Rishi's Journal

Sometimes, you just get lucky.

It's funny, because this is coming from the person who, in the midst of the violent downwards portions of the mood swings, notes that he's never gotten a single break in his life. Forget the fact that I very well could/should have lost my (shooting) hand, or more, when I had my elevator accident a decade ago. Forget the fact that I've been given a life with a caring and nurturing family and friends, in a upper-class suburb in the United States. Forget the fact that I don't have to worry where I'm going to get my next meal or where I'm going to sleep. Forget all of that. Because I lacked a girlfriend and a summer internship, things were bad, and I reminded myself often.

The internship thing, particularly, really got to me even more than I let on. You see, this was the year things were finally going to come together for me. I was coming off a prestigious internship at Ernst & Young as only a second-year student, fielding a good GPA and experience as a TA. Once I got my high-paying internship in New York, and I would, I'd use it as a springboard to prove to everyone that I made the right choice by coming to Michigan State, and hell, even get a girl to date me. Sure, I had already accepted a job offer, but success in this internship search was going to be a proxy for my life as a whole. My eyes would light up looking at those incredible investment banking salaries, and I started to work to condition myself into a thick-skinned, take-no-prisoners kinda guy who would succeed on Wall Street.

Long, agonizing story short, I applied to eight or so places, being granted one interview (and a second-round) and zero offers. My standards were changed from refusing to consider anything other than the most renowned financial institutions, to almost anyone that had an opening. It was then that I started to realize how little this internship meant in the grand scheme of things. And, in true ironic fashion, I received my first and only internship offer earlier this evening. It's for a bankrupt company in the tourist hotbed of Troy, Michigan... a far cry from Goldman Sachs on 85 Broad in New York. And I know what follows from there; the "you should've gone to a better school!" crowd and those silently thinking, "what the hell happened to HIM?" will gradually converge. I will see numerous friends and acquaintances perhaps less qualified than I, working at higher-paying and more prestigious positions, a circumstance that would have left me indignant weeks ago.
You have every reason to believe this is rationalization, but I couldn't be happier with the way things turned out. I faced a hell of a lot of adversity, a real personal challenge that probably took years off my life, in the experiences I've had over the past few months. I went from the highest of confidence and expectations to the lowest. Was it stupid, looking back? Probably, but we all face our own personal battles. And yet, I end up exactly where I want to be: living at home with my parents and my dog, working a position I'm interested in. I'll turn 21 around loved ones, get to walk Maisy every evening I can, and hang out with as many friends as will allow me to hang out with them.

College is for learning, yet the most important things I've learned in the past year have nothing to do with knowledge or theory. I've learned that success isn't measured in a bank account. All this time, I've been trying to prove my self-worth through a balance sheet, rigorously updating in my spreadsheet every dime I made, to boost that net worth number. I was going to move to New York and become an investment banker not because it was something I was particularly interested in, but to gain an exorbitant amount of money to prove to everyone that I COULD be most likely to succeed. As a business major, I think it's how I've been trained to think, and my outsized competitiveness doesn't help. Yet somewhere along the way, I realized that, despite the moderate size of my bank account already, I hadn't found happiness. How exactly was working 80 hours a week in a six-figure job going to solve that?

And I've learned that tomorrow is guaranteed to no one. No matter who you are, how much you earn, your race, background, religion, or shoe size, your life can end at any time. I'm sure we all still think about 9/11 now and then, but it has really hit me hard in the past few months. It got to a point where I was thinking about it every single day last fall, staying up til absurd times watching documentaries or footage or reading victims' profiles, then going to bed and lying awake to think about it some more. I checked out and read a book about Cantor Fitzgerald, a bond-trading firm located in the top floors of one of the towers, which lost almost every single employee that reported to work that day. I thought about the people who had to choose between suffocating or being burned alive, or jumping 900 feet to their death, over and over and over again.

