I’ve always said that if I can make it through January everything will be okay. In my old age, I have grown weary of winter’s icy death grip. January has to be one of my least favorite months. It’s long, it’s cold and it’s brutal.

February, on the other hand, is a fantastic month. It’s short and offers a lot of opportunity for celebration. Some of the celebrations that come to mind when I think of February include President’s Day, Groundhog Day, and, of course, Valentine’s Day.

But there is another reason February should be celebrated. One-hundred years ago this month the world welcomed the man who would eventually lead the rallying call for freedom throughout the world. Of course, I am referring to Dutch, The Teflon President, The Great Communicator, The Gipper: Ronald Reagan.

After the American people spent four years in a “crisis of confidence”, Ronald Reagan helped restore the confidence of the citizens of the United States and in 1980, the people voted to welcome morning in America again.

Reagan has long been a favorite president among conservatives and Republicans. He advocated laissez-faire beliefs and also pushed for, and ultimately signed, extensive tax cuts.

Deregulation and tax cuts are the bane of Democratic Party. Which is so weird why some on the left have begun saying that Reagan would not be welcomed in today’s Republican Party. This false impression of Reagan has gone even further when they begin to liken the current president, who could be seen as the Anti-Reagan, to Reagan.

Likening Obama to Reagan doesn’t stop with cable news pundits and political hacks. It goes all the way to the top. Just the other day, I heard the president refer to himself as The Gipper. Obama calling himself The Gipper is not comparing himself to Reagan; it’s not even equating himself to Reagan. He is calling himself Reagan.

Reagan’s and Obama’s policies are so far apart that I can only think of one reason why Obama would want to even be associated with Reagan. He’s running for re-election and, like many college students this spring, he needs to improve his résumé a little bit.

The résumé is the most vital document in the job search. There are a couple of job fairs coming up and, like Obama, I am in the middle of revising and editing my résumé. During my résumé writing I have decided to try something new. I have decided to design my résumé, cover letter, and business cards to reflect a similar style. It’s nothing too over-the-top or stylish, but it is something that I think will help me stand out.

Often times, potential employers will only see your cover letter and résumé so it’s important to make sure that they stand out a little bit. The level of creativity that is used in designing your cover letter and résumé should be a calculated decision. When preparing these documents, make sure you know your audience.

But, it’s also important your cover letter and résumé are a reflection of you. This is a chance to sell yourself, your whole self. I like my cover letter and résumé to feel like me.

I wish everyone who is applying for jobs and internships this spring the best of luck. Unless you’re applying for the same position as me.

Tony Reiss is a non-traditional student majoring in economics. Reach him at anthony.reiss@jacks.sdstate.edu.

In a little more than a year, the world will begin to hold its collective breath in anticipation for the Mayan doomsday prophecy. For those of you who haven’t tuned into History, TLC, The Discovery Channel or AM radio broadcasts from Topeka, there is a widely-held belief that the Mayans have predicted that the end of the world will occur on Dec. 21, 2012. Some say the Mayans used their knowledge of astronomy to establish a long count calendar. The current long count is set to expire on Dec. 21, 2012.

I don’t put too much faith in doomsday prophecies. People have been preaching the end of time since time began. While growing up, I read a comic strip called B.C. From my best recollection, B.C. was an academic-based comic that attempted to teach children about pre-historic times. There was one character in the strip who was frequently seen holding a stone tablet that read “Repent Now … The End Is Near.” Because this comic is purely academic, it can safely be assumed that the tablet is real. The comic takes place millions of years ago, so it is safe to say that the end-time predictions have been around for millions of years.

The end of the world likely will not occur in 2012, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a conspiracy involving end-time prophecies. The 2012 doomsday prophecy reminds me a lot of the Y2K scare at the turn of the millennium. The two are not unrelated. When people believe that there is going to be an interruption in normalcy, they tend to stock up on items necessary for survival, mainly water and food. The end of the world certainly qualifies as an interruption normalcy.

So here we are, millions of people expecting a cataclysmic event to occur in 2012 now stocking up on canned goods and bottled water. To get to the root of the conspiracy you need to follow the money. Who stands to profit the most from a doomsday prophecy? If you answered George Soros, you’re wrong. The correct answer is the makers of canned food and bottled water. I fully expect Andrew Breitbart to introduce a website called Big Non-perishable Goods any day now.

While the end of the world likely won’t occur in 2012, the end is most certainly near. And this ending is far more eminent. The end I speak of is just a couple of months away. If all goes according to plan, the end of my undergraduate days will occur this May.

When I started out, the end seemed very far away. So far away that it was almost frustrating. My year-long venture as an SDSU Jackrabbit has, so far, been a great one. The object of this column is to chronicle my experience as a non-traditional student experiencing, in one year, the events that a traditional student experiences in four. I think I have made some exceptional progress achieving that goal.

