The Michionn Dail, - ripntatincitinn O(n - 4 n I IIG IYlll;lI 6c"I vary - VIIUTILdLIUlI CUILIUII NUJ - 1y I Orientation homesick blues ELLIOTT MALLEN IRRATIONAL EXUBERANCE - July 24, 2004 reshman Orientation is an experience we'd all surely love to for- get. Living for three days in a room with two people I'll probably never see again, going on a long and ardu- ous campus tour for the eighth time and getting up at seven in the morning so that I can learn how to use the library are all parts of my life I'd prefer to block out. Howev- er, it is impossible to do so with swarms of the yellow-folder-toting youth roving around Ann Arbor all summer. Orientation does nothing to actually orient one to real college life, and at best serves as a surreal escape from anything resembling reality. Orientees are always easy to pick out. By day, they're distinguishable by their signature brightly-colored-name tags. By night, they're the only people traipsing about Ann Arbor in groups of 17. These kids are afraid to do any- thing alone. They are told right away that the focus of orientation is to make new friends by any means necessary. The result is the forma- tion of massive groups of incoming freshmen that have known one another for only a couple hours. They all understand that traveling in groups of less than five or (God forbid) alone will result in being a social outcast throughout the entire four-year college stint. Being in these groups does little to yield actual friendships, let alone any kind of meaningful conversation. The orientees latch onto one another, hoping that safety in numbers will protect them from becoming pariahs at age 18. I'm under the impression that many incom- ing freshmen lack the practical skills needed if one is to live somewhat independently of one's parents. For example, I work at the deli bar in the cafeteria of East Quad, where ori- entation kids stay. This bar contains all kinds of delicious sandwich ingredients. However, it is strictly forbidden to use these ingredients on hamburgers, as there are hamburger top- pings in the dining room and a sign explicitly stating just that right in front of the deli bar. I strategically placed this sign directly in front of the ingredients, blocking them from those who would dare use them on their hamburg- ers. This was apparently too much to handle. One girl read the sign carefully, gazed long- ingly at the forbidden sliced cheese behind it, then woefully at her cheeseless hamburg- er, then at the cheese again, then at the sign. She consulted another girl as to what course of action she should take. This girl then read the sign, looked at the cheese, looked at her burger, back to the cheese, back to the sign. A third girl did the same. Somewhere in the distance, a cell phone rang. The three finally decided that the most reasonable thing to do would be to move the sign out of the way in order to take the cheese. These are the future leaders of the free world. Orientees seize the Diag at night, as it is the only Ann Arbor landmark they are even remotely familiar with. It is a place that defines college, and they'll be damned if they don't squeeze as much college into their three days here as they can. A common fixture on the Diag at night is a young male orientee with an acoustic guitar surrounded by his 17 person cluster. The girls fawn over his off-key rendi- tions of Goo Goo Dolls and Dave Matthews songs, occasionally trying to sing along when their swooning subsides enough. This is what college is: sensitive boys with acoustic guitars playing heartfelt covers under the shadows of ridiculously aristocratic buildings. He's the type of guy who will one day be the frat brother whose hair is a little bit longer and a bit more tousled (deliberately and painstakingly tousled, but tousled nonetheless), who has Bob Marley posters on his wall, who unbuttons his polo shirt an extra button, who occasionally smokes the cheapest weed he can find in order to maintain his rebellious image. "He's differ- ent from the others," the naive girls will say. "He likes Phish." This spectacle on the Diag does not last, however, as the musician's reper- toire is exhausted after five songs. Orientation gives a false impression of col- lege life to a group of kids still deeply rooted in high school. Nobody starts college in the fall prepared for anything except being registered for a few 100-level classes they didn't really want to take in the first place. Orientation is a bizarre limbo somewhere between high school and the imaginary, unattainable ideal of col- lege life. The rough descent back into reality comes in the fall. Mallen can be reached at emmallen@umich.edu. Here's how... SAM BUTLER it. ,'E iSOBx Nov. 15, 2004 rScuse. Me. r~"~ ~ fl, Buy used textbooks Used textbooks save you 25% Reserve now Reserve your textbooks in advance for the best selection of used books Sell at buyback Get money back for your books at buyback Support your school A portion of your bookstore purchase goes to support your school Pierpont Commons Bookstore Pierpont Commons (North Campus) (734) 668-6022 Michigan Union Bookstore 530 S. State Street phone# 734.995.8877 email: bksumichiganunion@bncollege.com www.umichigan.bkstore.com