Collegiate Times

HE SAID:

The Blacksburg summer was delightful, and you all have ruined it. Well, I only halfway mean that. I certainly liked parking in your reserved spots, walking the centerlines of empty roads home from bars, and the silence that replaced dying animal grunts from roided hulks at the gym.

But really, I'm jazzed for you to host out-of-control parties and, maybe more importantly, prepare for me that coma-inducing turkey sandwich at Blue Ridge Barbeque or that infant-sized burrito at La Cantina. (I'll leave the ABP tomato basil bisque soup to the daintier population).

With those joys in mind I've biked to campus these first few days. Rides that have been, for the most part, terrible.

The past few months I've been able to glide freely down Kent Street like Meg Ryan in "City of Angels," except I did it with my eyes open and didn't hit a logging truck. Herds of students at crosswalks now turn to me wide-eyed, reacting like I'm a Scud missile seeking to dismember them. They try dodging and juking like Clinton Portis, managing only to make it awkward for everyone within a 10-foot radius.

You are hurting the situation. I have brakes. We can work together.

I've ditched the bicycle for short strolls between classes, and oh, how the lost newbies have provided some solid comedy. They walk confidently only to lurch to abrupt stops, confusedly spinning around like Jennifer Love Hewitt in "I Know What You Did Last Summer."

"What are you waiting for, huh?!"

Well if that's your attitude, you'll get no directions from me. I'll just compliment your pirouettes. I actually had a girl ask me where Slusher Tower was.

Um. It's ... a tower.

Yes, I realize I've referenced two late '90s movies. It proves I'm ancient. The 1992-borns among us were just learning addition while Ryan Phillippe was taking hooks to the sternum.

But forget about that pretty boy. How about Virginia Tech's pretty girls?

As professors have droned through their syllabi, it's been a prime time to explore the surrounding eye candy. And as a communication major, I'm a gender minority; my courses are overflowing with estrogen.

I should be putting out the vibe, tossing winks at will and stretching in my chair to reveal the (nonexistent) gun show. But I'm no Vinnie Chase; my game is slim. Instead I've been staring in awe at that psychedelic screen saver on computer lab Macs like it's an octopus seduction dance. I wouldn't be surprised if I shook the mouse and eHarmony's sign-up page was waiting. But I've snuck in glances here and there, no doubt. The fashion scene is intense - victims of the try-hard-then-give-up phenomenon.

In the mornings, ladies hit the Drillfield like a catwalk with their sculpted hair resting just above their nearly chest-high WWE belt that grips an intricate graphic top barely covering their buns.

The only thing preventing a mooning are leggings that stop just before sandals they've clearly stolen from Cleopatra's tomb. The complex, shiny network of straps look like boa constrictors wrapping their ankles.

I'm waiting for the Hermes model that enables flight. I might actually buy some of those.

On the other hand, dudes hike up shorts that were already lying on their floor, snag a shirt from the drawer's top layer and slide into shoes closest to the front door.

Ladies will eventually follow suit, though, arriving in their middle school recreational league basketball jerseys dotted with ice cream stains from break-ups past along with baggy PJ pants tucked into - sigh - Uggs. (It's my Christmas wish for that trend to die.) Their messy hair will look like they were mauled by grizzly bears during every REM cycle. But it manages to be endearing, cute. Guys understand. Most of us aren't worth the weekday effort.

Well, the weekend is upon us, and it's time to impress. Friendships have been made and reunited, and routines are falling into place. Here's to the first round of bad decisions and hangovers. FML is waiting for your debauchery.

I remember driving down Main Street one weekend morning, and out my window I saw a girl navigating the sidewalk, cocooned in a comforter, clearly devoid of an outfit.

That was awesome. I haven't seen it topped.

Any contenders?

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