A quick recap of what I have accomplished during the fall semester includes numerous football games. I have also been witness to numerous performances from the Pride of the Dakotas, including the performance of the theme song to Hawaii Five-O. I’m curious to learn if ABC paid the Pride to play that song.

My most recent experience was a basketball doubleheader against North Dakota State University. I had never been to a basketball game before so I was pretty excited to go to the game with my friend Eagle who is a basketball expert. Eagle taught be everything I know about basketball. Until that night I had always thought basketball involved mallets and hoops. I now know that I was confusing basketball for croquet.

I hope you enjoy reading this column as much as I do writing it. I look forward to filling you in on my experiences this spring.

Good Luck!

Tony is a nontraditional student majoring in economics. Contact him at anthony.reiss@jacks.sdstate.edu.

Last Christmas I gave someone my heart and the very next day I found it sitting in the garbage can. I am not sure if it got mixed in with Grandma’s fruitcake or some discarded wrapping paper, but there it was, sitting in the garbage. So this most recent Christmas, to save me from tears of course, I gave that someone something special. That special thing was a soul excreting drink of tap water from Mexico. While the thought of someone keeled over in pain over a low-flow toilet and praying to whatever god will listen for it to stop is hilarious, I didn’t account for one thing: We were sharing a room. My diabolic plan 8212; that would make the Grinch look like St. Hipparchus- 8212; backfired. I was awakened no fewer than three times throughout the night to the sound of a person’s soul trying to escape out of any open orifice it could find. As the sun came up I became remorseful for my actions and prayed that I would not fall victim to the debilitating prank that was pulled. Luckily, like the second born male in an Egyptian family, I was spared. My point is this: I spent most of my Christmas break in and around the Tropic of Cancer.

My Christmas break consisted of an old-fashioned Minnesota Christmas sandwiched between two tropical vacations. The first trip was a quick jaunt the Yucatan Peninsula. This trip was purely academic I assure you. I was there to study the impacts of massive doses of Vitamin D mixed with moderately dangerous levels of ultra-violet rays and mixed drinks. Through my research, I have found that when levels of Vitamin D and ultra-violet rays are naturally increased, a person’s propensity to consume drinks made out of and from coconuts is also increased. I plan to pitch my research to some scientific journals in time for spring break.

My return flight out of Cancun was delayed for a couple of hours. As a result, I had the opportunity to celebrate part of Christmas Eve in the airport. Normally this wouldn’t be so bad, but the Cancun airport decided to dress their employees up as Santa Claus, the Grinch and Leprechauns. The merry band of mismatched characters complemented the bright signs hanging the airport that read “Corona Presents: Merry Mexican Christmas.”

I made it back just in time to greet the last guests at my parents’ annual Christmas Eve party. As I left Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport, I called my father who estimated that it would take 67 minutes to arrive at his home. The road conditions were favorable and I made it from the airport to his garage in 59 minutes.

During the Christmas Eve party I informed my 9-year-old cousin about the dangers of reading the Harry Potter series. The dangers of Harry Potter do not rest solely within the intrinsic evil that is witchcraft and wizardry. There is a far greater danger at hand. That danger is lifelong loneliness. Reading too much Harry Potter will not only ostracize an individual from the most religious groups (thus preventing him from ever celebrating Christmas again) but also from the dating pool. In short, reading too much Harry Potter is like being a set of identical twins that never marry. Except in this case you’re not a twin, you’re just an individual who is destined to grow up and be alone. Even your cats won’t want to spend time with you.

After a week in moderately cold temperatures I came down with a case of seasonal affective disorder. For those of you who don’t know what SAD is, it is a disorder that allows people to blame their brusqueness on a lack of sunshine. Not wanting to have long-term damage because of SAD I decided that it would be a good thing to head south again. This time it was a cruise ship. We set sail out of Tampa and headed to the very edge of South America.

While sailing through the western Caribbean I noticed that most people find it relaxing to read the first chapter of a book. I have never seen more people reading the first page of a book than I did during that second trip. I am glad that I received a Nook Color by Barnes & Noble for Christmas. That way no one could tell what page of a book I was on.

It was a great 20th century philosopher who said that Christmas is the time of year when people of all faiths gather to celebrate the birth of Santa Claus. Christmas time has always provided an opportunity to spend time with family and loved ones. I am glad that I was able to see so many loved ones during Christmas break including parents, in-laws, siblings, and Captain Morgan (he was our pilot). I got almost everything on my list except for the thing I most wanted: a TSA patdown.

Tony Reiss is a non-traditional student majoring in economics. Reach him at anthony.reiss@jacks.sdstate.edu.