The spring before, it was Virginia Tech that kept me awake at night. It threw me into a state of fear and paranoia. I would look around classrooms nervously for escape plans, jump at any loud noises, and be constantly aware of my surroundings (and to be honest, I still do all of these things). This time, it was the witness accounts that consumed my late nights, stories from college students who had watched their entire class be gunned down in cold blood. These tragedies hit me as both a college student, and as a person who was looking to break into a high-paying finance career. Many of the workers in the financial industry at the World Trade Center were well-off, with a high-paying and secure job and a steady state in life. Yet how much would they have paid, when they were trapped in a building that was sure to collapse, just to see their families one more time? And what would the victims at Virginia Tech have done the night of Sunday, April 15, a night I distinctly remember everything about, if they knew it was going to be their last?

I'm not sure how exactly perspective hits, but when it does, it does so in a big way. Somehow, when you frame your worries as, "if my biggest worry in life is how I'm going to do on this finance exam, is my life really so bad?", you start to appreciate a little more. Who the hell am I to complain about anything? I know everyone's a victim in society these days, but what should I say to a Bear Stearns employee who lost his or her entire life's savings in a matter of three weeks, and is now left to start all over? And what should he or she say to someone in Africa who is hoping not to starve to death tonight, even as I take one bite of food in the caf and toss the rest? And what should he or she say to someone who is burying a child, or a loved pet, or anyone else close to him or her?

I'm not saying everyone should suddenly sacrifice everything they desire in some kind of utopia. We're humans, and I think it's human nature to strive for more and lose sight of the bigger picture at times. I know that I'm going to slip up on countless more occasions, and when I do, I can guarantee you that the fact that I wrote this entry will seem absolutely appalling against the long list of grievances I form against life.

But I also feel like I am finally starting to take it all in. That I realize that, even though I don't say "I love you" to them, I can only hope my family realizes how much I really do, and that they are the most important thing in my life. That I can't begin to measure my appreciation for my mom for giving up her own career to raise my brother and me, and my dad for being the smartest man I know and teaching me so much about life, and my brother for doing everything possible to help me succeed in and enjoy my life, and Maisy for being the only girl to sleep with... never mind. And while I can be a real jerk to or around my friends a lot of the time, I truly do enjoy every second I get to hang out with them. I'm still not ready to say all of this in public - that's for another day - but just know that I feel this in my heart.

I guess it's getting to the time where I should wind this down and try to get some sleep. But I will say this: most of the time, it takes something really bad happening to you before you realize how good you had it. For me, I've been blessed with the realization without the pain that usually comes first.

What can I say? Sometimes you just get lucky.

From today's State News:
"'There were too many white people to me,' she said. 'And all the activities on our floor were geared toward what they like, such as Ultimate Frisbee.'"

Now just for a moment, try to imagine what would happen if someone said, "There were too many black people in Hubbard Hall. And all the activities on our floor were geared toward what they like, such as basketball."
You can't. That person would be fired, or would be kicked out of the dorm, or would be labeled a bigot and get ostracized for it.

The reason why... let's go with "certain minorities"... cling to affirmative action and are so threatened by legislation such as the Michigan Civil Rights Initiative isn't just the free ride they're getting based solely on the color of their skin. There's a whole culture these days which has everyone absolutely petrified to offend any minority, and all the while, it gives the others more and more power to say anything, do anything, because "you wouldn't know what it's like to be disadvantaged". The MCRI is the first item I've seen around here that actually threatens to remove the pedestal. I've said it before, and I'll say it a thousand times more: racism is racism, no matter which way it flows.

But what do I know? I might be searching for some measure of equality, but I'm just a racist.

All I'm trying to say is, I need to get my life together. That's all.

One quick thought before I head to bed to continue my ridiculous sleeping patterns...

Maybe I've misunderstood the whole crisis involving the contract to allow a Dubai company to manage ports in six American cities. In fact, I probably have, as I have gotten very lackluster and half-assed in my political convictions - the closest I come these days is to have an argument in my head with some State News columnist. But I'm going to go ahead and weigh in anyways, because lack of knowledge doesn't seem to stop anyone else from opining.

