Her catchup-y spires beckon you
Welcome back, kids. Geez you grow up so quickly. You look so well rested and tan and stress free. Oh how I yearn for those blithe times; I have since pupated from squishy, tender frosh to crusty sophomore. What do the youth even do these days? Do you listen to your pop star holograms on those iPods? *sigh* Here are some thoughts on the this weekend’s cheerful jaunts.
Leonard smelled like regret and shame. The stench of alcohol stung my soul.
Prospies: Round Two
Every time I see Peirce lawn peppered with people enjoying the sun and each other’s company, a massive jolt of anxiety courses through my veins. The words, “At Kenyon you will” blur my vision, and I stumble into memories of a Common App coma— a coma that I, no doubt, was lost in as a prospective student. So, gird your loins for round two of these innocent, unknowing prospies. Don’t let them catch wind of that pitcher of margaritas you drank all by yourself at Fiesta, the amount of time you spent dartying on Saturday, the amount of time you spent trying to rally after dartying, or the amount of work you have yet to do. Don’t let them hear these candid thoughts.
“Got asked multiple times today if I was a prospie. I’m a rising junior” -anonymous yak
“I’ll still try and pass off my sunburn as a tan”
A bottle of ketchup comes with letter of acceptance
Oh boy! We’re drowning in prospies. That means sandwich board signs at every major building, stray balloons, and tours. If I had a dollar for every time I overheard, “Middle Path is the main artery of Kenyon” on a tour this weekend, I’d probably have 2 dollars. This impending wave of visitors, however, had no negative effects on the amount of evening time debauchery. Here are some candid thoughts.
“Sometimes I forget I’m allergic to gluten and have too many ciders. Ciders make my tummy hurt.”
“I had some nice luke warm milk—straight from the udder.”
It’s like a scene from “Where’s Waldo?”
“Wait, was The Cove even real? Maybe, it just sublimed, and once it cooled, it solidly deposited in our memories.”
The Kenyon Thrill 