The People’s Republic of Minnesota is my ancestral homeland. I recently traveled to the People’s Republic of Minnesota to celebrate Thanksgiving.

Currently, the People’s Republic of Minnesota is in the midst of yet another election debacle. Despite the Election Day shellacking that the governing party received across the nation, the People’s Republic of Minnesota is still without an obvious successor to Governor Tim Pawlenty. The opposition party in the People’s Republic of Minnesota made serious inroads on Election Day. For the first time in my memory both houses of the legislature are now held by the former opposition party. It’s interesting that the people in People’s Republic of Minnesota would vote for one particular party over another to the extent that it changed power in the legislature but they still consider voting for who Time Magazine once referred to as the worst senator in the U.S. Senate. The Senator also graded himself with an F.

It’s shenanigans like this that made it so easy to seek political asylum in the Free State of South Dakota. Still, I get back to the People’s Republic of Minnesota often. I still have family there that has not made it out safely yet. We traveled across the now snow-covered fruited plains in a storm that is best described as the worst scene in the Earth biopic The Day After Tomorrow. Luckily for us the snow and ice didn’t stay for the entire weekend.

The night before Thanksgiving all of the young people from my hometown gather at the local watering hole to exchange stories of heroism and great feats of strength. They also engage in some good old-fashioned debauchery. When I graduated high school, so many seasons ago, I stayed in contact with two or three people. I simply forgot the others. I was approached by many who remembered me, but alas I had no recollection of them.

Perhaps they knew me. Perhaps they had only heard campfire stories about my adventures in the North Land fighting oppressive regimes. Perhaps I am only a figment of their imagination. It matters not. Their salutations and gratitude were enough for me.

Thanksgiving Day was spent honoring Brooklyn’s finest by watching Brooklyn’s Finest (if the cops in that movie were supposed to be the Brooklyn’s finest I don’t want to meet their worst). The depiction of the English language was atrocious and the vocabulary used would make Maury Povich spin in his grave (if were dead. Since he’s not dead I imagine that he would shake his head from side to side making a tsk tsk tsk sound). Then again nobody ever said Brooklyn’s finest were made up of teachers and poets.

We had a literal smorgasbord of Thanksgiving fixings. My mom made the Noah’s Ark of pies. There was two of every kind of pie (that mattered). The turkey was fantastic as were the mashed potatoes and can-berries (you know8212;cranberries that are still shaped like a can).

On the way home we stopped at the home of The Collegian Editor-in-Chief’s parents. I had to explain to him why my column was going to be late. I told him that I had been captured for being a political dissident and that a group of corrupt People’s Republic of Minnesota officers were after me (basically I told him the story that was told in Brooklyn’s Finest). His family welcomed me in with open arms. They fed me meal of steak and potatoes and the next day they made sure I wasn’t sent on the road with an empty stomach. They then helped me escape the People’s Republic of Minnesota and return safely to the Free State of South Dakota.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention what I am thankful for in a column dedicated to Thanksgiving.

I am thankful for:

* Oxygen

* The Internet

* Full moons (Go Team Jacob! Is that still cool to say?)

* USA! USA! USA!

* Those who work to make SDSU a better place

* Artificially colored Christmas trees

* Christmas tree cakes

* The internal combustion engine

* Indoor plumbing

* Electric and gas heat

* Bacon

* Chairs

* Beds

* Chainsaws

* Factories

* The Eisenhower Interstate Highway System

* The moon landing

* Trains

* Roller coasters

* Long lines at the mall

* Mall walkers

And of course YOU (you know who are).

Tony Reiss is a non-traditional student majoring in economics. Contact Tony at anthony.reiss@jacks.sdstate.edu.

It’s been awhile since I have celebrated someone’s 21st birthday. I recently gave the honor of joining in the birthday celebration of a newly minted 21-year-old, and let me tell you a lot has changed since I entered the age of enlightenment so many moons ago.

When I turned 21, the world was a much different place. For starters President Obama was just some random community organizer turned state senator. No one even knew his name outside his own senate district. When I turned 21, when people would talk about the situation room, everyone automatically thought about the secure room in the White House and not the sexual escapades of Mike Sorrentino. When I turned 21, a tea party was nothing more than people sitting around wearing costumers and discussing their futures, usually with little girls wearing fancy dresses and fancy hats and calling each other Mrs. Aaron Carter, Mrs. Ricky Martin (remember this was before he confirmed he was a confirmed bachelor) and Mrs. Billy Gillman. I guess the only difference between the tea parties of my yesteryear and today is the future discussed at today’s tea parties usually involve informed citizens discussing the future of their country and referring to each other as Mrs. Paul Revere, Mrs. Benjamin Franklin and Mrs. Glenn Beck. The costumes haven’t changed much. The grown men at today’s tea parties usually wear fancy colonial suits and tri-cornered hats. And of course those on the left hated the tea parties of the past for their gender stereotyping as much as they hate them today for speaking truth-to-power. Whatever happened to dissent being patriotic? When I turned 21 “dissent is patriotic” was the rallying cry of those who are in power now. It’s funny how fast things can change.