Wasn't it the self-righteous liberals who demanded that we not stereotype Arabs in the slightest way post-9/11? Wasn't that why we weren't allowed to search the 20-something Arab guy with the outline of boxcutters in his pocket, instead being forced to investigate the 89-year old grandma in the walker? Treat them like human beings. Disregard their ethnicity. Correct?
Well, this Dubai firm appears to have a perfect safety record and has passed the Congressional investigation put forth. Yet, the fact that it hails from the United Arab Emirates - and, uh oh, there's that word - has immediately raised a red flag. Jon Stewart, ever the intellectual liberal, brought up the absolutely brilliant point that it made him "uneasy" (I forget if this is the exact word he used, but I assure you it was at worst a synonym. Oh, and I still watch his show religiously, despite his "I'm trying way too hard to prove I know politics, and I compensate by making liberal statements that pass as jokes!" slant). Well thanks, Jon Stewart. Gay marriages, abortions, never meeting any girls, and impossible Econ tests two days before Spring Break all make me "uneasy". Let's do away with all of those problems, too.
I don't care where you stand on the political spectrum. I really don't. But if you're going to have an opinion, please have a valid reason. Don't create double standards that are so blindingly obvious that I can recognize them in my lethargic stupor.

[And a sidenote on the War in Iraq to prove my moderate nature: anyone who actually believes we're preventing a civil war by maintaining our presence there needs to take a few plays off. Among the daily riots, the bombings of religious monuments, and the deadly attacks being waged on all sides, I'm not sure where one could find the conclusion that we're doing anything other than delaying the inevitable.]

Sometime around sophomore year of high school, a wise man told me that confidence was the key to life. Or maybe I read it off a quotes site, since I don't know too many wise men. Whatever. Anyways, confidence was the remedy to any problem; it helped you succeed in all aspects of life, most notably with the females. As an impressionable youth, I took the advice to heart. I started doing my best to put on a false air of confidence. I started to write the word "confidence" in places I knew I'd look, just so I could remember that I was, indeed, the shit. In any action I took, I'd think, "is this what a confident person would do?" It was quite the sight to see. Shockingly, I didn't experience success in anything I was hoping for. I didn't become more popular (remember when people cared about popularity?!), I didn't become a better soccer player (I'm thoroughly convinced that my junior year season was a large collection of very lucky flukes, but that's a story for another day), and I certainly didn't attain more success with the females.

Flash forward to the past couple months. In the wake of my up-and-down first semester (I still can't figure out if I enjoyed it or not), I decided I needed a change. This time, instead of just pretending to be confident, I would actually, you know, be confident. In the words of George W., mission accomplished. My confidence has been on an upward path ever since second semester began, and each week it reaches a new height. I don't think it's been a coincidence that each day or weekend has been more enjoyable than the one before. I don't think it's been a coincidence that I feel better during each day or weekend than I did on the one before.

