At first I thought it was a facade. These smiling faces greeting me wherever I went. “Need directions anywhere?” “Oh where are you from?” “I really like your shirt.” “You’ll love it here.” But as orientation passed and classes began, this friendly demeanor seen in many students stayed persistent. After another week of random compliments and helpful advice, it hit me. The people at Kenyon are just genuinely nice. Shit… I don’t know if I can do this for 4 years.
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Sunday evenings are a time of reflection, introspection and panic. As the memories we managed to retain from harrowing nights fade and blur, one thing remains: the Sharpie marks. The infamous Xs for us youngsters, and stamps for the elderly among us, defy the current of time, marking where we have been and our relative ages. Ever notice how the stain tends to migrate onto your face after a night of sleeping on your hand? It’s awesome. Right now, I detect traces of blue (?) from Friday night, red stamps from the rugby party that I wasn’t invited to and…is that purple? From last weekend?!
The Kenyon Thrill 