When you become a junior in high school, you know every question you will be asked for the next ten years. For the first two, you will be asked what college you'll be attending. For the next three, you'll be asked what your major is. The following year, you'll be asked what kind of job you are looking for. And for the remaining four, you'll be asked what college you went to, what you majored in, and what job you have. When you move in freshman year, you own two duffel bags of clothes, a back pack, a computer, half a bottle of shampoo, maybe a guitar, a stereo, and some new notebooks. By the time you leave, you also have a small TV, a mini fridge, an illegal halogen lamp, $800 worth of books no one would buy, some CDs you liked for a month two years ago, two dozen pint glasses you stole from the bar, two dozen spoons you stole from the dining hall, a futon, snap together shelves that look like hibachis, three dinner plates that don't match, and hundreds of pictures of you and your friends piss drunk. Just the right stuff to start your new life, huh? The first week you get to school, you make friends with everyone you meet. And you don't just make friends. You make lifelong friends with everyone on your floor, lifelong friends with everyone you meet in your classes, and lifelong friends with everyone you see at a bar. And by "lifelong" I mean "until October." What is it about freshman year that makes you throw furniture out of windows? Probably the same thing it is about senior year that makes you turn in the freshman to their RA. The whole purpose of college is so that you can do dumb things and look back later in life and say, "Hey, that was college." Go ahead, try it. "Okay, I subsisted solely on Ramen noodles and Macaroni and Cheese. Sure, I alienated several of my friends by hooking up with them. Yeah, I spent three nights a week drinking myself unconscious. But hey that was college." Like this column? Then buy the book!