In this inaugural edition of 'Stop whining, you go here,' I introduce myself and start refuting the commonly held notion that Columbians have it rough. Barring a populist backlash from my peers, I'll select one frequently overheard complaint each week and discuss its absurdity.
The approximately three Columbians who know me well can tell you that I'm a bit dour. Misanthropic, even. My contempt for other students' careerist neuroticism, poor elevator/door etiquette, and ambulatory tailgating is unmatched. Surely, then, I hate my life on this compact campus infested with humans?
I don't. In the résumé-centric life story I've presented to hundreds of new acquaintances here, the most interesting episode is undoubtedly my decision to transfer to Columbia last semester from an enormous state university. Spending my first year as an engineering student in total anonymity among depraved middle-class white kids, aloof instructors (trust me, SEAS folks, it could be worse), and 5,500 acres of chintzy buildings (think 100 Morningsides of nothing but Uris, Carman, and Mudd) has tempered my capacity for whining.
