Claim to Fame: A fondness for hugs, a head for names, and a willingness to get dirty.
Where are you going? Come Fall, I will be heading to Sacramento to begin training for AmeriCorps National Civilian Community Corps. I’ll be roaming the Pacific Northwest for a year collaborating on infrastructure and stewardship projects and working to foster urban and rural development.
Three things you learned at Columbia:
“Back in my day…” I’m currently in an awesome if unexpected relationship with a freshman (everybody always said I was maternal), so Sir Mike of Carman fame has been a much more familiar face than I had anticipated. It’s a comfort to know that that the class of 2015 is passionate, intelligent, and willing to hang out with a geezer like me.
That being said, it’s Frontiers. I’ll have none of this Fro Sci shit.
Justify your existence in 30 words or less: Professor Zoo. Pooping in Butler. Give and Go Green. Pithily titled, silly projects.
Is the War on Fun over? Who won? Any war stories? Where the hell did this rhetoric of “War on ___” come from? Seriously, Google “War On” and you get “War on Religion”, “War on Terror”, “War on Drugs”, “War on Want”, and now ““War on Fun.” I though war was good for the economy? Why are we in such a recession if there’s so much combat?
Speaking of battle, though, my Assassins story is pretty entertaining. As a freshman, I played Assassins totally unprepared for the insanity that the game required and evoked. My target lived in Beta house and operated elusively; I knew I needed to surprise him at home if I wanted to be successful. Impulsively, I ran to Beta and rang the front door, no plan in mind for what I would do when someone answered. One of my target’s teammates serendipitously opened the door for me and asked who I was looking for. Without thinking or reason, I blurt out “Lenny”, referring to my tall German friend who had nothing to do with the circumstances. “Lemmy?”, he asked as my eyes widened and pulse quickened. “Yeah, Lemmy lives here. I don’t remember where, though. Let me check.” The dude proceeded to walk me to my target’s room where he checked about the living situation. As my target turned to his computer, I snaked my arm through the doorframe like lightning and shot him in the back, shouted “GLOCK GLOCK!”, and then ran down the stairs and out the door.
Would you rather give up oral sex or cheese? As long as somebody is eating, I don’t have a preference.
Advice for the class of 2016:
Any regrets? Sometimes I wish I were premed so that I could become a cardiologist and fulfill my nominal destiny.