I'm Movin' Back

The social experiment that was living in NYU housing is over. The results are in from my first three weeks at the Third North residence hall, and they're not, uh, they're not... they're not good. They stink.

To put it mildly, living in NYU dorms has been an unmitigated disaster.

Sure, the room is small - about half the size of my freshman year dorm - but I can suffer limited space gladly. So I was sharing the room with Jeff, and occasionally his girlfriend, ok. That didn't bother me as much as the fact that I was waking up with Jeff's alarm at 7:00AM daily and going to bed with Jeff's premature lights out. But the worst aspect of living at NYU was dealing with the other kids living at NYU. My Big State hallmates managed to turn the floor into the brotherhood den of the Delta Delta Douchebag fraternity. But while most fraternal organizations would strive to develop ethical leaders based on the core principals of truth, honor, and integrity, these guys turned the common room into a poorly-maintained beer pong arena and let half empty Cup-a-Soups pile up in the sink. The only time I would interact with them was when I had to ask for their shitty music to be turned down, and by Gad was it shitty. Techno, for crying out loud. Techno at 9 AM on a Saturday morning. Lord 'a mussy!

An anecdote to illustrate the sterling caliber of my cohabitants: One day, just as I was about to enter the friendly confines of my corner room (I had the key in the door!), a hallmate who was waiting for the elevator verbally accosted me. "Not to be gay or anything," he starts. Oh, great. "But do these shoes match my shirt?" C'mon man, do you honestly believe it's gay to shoot for a coordinated outfit? I had to explain to him, "Wanting to look good doesn't make you gay... wanting a dick in your ass makes you gay!" And he just lost it. He thought that was just about the funniest thing he had ever heard. That hackiest of jokes, he found hilarious. Goes to show the kind of shmucks that flood into NYU dorms for the summer months. The kind of shmucks who would say, "Did you see Tourgasm last night? Fuckin' hilarious, man!"

There were also the swarms of flies in the kitchen and mildew-saturated shower curtains. Gross.

So it's back to Bardion Lane in sleepy suburbia for me. But sleep on my own schedule is something I'm looking forward to, actually. Sleep when I want to sleep, independent of a roommate's early bedtime and uninterrupted by the clock radio banshee. The sweet surrender of sleep, sweeping me away to blissful slumber island, located approximately 10 miles south of Bikini Atoll in Oceania. Sleep. And those banana chocolate muffins my mom buys for me. She's so good about that.