My name is Lester Russell Allen the Fourth. I am a CLEG major and a history minor. Maybe you've come across me waiting in line for a 12-pack at Tenley Liquor or have seen me eating a delicious Marketplace burrito by myself between classes in the Tavern. Perhaps you have smelt me on the shuttle after I get out from working behind the Whole Foods seafood counter. If you have smelt me in that post-work state, I apologize. I have another "job" interning (for free, of course) for my local congressman. I am a pretty busy man.
One of the things that keeps me busy on a weekly basis is the column you're reading right now. "The Rusty Nail" made its debut more than a year ago, and I am proud to have been invited back to contribute to this fine campus newspaper. Despite the hassle, I like writing and I really like people reading my writing, even when it's sub-par.
Those opening paragraphs were to ensure the new freshman reading me for the first time what to expect. After all, they are a gigantic portion of Eagle readers. I have to cater to them.
This brings me to a pretty tough dilemma. I love this column, but how can I write about the AU lifestyle if there's a significant demographic that I can't even pretend to understand?
Last year I was able to get away with this. I was one of the few upperclassmen to live in the dorms. Though this is inherently shameful, at least it gave me something to write about. The problems with the dorms (namely the technological problems and fire alarms) are pretty universal. At the very least, I was never too far from all the scrumptious gossip and intrigue.
These days, I am living in the Berkshire apartment complex. At some point I am sure I will crack and dedicate an entire column to the different ways they rip off tenants, but I really want to try and make this an AU column, not a "Russell likes to complain" column. Those who know me know this will not last.
I suppose I got my first blast of freshmen reality this year when I was waiting for the shuttle to drive me to campus on a Tuesday night. When the shuttle came, a horde of barely dressed nubile girls came storming out along with their boyfriends in black Banana Republic shirts. I could smell that New Jersey stench on most of them. They all looked 15. I mean, I didn't look like a 15-year-old when I was a freshman.
(Author's note: Upon closer review of my driver's license, I actually did, in fact, look 15 when I was a freshman.) I was floored. I kind of remember this happening when I was a freshman, but it all seems so vague to me now.
Thankfully, I have a brother born in 1986. I can use him as a reference point to figure out what's "hip" with these kids. I don't suppose most of the new AU Eagles like Slayer or Cannibal Corpse as much as he does though. He might not be the best option.
Regardless, I am sure I can find some way to bridge the gap between the fresh fish freshman and the crusty upperclassmen. After all, everyone here is, believe it or not, affected by student government. Everyone can complain about the highway robbery being perpetrated by Housing and Dining Services when you use your meal plan at Jamba Juice. Certainly everyone can share a smile over their judicial meetings with the legendary judge, jury and executioner, Katsura. Don't worry mischievous freshman, you'll meet her soon enough.
I've been told that freshmen don't read The Eagle until spring semester or so. Shame on all of you. If you're a freshman reading this, the least you could do is to tell your peers to do their best to understand the AU world ... even the boring parts. There really is no excuse to avoid The Eagle, benladner.com, ATV or even the terrible American Weekly. It's good to know what's going around you, even if the most reading you've done around here is browsing through the club flier you found in the stairwell.
I'll try to make this self-involvement more fun for you. To do my part, I promise another good year of Rusty Nails. Offensive, but not too offensive (I should have never made that cancer victim joke). Shameless, but not too shameless (like not dropping names all the friggin' time and yes this means you, Evan Tucker). Funny, but not too funny (I've never had a problem with being "not too funny").
If anyone has any column suggestions or complaints or, gasp, compliments, send them to my e-mail address. Until then, I'm signing off.
