Last fall, I spent a long, regrettable night working on a term paper in Uris Library. Around 9 a.m., I stumbled out to the parking lot, opened my car door, placed my laptop on the roof so I could throw my backpack in the passenger seat and drove away. Without the laptop. It wasn’t until much later that day, when I’d finally awoken from my slumber and checked my e-mail in a friend’s room, that I realized the horrible fate of my computer. I’d received a message from the Cornell police saying that somebody had witnessed the deceased laptop fly off the roof of my car and smash against the pavement. The phantom witness apparently knew me, but decided, for some reason, to hand the battered device over to the police rather than issue me the bad news directly.

A few weeks ago, a friend e-mailed me a posting he’d found on Craigslist. It was written by a “spectacularly beautiful … articulate … and classy 25-year-old girl” looking to marry a man “who makes $500K or more.”

After modestly describing herself in these terms, the woman vents her frustration with past romantic (and economic) shortcomings. “I dated a businessman who makes [about] $200K to $250K,” she complains. “But that’s where I seem to hit a roadblock. $250K won’t get me to Central Park West.”

To the extent that children mirror their parents, Svante Myrick ’09 is about what you’d expect from the offspring of Mother Teresa and Nelson Mandela — an extraordinary model of compassion and moral vigor. During his first two years at Cornell, Svante has pursued an exhausting list of philanthropic endeavors, sitting on the council of the Public Service Center and the board for Raising Education Achievement Challenge. Pending Ithaca’s November elections, in which he is currently unopposed, Svante is headed for an even more impressive destination as one of the youngest black city councilmen in the history of the United States.

It wasn’t until I stopped playing competitive sports that I began to realize how crucial physical activity is to my overall well-being. Aside from obvious advantages to vitality, like increased life expectancy and the prevention of various terminal illnesses, regular physical activity is inextricably linked to mental health. But what I have also noticed in recent visits to the fitness centers on campus is that exercising — particularly in a public setting — showcases a variety of fascinating social phenomena: some bizarre, many amusing and others troubling. Most of all, I’ve come to realize that nothing exposes the hilariously pathetic symptoms of vanity like a good trip to the gym.

Orientation Week is an unusual time at Cornell. The community welcomes an entirely new class of students; others move into their new residences; and eager freshmen await their first few days of college. Excitement and anticipation abound. Unfortunately, however, Orientation Week and the partying that comes with it, also incite a level of police presence sufficient for securing central Baghdad.

Deckhead:

The Scorpion King

Body:

Last Monday night, as I sat watching old episodes of South Park in my friend Jason’s room, a strange and unsettling feeling came over me. Suddenly my eyes grew heavy and my limbs went numb. The girls laughing hysterically on Jason’s bed faded quickly into the background, and Jason himself was nowhere in sight.

Body:

Last winter, after the first few months of my freshman year, there was nothing I wanted more than to have my own car on campus. Where would a car be more valuable, I thought to myself, than in a school once described by its own president as the only one where students “[walk up] a 50-degree incline in 10-degree weather to get a 30 percent on a prelim?” That’s why I was so excited to bring my car up this year — no more walking to the gym in subzero temperatures; no more wading through 10-foot snow drifts on my way to class; no more cascading down Libe Slope on sheets of black ice. Unfortunately, I made one crucial oversight: trying to find a parking space in Cornell is as likely as Don Imus being invited to be the keynote speaker at an NAACP conference.

Deckhead:

The Scorpion King

Body:

If there’s one thing I’ve come to appreciate about the community of Ithaca, it’s the vast selection of late-night eateries that are willing to deliver their food long after our professors have gone to bed. With the help of City Bucks, these restaurants have forged a cheerfully symbiotic relationship with the students of Cornell, many of whom view late-night delivery service as a sort of weekend ritual, the second-greatest way to end a long night.

Deckhead:

The Scorpion King

Body:

As I peered out my ice-glazed window this morning, it occurred to me that Cornell must be one of the only college campuses in the entire world where spring break is colder than winter break. Together with the ominous burden of prelims, this week’s obscenely low temperatures have left Cornell students eagerly counting down the days until March 17th, which marks the beginning of our school’s annual spring recess.

Deckhead:

The Scorpion King

Body:

Last November, campus police at the University of Central Florida received a phone call reporting “loud, aggressive screaming and moaning” coming from a nearby fraternity house. Upon entering, the police discovered a group of disgruntled pledges dressed in diapers, women’s panties and fairy wings. Local news channels broke the story soon after, and the chapter was immediately shut down by its national headquarters.