We like to stay pretty competitive here at The Thrill, and a Blog Off is one way we can definitively prove that one of us is objectively a better blogger (dare we say, a better person). So we leave it to you, the reader, to decide in a blind taste test who is really better as we square off on various topics.
This week we’re featuring two of our newly-hired sophomore writers, Alex Greenwald and Camille Bourret. Rather than easing them into the fabulous life of a writer, we’ve thrown them straight into the shark-pit with a battle to the death. Over what topic? Sophomore year. Who will win? Only you, the readers, can say.
Only a month into my sophomore year at Kenyon, I already find myself world-weary and jaded, my days as a starry-eyed first-year long past. Gone are the carefree days of my first year, the summer of my youth. The first few months of last year were about discovering about what college is and is not. This year, however, it only took me a few short days to abandon all hope of having any sort of movie-worthy college experience. First year is a time to frolic and enjoy life. Sophomore year is a time to start panicking about things you have to do before junior year.
I’ve changed a lot in the last six weeks. I’ve started drinking coffee. I don’t know how I’ll tell my mother. Based on this, I can only extrapolate that crystal meth is next. Gary Jules’s Mad World is the soundtrack for my life, especially when I walk through Peirce at noon. In the four months between first-year and sophomore year, I realized three things:
- No one considers me a child anymore.
- I’m going to have to get a real job soon.
- We are all marching inexorably towards graduation and death.
I can only assume that by this time next year, I will be permanently camped out in the Philomathesian with a glass of scotch and a copy of Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra.
Shit just got real, Kenyon. For me, sophomore year hasn’t arrived but hit like a freight train full of textbooks and responsibility.
(Shut up, upperclassmen, I know you told me so. Don’t you have Comps to do or something?)
I looked forward to Move-In Day all summer, excited to see my friends again and declare my English major like
a good Kenyon student I had always wanted. As much as I love my parents and my dog, Kenyon was calling and I was all too happy to answer.
After I moved in, sense was restored. I snapped out of my literary stupor and dropped the English major, sheepishly going from just “unemployable” to “unemployable and indecisive”. Meanwhile, the courses I did take required an ungodly amount of textbooks and reading, straining my patience and my eyesight. Adding to the to-do list were decisions about studying abroad and writing a killer proposal for a super-useful synoptic double major in Macaroni Sculpting and Esperanto. It’s tough, but I know the Provost will love it.
All of this would have thrown first-year me into a tailspin. Lesser worries used to have me calling my mother, blubbering “I’mdyingIknowitohgod,” but this year, I’m fine. I get stressed out, sure, but I’ve figured out how to handle it. I finally feel like I’m going to survive my time on the Hill, even if my diploma ends up as wallpaper in my macaroni-sculpture mansion. The student abides.