The beginning of the end.

So here I sit, in my spacious, mostly silent room in Mudd. The only other person here I know at this point is MIA, and my only worthwhile companions are my computer, my guitar and a phone, on which the bearer of my future car is supposed to call me. I'm pretty much a prisoner here until I hear from him--damn my lack of a cell phone; it will be my death.
I guess maybe I should start with a Freshman Year Recap. (Cue Phantom Planet's O.C. anthem "California"--entirely appropriate Inner Monologue Music.)
It speaks to the universality of the college experience that there isn't anything I could say that hasn't been said, better and more eloquently, by someone else. Fresh-faced high school children go out on their own for the first time. They get drunk and throw up. They discover facets of their personalities they didn't know about. Their musical tastes change in weird and wonderful ways, yet everyone still holds a place in their heart for Dave Matthews. Some become vegans. They get drunk on organic liquor and throw up.
So far I've done OK at avoiding the stereotypes. I'm not a vegan (so far) and Dave Matthews doesn't do much for me--especially not in the hands of acoustic-guitar-wielding guys at parties who think playing "Crash" will get them laid. And I haven't thrown up here, which is fortunate because the bathroom smelled bad enough as it was.
As to my undiscovered personality facets--it's too early to tell. I've had to think about my personal beliefs more than once, thanks to a certain car-defacing professor and the havoc she wreaked on my school. Thanks to that, I've also come to appreciate the education my liberal, aging-hippie college town gave me. It was flawed, sure, but I learned about the perils of oversensitivity as well as the horrors of apathy. Amherst was damn good Claremont training.
I'm not by any means a better person now than I was in high school. I'm maybe a few pounds heavier (curse you, Taco Wednesdays!), a few shades darker. The brain cells stimulated by fascinating classes and intense conversations were cancelled out by the ones killed due to drinking and THC. I still have no organization or leadership skills, and I still haven't figured out what the hell I'm doing in college or what I'll do afterwards (other than spend a couple years as a musician living in a box). But I've got three more years to worry about that. Right now, my biggest worry is finding worthwile ways to spend my remaining time in Southern California. And no, visiting the O.C set isn't gonna happen.