fun. Um but not as fun as being cool and having a life. Yeah.
Week 3: Start snacking after 10 o'clock.
October: Are my clothes shrinking?
Mid-October: Start ordering in after midnight. Drink ranch sauce for breakfast.
November: Damn these dryers. They're shrinking my clothing. Treachery, treachery!
December (back home in New York): Friends say, "Yeah, you've gained a little weight." Family friends say, "You've certainly grown up. Or rather: grown big. Hardy har har." My mom: "You're not my daughter. What have you done with her?"
As an unbeliever, I left behind my well-balanced, nutrient-rich meals as an unbeliever, I took my first bite of an EBA breadstick. A gateway food if there ever were one. I shake my head to think what an innocent I was. It was the beginning of the end.
Let's not let this happen to another generation of freshmen.