[excessively long paragraph alert]
More and more, I've begun to have a constant mix of self-assurance, adrenaline, and even arrogance flowing through my body. The examples are numerous and diverse. Last week, I stayed up til 4am the day before my accounting test, and ended up studying for no more than 10 minutes. 95% later (I missed the 100% on a technicality), I'm on cruise control towards a 4.0 in that class. In basketball yesterday, I was a good teammate and passed the ball all around until it was time to win the game. Then I decided to take over and hit 2-point shot after 2-point shot (we play ones and twos, which is a shooter's dream). After each one, I ran back down the court with three fingers high in the air (there's no cool way to put two fingers up). I just couldn't stop shooting, because I was absolutely sure every shot I took was going in. This became a problem when the shots stopped dropping, but once I'm in that mentality, I'm not stopping. I've started to make a habit out of being the leading scorer on my team, even when my touches are few. And while I don't like one-on-one too much, I refuse to believe that if both Paul and I are in that mood of invincibility, we won't beat any two people you throw at us. In beer pong last Thursday night, mine and Sam's game against Zach and Phil was tied, thanks me sinking seven shots. One of them hit his shot, Sam missed hers. The chance to extend the game was in my hands. I zoned out all the distractions, focused on the cup, and splashed once more. In three-cup overtime, they had sunk two to take a 3-1 lead. Sam hit the front cup, and as soon as she did, I knew the game was over. I wish I could describe the feeling, but it was unlike anything I've ever felt. I would've bet my life's savings on that shot. Not surpringly, I sank it in the same cup and the game was over. I realize the ridiculousness of using beer pong as an example of my newfound confidence, but things are just completely turning around. I mean, I've even found myself strutting (I can't find a non-homosexual way to put this, but hopefully you know what I mean) to classes or meals, rather than simply walking. I listen to strangely addicting rap and country songs that should be completely terrible (see current music). And while the females haven't come around like I've been hoping, I think it's due to a lack of opportunity. I'm not gonna go spitting my game to a random girl in a lecture hall of 400 people or sit by a stranger in the caf just to prove a point. When it comes to dealing with females, there's confidence and there's creepy desperation, and I'm trying to move away from the second category into the first. So while I'm still just as alone as before my confidence experiment began, I'm also secure in the knowledge that as soon as I get the slightest opportunity, it's all over.
/end excessively long paragraph

The point is, the human mind is far more powerful than one realizes. That quote "whether you think you can, or think you can't, you're usually right", or whatever, is far more truthful than it seems. And just like everything else (including politics...), the key lies in finding the middle ground (...which is why I'm a moderate). Cockiness is probably the most unattractive characteristic I know, but having no faith in yourself just leaves you being continually stomped on. When you know success is headed your way, then it is. I know when random people see a 5'8 Indian (I've been advised by my brother that my unibrow only becomes a big deal when I keep bringing it up over and over and over again, and I consider it a valid point) kid listening to Sheryl Crow in his iPod (confidence or not, I'm always a little uneasy that people can hear it), they aren't going to think of a sniper from behind the three-point line, or a stud with the ladies. More likely, they will be hailing me for a taxi, ordering a Slurpee, or asking for help with their computers (I'm an equal opportunity racist!). But there's something to be said for surprising people. And with this new feeling of confidence continually rushing through me, I'm going to be delivering more and more surprises.

And if that doesn't work, then fuck it, I'm going back to writing the word "confidence" on a piece of paper.

[Yeah, I realize I used either "confident" or "confidence" a total of 14 times (by my quick count) in the span of five paragraphs. But I'm at MSU, so the mere fact that I can spell "confidence" (or "MSU", for that matter) is enough. Uh, seriously.]

From my accounting professor:
"The numerator is the top part, guys."

There's a reason our fight song lists our specialty as winning, and not, say, pre-algebra.

"If you can read this, you're not the President."

I don't know if you've noticed this, but there really aren't many things I like about myself. Really. I can probably count them on one hand. I've done pretty well academically. I can absolutely catch fire when playing basketball and take over a game. And when it really comes down to it, you can never count me out. It happened in soccer after my sophomore year, when I went from being the only person in my class not to make the jump to varsity to becoming the starting sweeper and almost-captain in a matter of months. It happened in Organic Chemistry, when I got a 46% on my third test, which made my final worth 60% of the course grade; I studied for about 14 hours the weekend before the final, endured a lot of shit talking from a kid on the Honors floor about how I was doomed (it seems to be a pretty common occurrence to have an unbreakable academic ego around here), then proceeded to beat him on the final and tie him with a 3.5 in the class even though he studied twice as much and is a Chemistry major. I think I generally come off as a nice, quiet kid who you can push around, and I really don't mind when it concerns things I don't care about. But when it concerns something I do care about, I'm not gonna go down easy.

