Welcome back for the semester, my comrades in American Apparel -clad arms at New York University. I thoroughly enjoyed yesterday's first-day-of-school fashion show, and by thoroughly enjoyed I of course mean was shocked and appalled by the parade of excessive consumption so pervasive on campus, and perhaps exemplified best by the LITERAL FASHION SHOW we had in one of my (Gallatin!) classes, in which two students were invited by the otherwise respectable professors to stand on the table and explain their outfits to the class. That wasn't the only confusing part of my day; I also was concerned about the Sternies, and why three hours into the term they already looked like they're carrying the weight of Jesus himself on their backs. Okay, Great Recession, blah blah. We in the Gallatin School for Individualized Study - or as I like to call it, Dinner Party College - have long resigned ourselves to the inevitability of under- and unemployment, so why not the rest of you Bobcats? The non-profit sector can't be that bad, especially if the entire membership of the Bryn Mawr Alumnae Association works for it! I'm sure there are plenty of opportunities to screw things up for poor people without working for Lehman Brothers!
Anyway, I am happy to report that these past two days have not been a total bust for the future of intellectual America. I had a lovely chat with my sister at the stroke of midnight of her 21st birthday, in which we discussed the merits of mixology, and why we screen calls from our father on midnight of our 21st birthdays. I also re-fell in love with Vietnam War history, and anything else JPeck can teach me. It's laundry time in the East Village, and I have 150 pages of Bourdieu to read for tomorrow. Until next time, I remain your rainy-day correspondent.