Being a freshman stinks - literally.
I live on the eighth floor of an office building called Hubbard Hall. OK, it is a residence hall, but if I wanted to live in a box I would have found one in an alley.
Hubbard frequently permeates with the smell of decaying garbage, reminding me of standing over a sewer in New York City. So once again, I could live in a box in an alley in New York for free, but I pay thousands of dollars to live at Hubbard.
Living at the furthest point on east campus doesn’t help me appreciate my freshman year either. I am at least 15 minutes from any cultural aspect of MSU college life (and, no, Hannah Plaza does not count as culture). Walking a few miles to class or downtown East Lansing doesn’t bother me too much. After all, it keeps off the “freshman 15,” which can’t possibly exist when you are already losing weight by eating “superb” cafeteria food.
If you like to eat brown iceberg lettuce (which has no nutritional value), appreciate skin growing on your soup and have no problem thinking twice about digesting a food with “surprise” in its name, then you may experience the “freshman 15” phenomenon.
If you’re like me and poke the food to make sure it isn’t alive, then you become more conscious and can only eat select items.
A freshman could honestly make a decent salary with revenue from a diet book concerning how the college diet is so effective.
Being a freshman sucks.
As it is, I am too young to experience 90 percent of the Lansing-area entertainment. My peers and I are limited to very few options of weekly adventure.
There is always the coffee shops and their poetry nights for a weekday distraction (how college cliché is this?). Even though I’m a liberal, the talent there often bores me because of its redundant rhetoric of how conservative our country is and why it sucks to live here.
I’m a firm believer in changing our country through caffeine-induced speeches at local coffee shops, because I always thought giving my input at a town meeting and exercising my right to vote was pointless.
Of course the doors close at every fine East Lansing establishment at midnight, with the exception of places where the age requirement is 21, leaving me nowhere to go but the library. And if the library isn’t a cure for insomnia I don’t know what is.
There are always dance clubs I could go to. All the area dance clubs are so lavish and comparable to Studio 54. One club in particular gets me jumping up and down every time I think of it. Its female population is comprised of teenybopper high school kids in a contest to see which venereal disease they can get first and which guy they can award with jail time for lewd acts with a minor.
Weekend comes around and East Lansing really starts to become cultural. There is the obvious thing to do, party at a frat or house party and
