You've Got Mail!

I hold my breath as I peer into the darkened cubicle, hopeing against hope to catch a glimpse of something other than empty space. Do my eyes decieve me? Is there something in there? I pull out my keys and in one daily-practiced move, the tiny mailbox door is open to reveal… stop. Look at yourself. You’re on the edge of your seat, living vicariously through another person’s ficticious account of possibly getting mail. If so, you are officially mail deprived. And I don’t think there’s a 12 step program for that.

Last year, when I was a freshman, the mail situation was improved. First of all, it was the first year away from home, so my mom was bound to miss me and send me something. Me being the oldest child, it was a novelty to send stuff to someone at college, although it wore off quickly. Plus, last year my roommate and I shared a mailbox, effectively doubling the chances of the box having mail in it. Even if it wasn’t for me, it was still pretty exciting to see that freshly delivered envelope waiting to spread its sealed joy to whoever’s name adorned the address label. Regardless of who the letter was for, if I made it to the mailbox first, I was the one who got to triumphantly carry it up the stairs: postmarked proof that the outside world knew we existed.

This year, though, I’m on my own. If there’s nothing for me, there’s nothing at all. And campus mail the fliers that everyone gets don’t really count as true mail. No stamps on those – they’re quasi-mail. Bills only count for slightly more. Sure, someone cares that you’re alive, but only because they want your money. Letters are always exciting, especially when they contain cash- er, news about your loved ones. But the ultimate holy grail of the United States Postal Service on college campuses across the country are – you guessed it – care packages.

Campus mail envelopes are sub-atomic particles of affection when compared to the amount of love-in-a-box a care package contains. The contents of the box barely matter. I know people who would be content with a package containing five bucks, some packaging peanuts, and an blank Zip disk. Then there’s the people whose mothers send them homemade salsa or chocolate chip cookies. Fortnuately, my roommate has one of those salsa mothers, and my mom’s one of the cookie types. So even if the daily mailbox ego maker or breaker ends in tragedy, I can drown my sorrows in the spoils of care packages past. Care packages… the gift that keeps on giving.

**This article may be sent home, hopefully inspiring a reply. Remember -pity mail is better than no mail.**

Pick a Major, Any Major...*

Other schools call it ‘undecided’. Valpo calls those students with no definite ideas on their future careers ‘exploratory’. Such a nice little title. Brings to mind images of leisurely spelunking in brightly colored caves, looking at pretty rocks or something. And that was fine, freshman year. Little did I know that this exploration had a deadline, at which point it the lights are suddenly snapped out and it becomes a frantic, screaming search for the right path out. Ha. Well, maybe I over dramatized that a little. But really, with all of my friends discovering their callings in life and snapping up majors two at a time, I don’t know what to do.

I admit, it’s not an entirely hopeless situation. I do have some ideas of what I don’t want to do, so I can pretty much rule out some things, like entire colleges on campus. For instance, if you’ve ever heard me sing the praises of calc, you’d know I don’t want to be an enginerd. And if you’ve ever heard me sing at all, you’d know that I have no aspirations of a vocal performance major. Business is just not for me, and besides, I don’t think I’ve ever set foot in Urschel. I don’t like blood or hearing people in pain so there goes pre-med. I like computers but not enough to be able to converse with others in binary. And from what I’ve seen, nearly every scientific field requires its participants to have a haircut that was laughed at even in the eighties. I just can’t win.

So, what about these individualized majors I’ve heard about? Are they just an urban legend? I heard about some guy who had an individualized major in- get this- creativity. What is that about, and how can I get in on it? I mean, picking an aspect of your personality to major in sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me. “Yes, I graduated with honors with a major in sarcasm with a double minor in extroversion and spontaneity.” Super. I hear they are hiring those sarcasm majors right out of undergraduate school. They’re second only to creativity majors.

In a perfect world, I could major in espionage with minors in pyrotechnics and handwriting analysis. No one would question me or look at me strangely when I told them this. They do now. Just trust me on that. In that perfect world, they’d only smile knowingly and perhaps ask if my concentration was international or domestic. Maybe I should rethink that. You can’t just go around telling people you’re a future spy. You never know who is going to major in evil with a specialization in evil nemesis-ness.

But if this ‘perfect’ world was really perfect, I suppose there would be no evil, thus creating a viscous circle which brings to mind my severe dislike of philosophy and the reason that major has been discarded. So for now lets just say my cover-up (wink, wink) major is biology. Strictly on the DL, of course. So I’m off to get my declaration of major form signed by the bio department. Plus, I have a haircut appointment at Cost Cutters. A good spy knows how to blend.

*This article is being posted under the assumption that I cannot receive any more crap about it than I already have.