I bring this up because of my last livejournal entry. I hate revealing my personal vulnerabilities to the world for all to see. I hate it. It's probably the worst part of livejournal, that it provides no protection for my tendency to describe too much of my strengths and weaknesses. But I couldn't stop it last night. I spent the whole walk back home from Holden wondering what I'd been missing for the past 18 years of my life, and I had to get it off my chest. But it's more than my lack of love that has been less than ideal for me lately. Academics, athletics, and social life all seem to be stuck in a valley that is miles below the peaks of prior days. I always worried that after my first non-A/4.0, I'd enter a slippery slope because I just wouldn't care anymore, and right now, I worry that my initial concern was justified. My course load is light, and the difference between last semester and this semester is like night and day in difficulty. Still, I'm lacking the confidence and self-assurance I usually feel towards classes. If nothing else goes right this semester, I'd like to at least be able to point to school and show I put all my effort into it and was rewarded for it. Athletics-wise, I'm beginning to wonder if all the success I've ever had was the result of flukes, and not the other way around. Every bad basketball game, every disappointing soccer game - including practically all of senior season, I'd think that it was a result of bad bounces and a lack of focus. But I think the problem reaches far deeper than that. I've never had much talent in soccer; don't tell anyone, but I'm really slow and unathletic. Isn't it possible that the amazing junior year I had was a result of every bounce going my way and Lady Luck being firmly on my side? A bad soccer game no longer surprises me; I've begun to expect it. During the last indoor game, when I found myself completely outmatched, I didn't wonder "damn, why am I not playing to my potential?". I simply thought, "damn" (although I did have fun, which is pretty much the only thing I'm looking for out of an IM sport other than not embarrassing myself). And I think I've documented my social issues fairly well, as I feel like I've alienated my whole floor with my words. Which should definitely fix the problem, not worsen it tenfold.

But coming home (I've noticed people have started calling their dorm rooms "home", but I don't ever see that happening for me) always gives me the overwhelming feelings of rejuvenation and optimism. I need to find more balance in my life when I return to East Lansing. I certainly expect to extend my efforts academically to last semester's levels, even if the course load isn't as difficult. Even better would be to cut the endless bitching and unproductivity that passed off as "studying" last semester and attain an efficient style which allows me to learn what I need to without wasting time worrying about hypotheticals. I'm also going to become more career-oriented. By that, I mean I'm going to extend my discussions about my future past "omg, I, like, have no idea! lol" towards becoming informed about my options so I don't hate my job for 40 years of my life. I'm hoping to attend presentations in both accounting and actuarial science in the next couple weeks, and as nerdy as it's going to look, I'm far beyond caring what people I don't care about think of me. Athletics-wise, I've learned I have to weather my expectations. Nothing is ever going to come close to my 2003 soccer season, and not every basketball game is going to be the April evening when I shot the lights out against Mike and Paul or the December game when I got to shoot my way to a Pistons-like upset. The sooner I realize these facts, the better. But what I can do is put myself in a better position and hope for the best. I have an iPod and a ton of free time on my hands, so very little is in the way of establishing a routine of jogging around campus and setting some time aside to get some jumpers in at IM West, both of which would greatly enhance my chances of emulating the glory days, if only for a few hours. And socially? Well, I still don't see myself changing much socially. I'm not really in the market for a whole new set of friends, because the ones I have are just what I need. I have three "groups" of friends, and each is awesome in its own way. The Chem group, consisting of Zach and Phil and extending to half of their floor in Wilson and a few other ex-Hawks, has given me more fun alcohol-filled nights than I can count. Paul and Mike are awesome when it comes to Pistons parties, and I'm sure it will be fun when all three of us are drunk at the same time. And even my brother's friends have been really cool to me, giving me one unbelievable night (the FCunited party on November 11th) and one I'm absolutely stoked for (the 80s party in a couple of weeks). So I know how antisocial it sounds, and I know I could be depriving myself of something special, but I just don't have an interest in putting myself on the line for a new group of friends. Sure, it'd be great to make a friend or two in my classes or extend my friend total on my floor past three or four, and I'll still make the passive effort. But when it comes down to it, I'll gladly stick to the friends that have gotten me to this point. And I'll gladly be patient with love and not try to force it as long as I can keep having great nights with my friends that help me forget how dire my situation is. Besides, there's something inexplicably fun about refusing to join the crowd and being the recluse (for lack of a better term) that keeps to himself and is happy to do so. Yeah, I'm antisocial. I get it. I just don't see the big deal as long as I'm content.

