A Look at Various Aspects of Campus Life
After reading countless reviews of one time LP releases and cult TV show reviews, I decided to attempt something much less mainstream: reviewing various aspects of life on the University of Minnesota’s campus.
The atmosphere is dingy and wild; I’m at a frat party. When I arrive with my so-called friends, I see a spectacle of drunken fools and boorish behavior. Loud and vulgar “rap” music is being played, which sounds like an overall cultural abomination, nothing like the classic rap of the nineties. Women along the walls are engaged in performance art called “twerking,” something that would surely make their fathers wonder why they didn’t keep a closer eye on their daughters as children.
Somebody offers me a sip of their drink and I oblige, hoping that this will make me become the “life of the party.” The bartender is obviously no mixologist. The drink tastes like it could double as paint thinner.
All I hope to find is a classy dance with a lovely lady. I find one pretty girl, and ask if she would like to dance. She answers in the affirmative, but to my horror she soon starts gyrating her buttocks on my genital region. Horrified, I immediately leave to find my “friends” so we can leave this freak show. They however, are busy acting like hooligans, so I decide to leave alone. A terrible overall experience.
Being part of a riot
Our hockey team recently lost the National NCAA Hockey Championship, and I hear a large amount of commotion outside. I decide to follow the crowd toward Dinkytown to see what it’s like to be a part of such a large crowd. I had not anticipated the craziness that would soon follow. When we arrive at Dinkytown, it seems like a déjà vu of that horrible My Chemical Romance concert of a few years back, with hundreds of kids channeling their teenage adolescent rage. I see people shooting off bottle rockets, and engaging in all sorts of tomfoolery. I happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and get pepper sprayed. My face feels as though it is on fire, and I decide that I’ve had enough of this, and leave this wretched experience.
With an ambiance that is both haunting and surreal, campus bathrooms are a very interesting place to spend their time. I start with the restrooms of the esteemed Coffman Memorial Union. I am pleased to see that there are four fully furnished stalls, but a bit disappointed that there are only two urinals. There is some educational reading material inside the stall doors about sexual assault, and I come out of my business feeling quite informed. There is no writing on the stalls and I appreciate that the walls look clean by regular stall standards.
Unfortunately, while most of the public restrooms I come across on campus are tolerable, I see plenty of restroom etiquette that could be improved. Oftentimes I see men violating a key component of the gentleman’s code: you don’t use the urinal next to somebody if there are others open nearby. The restroom in my residence hall, Centennial, is much different from those in Coffman. There are only three stalls, and there have been plenty of times where all three stalls are full. When this is the case, I have to go down another floor to do my business. It is quite inconvenient.
I have never been much of a fan of working out. I find that those who do it should focus on academics or good book reading rather than making their bodies unnecessarily muscular. However, I’ve noticed myself feeling a bit out of shape so I decide to see what the Recreation Center has to offer. It seems so much bigger than it needs to be, and I wonder why so much University funding is going towards a center for frat bros who are trying to get “swole.”
Nevertheless, I choose to go over to the bench press to start out. I find that the bar itself is quite heavy, so I choose not to add any weight. After my second set, a man wearing a shirt that would be snug on a kindergartner asks me how close I am to being done. How rude! I decide to let this man have his precious bench and move on to another area. I move over to the track to jog, and start running. After about a minute, somebody tells me that I’m running the wrong way on the track. Fed up with everyone telling me what to do, I decide to leave. This experience has reaffirmed why I hate working out so much.