The great circle of college life

Invariably, the great cycle of college continues, and it moves us all through despair and… Invariably, the great cycle of college continues, and it moves us all through despair and something else, through faith and love. My brother starts as a bona fide freshman at Pitt in this semester. After I take him to the top of the Cathedral and hold him out a window for all of Oakland to see and applaud, it’s inevitable he’ll wander into South Oakland for some drunken purpose or another.

And as he walks out there, among the other freshmen in their almost instinctual search for cheap booze for the first time of their college careers, I will be pouting in my Bouquet Gardens suite.

There is no more room to deny it; we are getting older. And if you aren’t, then a curse on your house, devil-woman. But these meaningless little milestones, like having a brother who doesn’t seem so young anymore, does little besides reinforcing my firm belief that death is waiting for me right around the corner.

But rather than explaining that, I will focus on my brother and his froshy enthusiasm.

The poor kid has decided to be a pharmacy major. He works at a pharmacy now, and the guy on duty lets him behind the counter every now and again to play with the drugs. My best guess is that he is now addicted to Prozac or Viagra, and is looking for a steady fix, but he says he just wants to be a pharmacist.

Yeah right, buddy. And if you believe that, I have a store at the corner of Forbes and Fifth to sell to you.

Sadly, he has yet to find out that the first two years for a pharmacy student are weeding-out courses, specifically designed to weed him out. But still, because he is an idealistic, enthusiastic freshman, he is ready for his six-class schedule, which includes not one, but two four-hour labs.

His general disgusting enthusiasm does not end with chem lab, either. Last week, one of his other pre-frosh friends managed to discover www.thefacebook.com. So much like the plague that it is, it has spread quickly through the pre-college community. He and many of his friends spend their days, among other things, obsessing over that stalker’s manual.

In my hours of intricate observation and analyzation of this phenomenon, I think I have discovered in this example the biggest difference between the freshmen and upperclassmen.

By now in our long college careers, the novelty of many things has already worn off. I remember when TheFaceBook first manifested itself at our school, and I remember the ensuing panic it caused. I remember that bossy Web site telling me that I didn’t have any friends at first, and I remember by the end of the night, my entire hall was caught in a complex “poking”/love triangle.

The brave among us used it as a way to find buddies to play racquetball with, while the meek stayed in their dorms in their search for the political affiliation of their friend’s sister’s ex-boyfriend.

And then, just like that, it was over. The novelty wore off faster than those Tamagotchi things, which, like several plants of mine, died after only three days of complete neglect. But I’m sure I’ll get it right with a real kid.

These freshmen come to school this year as completely unjaded, naive, trusting individuals. They will be the ones who will fill the frat houses this year, replacing those of us who are no longer interested in them. Don’t get me wrong; you will be able to find me and my legal status next year drunk quite often, but I don’t want to go to those lame frat parties anymore.

They, like my poor, condemned electronic pet, also lose their novelty very quickly. Think about your own freshman year. I bet you went to a lot more parties then than you do now.

This, then, is indisputable evidence that we are becoming mature, productive members of society. If college is supposed to prepare you for life in general, perhaps the fact that things are losing their novelty is what will allow us to become functioning adults some day. I know that when I’m 40, I don’t want to log on to TheFaceBook to see how my friends are doing. Most likely, all but a few will be alumni, and many — if not most — will be in jail.

On the day that I present my brother to you, from high atop the Cathedral, bow in reverence to him because he is a blank sheet of paper. He still finds the Schenley Cafe a novel place to eat, and can’t wait to go and live in his dorm. We must do our part to help educate these poor souls before the next crop of ’em come in. All in all, we must remember that we are part of a great cycle, a circle if you will, a great circle of college life.

Sam Morey has a fortune from a fortune cookie which reads “you will lean over and kiss whoever is sitting next to you.” To be that lucky person, e-mail him at SMorey88@hotmail.com.