New ownership: The torch has been passed, successfully. TU/TD is now under new ownership, and although it will take time to get strikingly good at these, we believe that these short blurbs will become cornerstones of your week. Charming, introspective, blunt: soon enough, even, they might become the saving graces of your week. Lofty ambitions, yes. But mediocre ambitions never got anyone anywhere. Losers whine about how they did their best—winners get The Prom Queen. Brand that into your brain.
Take Home Final Exams: Ah, the last two weeks of the semester, when Life’s all, “Hey, buddy, come over here and perform a triple bypass surgery, with a blindfold.” In this dire time, we salute the few and the proud that give us self-managing finals. Regardless if it’s an actual test, or a paper, these comrades are, and always will be, the real MVPs.
No Snow: God, you’ve taken all of the snow that belonged on Boston, and you’ve shipped it off somewhere else. (Mostly to Buffalo.) It’s tough enough to deal with BC, which was voted the Wind Tunnel College of the nation. Also, you’ve saved us the accumulation that makes travel—both on foot and in an automobile—painful. Nonstop Christmas music is all we need to know that the good ol’ holiday is almost upon us. Continue to save us a visit from the White Lady (applicable for folks from the Southern states and Californian kids).
No Snow: It’s December. Enough of this sixty degrees nonsense. Give us snow. Hell, give us a blizzard. Make us afraid to brave the elements. Make us want to hide our metaphoric wives (or real wives. No judgement here at TU/TD, for real). Make it impossible to get out of our dorms. Make global warming critics and advocators clash madly over the interwebs. Make zany preachers write sermons about the end of the world. Just give us snow. Continually looping Christmas music is never enough to remind us that it’s Christmas time, that finals week is upon us but will just as quickly close. Much thanks (applicable to everyone who doesn’t originate from a Southern state or California).
The Walsh Club: Look, we get it. Walsh is a filthy, eight-floor apartment building with a superfluous number of parties and a seemingly endless supply of alcohol to whet your appetite for the college life. What we don’t understand is lines flying out the door, clumps of tipsy freshmen standing outside looking for a blind swipe in, and BCPD in the lobby. Walsh might be a slum, but it’s our slum. It should be a painless process to get into our slum. Waiting for someone to come down and get you? Stay to the side. Thinking of ignoring security guard requests? Realize this means that BCPD will show up. Freshman? Hit the road, greenie.