Learning to love the MSE

Why does every body think Hopkins stu- dents love to study? Honestly, I don't get it. It makes no sense.

Sure, I may spend excessive amounts of time in the library. The guys at Caf8e Q might know me by name and start my drink before I order it.

Sometimes I may even refer to Milton S. Eisenhower as my boyfriend on my AIM away message.

But, no,just like almost every normal Hopkins student, I certainly do not love to study.

No, I definitely don't love dragging my lazy self with my fat backpack up the monstrous hill to the library on a Thursday night only to be paraded shamefully in my sweatpants in front of the buses full of the cool kids going to Iguana Cantina or Bar Baltimore or wherever the hell it is that the cool kids always seem to be going.

I don't even think those buses are going anywhere. In fact I think the whole point of them is to make me feel bad about myself for going to the library. Again.

I say this because, on the few occasions I've managed not to procrastinate and get myself dressed and on a bus to club night, the most enjoyable part of my evenings were always sitting on the stupid bus, watching the poor suckers head into the library.

Or maybe I was just a little jealous of them. After all, they were about to get it on with my boyfriend. I bet they were going to get a mondo hot chocolate afterwards, too.

It's not like exciting stuff doesn't happen in the library. Sometimes the fraternities make their pledges yell obscene words and phrases on the quiet study levels.

Other times somebody has a funny cell phone ring that we all accidentally get to hear.

Every once in a while, somebody will trip on a laptop cord that's stretched twenty feet across the room. Usually, that person is me.

Once I was sitting by one of the giant windows next to the courtyard on M-Level when a giant rat walked by on the other side of the glass. I'd never get to see a rat up close like that anywhere else. It was like being at the Baltimore Zoo.

And then, for an added bonus, one of the kids next to me saw the rat. The next thing I knew, he was up on the terrace leaning over the railing, throwing potato chips down for the rat to eat. This rat was already huge. I bet that kid had been feeding it for years.

The more I think about it, the library is the place to be on weeknights. It's open later than most bars. And when the party ends at MSE, you get to go to the after party at the Hut.

The pilgrimage from MSE to the Hut is the real Walk of Shame, no matter what people tell you. I've done the other walk of shame, and to tell you the truth, it wasn't all that shameful.

In fact, I was sort of proud. Not that many Hopkins kids have the social skills to accomplish that whole stay-over-and-walk-back-the-next-morning-with-wrinkled-party-clothes-and-disheveled-hair-thing.

Do a lap around campus. Wave to a tour group. Prove to those kids and their parents that we really do have lives outside of the library.

You'll be doing the Admissions staff a favor, too. Think how many prospective students will be persuaded to choose Hopkins when they see your post-Walk of Shame glow.

I guess the Walk of Shame to the Hut isn't so bad either, because once you get there, you have to admit you're sort of proud to be there too.

If you're at the Hut, you're hardcore. To be a hardcore studier at Hopkins is really saying something.

Besides that, the Hut isn't air-conditioned, so it's a like a sauna with wireless internet.

And it's pretty relaxing in there, especially compared to the sub-zero meat locker that is MSE.

There's no point in bothering to go to sweaty club night when you can go to the equally sweaty Hut. You can have hardcore fun, right here on campus. I know I did, especially when I finally got home to find that one of my roommates had gotten extremely drunk at one of those club nights.

I wasn't jealous of her at all, even as I stayed up the rest of the night to make sure she was sleeping on her stomach and within arm's reach of the trashcan.

That's because my night had been hot. I'd gotten a couple high quality mixed drinks. I'd had an intimate evening with my boyfriend Milton. I'd even spent a few hours at the spa.

But most importantly of all, I didn't even have to set an alarm for the gym the next morning because, hell, I was up anyway.

Granted, that night I was less than happy. But everything seems better now, because guess where I am?

That's right -- at the library, on M-Level again by one of the giant windows.

Today, as I crack open my books for another afternoon with my boyfriend, there's even a grasshopper stuck to the other side of the glass.

Beat that, cool kids.