all hail Asher Roth, because I love college

I have been spontaneously combusting the last week and a half. I am almost done with college, and so close to my future that I can feel my hairs burning in its flames. The fabulous life I envisioned for myself is now tangible, and now all I want to do is ride the subway forever, without pause, with no destination, until I can fall asleep.

The GirlTalk concert was essentially a sweaty, energetic mass of students, high on life and drugs and mixed music. Everyone was friends that night, dancing with strangers, stepping on friends' feet, the gays grinding on the straights (and with each other), sharing perspiration. We sang along with Beyonce and Kanye on the radio on the way back, the Ram Van shaking and groaning as it bore 11 vigorously dancing Lincoln Center kids. And then we shared stories of the night at the Flame, sitting amongst various other groups still drenched from the same concert.

Last night was another indescribably random and seemingly uneventful night, though peppered with a stranger screaming "cambodian breast milk" from a moving car, a newfound romance and pretend birthday party at Blockheads, and a small verbal dispute on the subway which ended in a stranger calling my best friend a terrorist. Oh yes, and I was again mistaken to be 18. I went to bed about an hour before dawn, and when I woke up I could think of nothing but scrambled eggs.

When I graduate, I will be finished. As young as I will still be (and appear to be), I will not be able to dance on chairs and tables (and then proceed to fall off) with my best friends, or eat diner food past dinner time, or even go to trashy dive bars and trashy comedy clubs and trashy tourist spots without being considered trashy. I hand in my cap and gown, and receive a diploma, which then obliges me to learn foreign notions of moderation, cholesterol, inside voices, and utility bills.

So I am going to be Peter Pan for Halloween. This year, 15F1 is Neverland. I am going to wear green tights and a feather in my cap until I have to trade it in for a black cap with a tassel, when I will go out for after-work drinks and buy my sister birthday presents from my own money and talk to my parents about the FICA tax.

Until then, I am going to act as young as I look. And eat diner food every night.