>>> The Rollercoaster of Drama
By staff writer Simonne Cullen
October 29, 2003
Welcome to my world where once a week I’ll be sharing with you the hilarity that is college life at a small liberal arts school, in a small conservative town, in a far off distant land known only for its cheese, beer, and some guy named Brett Favre—whom up until two years ago I thought was a hockey player, but is commonly regarded as the second coming of Jesus Christ by the natives.
That’s right, I’m kicking the best years of my life in Wisconsin, possibly the coldest state in the union next to Alaska, but made up for by the plethora of wedge-shaped cheese hats we like to break out on national television. But seriously, living in the Midwest is fantastic, and we’re breeding prime trim up here—Brad Pitt is from Missouri. Hmm…that’s all I got.
I was pretty damn excited about starting a column for PIC. It made me a temporary celebrity on campus and soon everyone started saying, “Write about Dave!” or “Write about the crappy food” or “Write about so-and-so in this fraternity,” but apparently they missed the memo about my decision to major in theater, otherwise they’d know that I only enjoy talking about one thing: me. Haha, just kidding. Not really.
I’m not going to lie, Lawrence University wasn’t my first choice, or my second, or even my third. In fact, this school came in dead last. I was opting for something more tropical, but Florida was too far to drive, and going to school anywhere fun in the Chicago land area meant living with the parents—and seeing how we haven’t spoken since grade school, it was ruled out immediately. So now I pay tuition for a wannabe Ivy League school, minus the commonly acknowledged prestige and about 18,700 extra students.
But there are benefits. Small schools pride themselves on having 20 students to a class, assuring personal attention from professors. And with constant help and availability from them, I’m sure organic chemistry is a breeze, but I’d also like to point out that I’m 30th on the waiting list for modern ballet.
Everyone is connected at small schools. And I don’t just mean you see the same people everyday, I mean if just one of them does something dramatic it creates a domino effect that in some way will always affect you. Which is fantastic when you can trace yourself back to the guy
that scored the touchdown to win the game, but not so much when it’s the guy that drunkenly pissed all over himself and passed out in the quad wearing only a neon pink thong.
You students at big ten schools may not have any idea what I’m talking about, so let me get into more detail (names may or may not have been changed to conceal people’s identities and dignity). Two weeks ago my roommate Mike tried to hook up with my good friend Amanda’s best friend from home, Jenn, who met my freshman crush Chad and fell for him instead. Mike, not to be outdone, then hooked up with Liz, my co-worker Ryan’s recent ex-girlfriend, whose name Mike couldn't remember the next morning until identified by Amanda, who kissed my other roommate Matt, who later made out with Mara, who is currently rooming with my roommate from freshman year, Meghan. That’s like 2 degrees of separation. Kevin Bacon eat your heart out!
It took me a long time to adjust to a small town coming from Chicago (by the way the Cubs will always dominate—every 95 years or so) but I think I’m pretty used to it by now. I appreciate the quiet and the one gas station open 24 hours. And whenever I get homesick for the nightlife of the windy city, I just put on my cheese wedge hat and smile, because that’s really all you can do when you wear a cheese wedge hat anyway.
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