Columbia College Days on Campus
I stayed overnight at Columbia this weekend for their College Days on Campus program. I realized when I got there that it was largely designed to be marketing to influence kids who were deciding between schools. I was somewhat disappointed that there wasn't any programming for 100% attending students, but I guess that this whole thing is a business after all. I have to say that although this wasn't nearly as informative as the summer program had been (obviously time is a factor here... a weekend at Columbia and a month there are quite different things). The first day was really just getting acclimated and trying out John Jay Dining Hall food (which wasn't as bad as I had remembered). We took a bus tour around New York, which was sort of silly considering most of the kids there were from the tri-state area and PA, but we spent the whole time ignoring the neurotic guide and chatting about music, politics, and other fun things. I was sort of disappointed about the general social scene, but that encounter made me realize that there will always be interesting people to talk to, I'll just have to work a little harder at seeking them out. For the most part the kids seem alright-- there are obviously competitive elitist douchebags who popped up every now and then, but I plan to ignore them and allow them to fight out their repressed angst amongst one another-- it was the parents who really bothered me. A great girl I met, Elizabeth, and I walked into one of the dean's marketing ploys speeches late, and got an almost three-minute-long death glare from some bleach-blonde soccer mom (her eyes were practically saying, "How dare you come in late to this most holy of events? My child-- valedictorian, curer of cancer, saver of Darfur-- is quite obviously superior to you in all matters, even punctuality! Get ready to get your acky-demicky ass KICKED BY MY AWESOME, FANTASTIC, SUPER-DAUGHTER!")*
We slept in Hartley, which is a dorm building comprised entirely (I think?) of bi-level suites. (I prefer the single-level suites in Wallach-- if I can get a single room in a suite there, I'll be set.) Sleeping arrangements, if they could be called that, were five girls who had never met before squished into a small, cold, common room. Not exactly accommodating, but it did make for some female bonding. We stopped by a party in Carmen the night before and it was, to say the least, the lamest party I have ever seen. I mean, like twenty kids, one half-full bottle of Smirnoff, and a case of beer lame. It sort of made me miss the frats at Rutgers, but I'm sure that things are more exciting off-campus at bars and the such (I smell fake IDs?).
In the morning I sat in on a really excellent class, Modern European Intellectual History, taught by Samuel Moyn (who was apparently in today's New York Times). I have to say that the name of the class originally deterred me from considering it (I mean, come on, who wants to admit that they go to a class with the word "Intellectual" right in the name. Pretentious much?). Semantics aside, Moyn taught a really informative, interesting class-- no surprise that he was given "Columbia University's annual Mark Van Doren Award for outstanding undergraduate teaching."** The day's lecture was largely about Marcel Proust, with some bits thrown in about Thomas Mann. Apart from making me feel literarily inadequate, the class got me really excited about academics at Columbia.***
*I am happy that the experience made my appreciate just how down-to-Earth and realistic my parents are.
**Colbert be damned, I love Wikipedia.
***Side bit: I guess this would be more exciting if you knew me better, but I was absolutely thrilled to discover Proust's views on pleasure (sexual and otherwise). Proust, to paraphrase, felt "sadness... once [his] desires [were] satisfied... [finding them] trivial simpy because [he] had achieved [them]." Could that be any more Charline?? That basically sums up the source of the past three years worth of existential crises I've been having. I'm so ridiculously happy that someone else has felt like this and I'm not just some sort of freak. Then again, Proust can't really be used as a basis for psychological normalcy. At least I can say that I am not repressing any homosexual tendencies... I think.****
****I did sort of disagree with Proust on his theory of the meaning of life (writing In Search of Lost Time being the main purpose of his life, etc.). As much as I love writing, I really don't want to over-think the purpose of life, go all Albert Camus, and spiral into some existential nihilist black hole right before embarking on the most exciting part of my life to date.
Dude... college. Sweet.
We slept in Hartley, which is a dorm building comprised entirely (I think?) of bi-level suites. (I prefer the single-level suites in Wallach-- if I can get a single room in a suite there, I'll be set.) Sleeping arrangements, if they could be called that, were five girls who had never met before squished into a small, cold, common room. Not exactly accommodating, but it did make for some female bonding. We stopped by a party in Carmen the night before and it was, to say the least, the lamest party I have ever seen. I mean, like twenty kids, one half-full bottle of Smirnoff, and a case of beer lame. It sort of made me miss the frats at Rutgers, but I'm sure that things are more exciting off-campus at bars and the such (I smell fake IDs?).
In the morning I sat in on a really excellent class, Modern European Intellectual History, taught by Samuel Moyn (who was apparently in today's New York Times). I have to say that the name of the class originally deterred me from considering it (I mean, come on, who wants to admit that they go to a class with the word "Intellectual" right in the name. Pretentious much?). Semantics aside, Moyn taught a really informative, interesting class-- no surprise that he was given "Columbia University's annual Mark Van Doren Award for outstanding undergraduate teaching."** The day's lecture was largely about Marcel Proust, with some bits thrown in about Thomas Mann. Apart from making me feel literarily inadequate, the class got me really excited about academics at Columbia.***
*I am happy that the experience made my appreciate just how down-to-Earth and realistic my parents are.
**Colbert be damned, I love Wikipedia.
***Side bit: I guess this would be more exciting if you knew me better, but I was absolutely thrilled to discover Proust's views on pleasure (sexual and otherwise). Proust, to paraphrase, felt "sadness... once [his] desires [were] satisfied... [finding them] trivial simpy because [he] had achieved [them]." Could that be any more Charline?? That basically sums up the source of the past three years worth of existential crises I've been having. I'm so ridiculously happy that someone else has felt like this and I'm not just some sort of freak. Then again, Proust can't really be used as a basis for psychological normalcy. At least I can say that I am not repressing any homosexual tendencies... I think.****
****I did sort of disagree with Proust on his theory of the meaning of life (writing In Search of Lost Time being the main purpose of his life, etc.). As much as I love writing, I really don't want to over-think the purpose of life, go all Albert Camus, and spiral into some existential nihilist black hole right before embarking on the most exciting part of my life to date.
Dude... college. Sweet.