I don't know. I feel like I'm rambling and just trying to take veiled shots at people for no reason at this point. Lucky for me, I at least know what I'm trying to say, even if no one else does. I'm going to keep in perspective the few things that really mean a lot to me - family, friends, school, even sports - and put all of my effort into making them as great as possible. And as for the rest? Well, sometimes you just gotta hope the bounces go your way.

[PS: I know I've sounded a little bit emo the past couple entries, but really, I assure you I'm having fun. I just want people to know this before I get unwanted sympathy.]

[Playing around with new layouts... survey says?]

When you're single, there are these moments in your life when, out of the blue, you realize how much it sucks to be so lonely. And for me, it happened tonight of all nights. There I was, sipping Smirnoffs (which I never thought I'd be able to do again after Kim's birthday night) and Mike's Hard Lemonades in a futile effort to get drunk, when I realized how much better things could be. Seriously. Having a girlfriend must be the absolute most satisfying feeling in the world. It's unfathomable to me. You have someone to depend on, someone to hang out with, someone always by your side. Maybe it's different in real life, but in my world of inexperience, it's mind-blowing.

There was a time not too long ago when I would have been jealous of Paul because things are looking up for him at the moment. But in a sign of either my maturity or my less-assholish persona (or my unsuccessful drunkenness, I suppose, because I'm certainly as much an asshole as ever), I'm completely happy for him now. He deserves it. And I'm wishing the same thing on Mike and most of my other friends, for that matter. It's just a refreshing change to see a girl fall for the right kind of guy, not some douche with no personality (you know how I know you're gay? Because you just implied that Paul was "the right kind of guy."). And when you're as lonely and desperate as I am these days, the whole world seems to be mocking you for it. But it's not the times when I see some frat guy stumbling back to a dorm with a drunk hot girl that I feel jealous. It's the times when I see a guy hanging out with his girlfriend, eating with her, just spending time together. It can't get much better than that.

It felt like my first semester was fairly lonely, but this new semester puts that to shame. I sit alone in three of my four classes and never reach out to anyone. I have very few friends around the dorm, so I usually keep to myself while others are socializing. People occasionally complain about having to eat meals alone; I eat at least 90% of my meals by my lonesome, and that's a very conservative estimate. In fact, my whole week is nothing more than a countdown to the weekend, when I can play basketball with my small group friends on Friday afternoon and hang out with them on Friday and Saturday night. So here's the deal. I don't want random play, and I don't want a girl to throw herself at me (don't think I have to worry about that one). All I want is one chance. I want a girl to be cool and click with me, and I want to realize that I'm falling for her - the real feeling, not the one spurred by desperation, and (here's the key) I want her to give me a chance to show her why I'm really not all that bad. Yes, I realize I'm unibrowed and Indian and I giggle and I'm not muscular and kinda chubby at this point and I'm feminine because I (used to) watch The OC and listen to questionable music and I'm the weirdest guy ever when it comes to emotions because I do crazy things like holding grudges that I can't even begin to explain and pushing the people who care for me far away. But I truly believe that once a girl gives me a chance, it's all I need. I know every guy must obviously think this, but I can't imagine breaking up with a girl. I'd make it work because it'd be the first priority in my life.
Deep in my heart, I know I'd hit it right out of the ballpark. Now I'm just waiting for the pitch.

A boy can dream.

On my big list of Things I'm Unlikely To Do, not updating either my livejournal or my facebook profile for 50 and 31 days, respectively, ranks somewhere way up there alongside, say, getting a girlfriend (ha...ha... ouch, that kinda hurt). But I was somehow able to accomplish one of these surprising occurrences, and luckily for me, it was the former and not the latter. Between writer's block and an inexplicable emo phase when I refused to update my livejournal to boycott the people who read it who I didn't like (in which I'd write up whole entries in my head and end up with headaches), I've been able to go a shocking seven weeks without posting my bitching or trivial details of my life in here. Let's see if I still remember how to write.

