Some people would say that going to Columbia is all about dealing with authority structures. The advent of winter is only reinforcing this point, driving us deeper and deeper into the unfeeling embraces of our campus hideaway spots while our administration cheers about some northern land called “Manhattanville.”

But how well do you actually actually know your own campus? When you’re walking into Butler and pass by that girl (or guy) who lived on your John Jay floor freshmen year and you’ve always sorta had a crush on, aiming your head down while awkwardly shuffling with coffee in one hand and a suddenly produced cellphone in the other, are you actually paying attention to which door you’re walking through?

Hell, if Columbia switched which doors did and didn’t open, would you even notice? Or would these facts blend into the slough of your consciousness, to where reality and imagination join together, as though just beneath the surface of your mind something huge and alive waked for a moment of lazy alertness out of and into light slumber again…