I had created a long, rambling entry on Sunday lamenting the fact that my housing situation was all up in the air and I'd eventually end up getting the shaft because, hey, that's the way things happen in my life. Different year, same bitching, right? Well, 24 hours have passed, and now there's a strange sense of excitement that overshadows the housing process. It is contingent on numerous uncertainties... if I can get into Shaw... if I can get a cool roommate who likes sports and isn't a crazy alcoholic or stoner... if my floor/hall isn't too crazy with music pumping at all hours of the night... but for once, I'm choosing to be optimistic. Because the upside of getting into a great dorm situation next year far outweighs worrying about the numerous good breaks I have to hope for to get it. I was absolutely sure that Honors housing, on a quiet floor, would be the ideal situation for me. I'd meet kids that were into having good times without alcohol, and when I needed to catch some sleep or study, I'd never have to worry about Young Jeezy singing me a lullaby through the walls. Best of all, there'd be the Honors girls who were underratedly hot because they lacked self-assurance. I guess it's a positive that one-third of the equation was satisfied, as I had to look up details on Young Jeezy to determine if the reference worked (once again, I feel like I'm 55). Of this floor's few strengths, quietness is an overwhelming one, almost to a fault. Sure, you have the jackass singing at the top of his lungs, but everyone loves him because (or at least according to my theory) he informed everyone he was an orphan when I was away, leaving everyone else no choice but to smile when he belts opera down the hall at unearthly hours.

The fact is, I just don't fit in here. I never did; it just took me some time to realize it. That's the reason every single one of my friends who came to visit me here wondered how I could stand it in such a strange place. I assured them that it wasn't all that bad, but they were right. It really is all that bad. There can't be more than four or five people on the entire guys' wing of 53 who are cool enough to have a conversation with. Everyone else I either exchange a contrived pleasantry with, or (much more likely) avoid eye contact and pretend not to notice them. I still don't know who a whole lot of people around here are. And the girls... well, I've met about six girls on this floor and, well, there's nothing going, even when I try to force myself into pretending there is. I think I just grossly miscalculated the kind of person I am socially. I guess I'm not the type of guy to play board games, Halo, or Dungeons and Dragons, or to create little groups just to artificially try to be social for the first time. In a sense, I got very lucky with my rooming assignment, because there are many people here who I cannot possibly have survived the year with. There are two or three major groups of friends based in this floor; they eat and socialize together. But I want no part of it. I make it a point to eat alone, and avoid people who threaten my master plan. And the worst part of it all is that I love it.

So all of my eggs are now squarely in the basket of Shaw. I don't have a backup plan; I wouldn't even know where to begin with a backup plan, other than to avoid the ghetto East or the 24/7-party South at all costs. Shaw seems like it offers the things my current living situation lacks: great location, halfway normal people, and of course those elusive hot girls. It's always about the hot girls. Plus, it offers a quiet floor, which is my revised estimate of where my social niche lies - socially normal, but quiet when need be. I know it could become a situation like every day in class and around the campus, where the frat boy-type combines with the airhead girl to create an unstoppable combination that utterly ignores me. I know I could end up with a roommate who pukes all over the place or gets higher than a kite in the room. I know I could end up bumping to the latest hip-hop jam every night. And even parking right in front of the dorm might not be assured - it certainly wouldn't be as safe. Believe me, I'm aware of the risks. But just once, let's let optimism overcome the constant pessimism and negativity that pervades my mind. It comes down to the choice of knowing what you're getting with another year of counting down the days until you can head to South, or taking a chance on a situation I could potentially fluorish in. I'll take my chances.

And if Shaw doesn't work? Well, I'm sure they could always use an extra in the Bryan Dungeons-and-Dragons battles. Just as long as I bring my own wizard hat.