That’s what the world was like when I turned 21. Like I said, it has been awhile. Most people turn 21 during their college years and because this column is about doing things that a traditional college student does I found it prudent to celebrate turning 21. And what’s the next best thing to turning 21? Watching someone else turn 21 (with bacon birthday cake in a close second). So I decided to seek out someone who was turning 21 this school year, and after some grueling auditions, I gave the honor to Eric “Eagle” Nefstead (form hands to look like talons and caw loudly).

The night started out at Eagle’s nest apartment where a good crowd had gather for my imminent arrival. I arrived two-hours fashionably late with a gift of Grainbelt Premium for the newly enlightened one. (Grainbelt Premium: The Gift That Keeps on Giving). I shared a Grainbelt with Eagle, whose cheeks were already flush with excitement over the night’s festivities. Being one of the only sober ones at the party, I offered to bring the crew downtown.

I dropped the gang off in front of The 9 and went to go park. I told them that I would meet up with them a little later. I parked the vehicle and while walking back downtown, I got an urgent message on my phone. It read, and I quote: “Come to the lantern quick. We have a situation. Eagle is participating in a fist pumping competition.” After receiving the text message, I immediately warned my Twitter followers of the potential danger that Eagle was in by tweeting the following: “FiST pUmpING hAZ ENsUED. MUsT b StoPPEd. EnRoutE 2 REzQue @EagleNefstead. #theeaglehaslanded” (just so you know, typing that took a lot of effort, so I hope you enjoyed it)

Knowing full well the dangers of the mission, I went in and rescued Eagle before it was too late. The dance floor was crowded with sweaty, fist pumping, hip gyrating insurgents. I entered the dance floor. People were grabbing at me as if they were sharks with bees coming out of their mouths and I was wearing a suit covered in chum and dipped in honey. After a quick scan of the crowd I found Eagle. The situation was worse than I thought, not only was he fist pumping, but so were others in his group. The only way to stop the contagion from spreading was to bring Eagle out and away from danger.

We escorted Eagle and a select few out of the danger zone (it was too risky to rescue everyone) and brought them to an undisclosed location. I immediately debriefed Eagle about what had happened and telling him that while getting his GTL on, fist pumping and wearing tight v-neck t-shirts might sound fun now, but the dangers of acting like a New Yorker stuck in New Jersey while living in Brookings are not worth the effort. The situation will soon become the problem.

My heroic efforts that night played out like scene from the Body Guard. But the details could be fuzzy. It could have been me who was rescued. I am pretty sure it wasn’t. I don’t know anymore. It doesn’t matter.

I would like to thank Eagle (form hands to look like talons and caw loudly) for a great celebration.

Tony Reiss is a non-traditional student majoring in economics. Contact Tony at anthony.reiss@jacks.sdstate.edu.

Hobo Day. Or is it Hobo Days, Hobo Daze or Hobo Week? It seems that there is no consensus on what to call the biggest one day celebration in the Dakotas. Perhaps the Alumni Association could take up the cause of creating an official name (just make sure it is socio-economic neutral). For the purposes of this column I shall refer to the day in question as Hobo Day.

I woke up on Hobo Day morning feeling like P. Diddy. I grabbed my glasses (and umbrella8212;ella8212;ella8212;ella as rain was in the forecast) and made my way to the door. I was about to hit the city. And by hit the city I mean walk down the block to watch the parade.

For the most part the parade was a wonderful experience. I thoroughly enjoyed listening to The Pride as they made their way towards downtown. I always enjoy seeing the student organization floats. There were some that were very creative. My two favorites include the golf cart topped with a cardboard box designed to look like a VW minibus. I give them props for incorporating all aspects of the theme Peace, Love, Hobos. The VW minibus integrates the peace and love spirit that apparently was emblematic of the 1960s (I have no proof that peace and/or love existed in the 1960s8212;in fact I would like see the 1960s erased from history. Quick somebody get me the number the Texas Board of Education. I need to speak the textbook committee immediately). The cardboard of course symbolizes the Hobo Hamptons. My other favorite float came from, what I suspect to be, an engineering group. The best part about this float was the candy canon (which is not a canon made from candy, but rather a canon that shoots candy). I just wish they would have fired some my way.

Like a politician handing out propaganda and stickers to children at a parade, I have some unsolicited advice to parade participants. Try to keep, at most, a two car length between your float and the float in front of you. There were many times that the gap was long between parade units that I had to resort the “pretending to text” just so I wouldn’t have to talk to my brother-in-law.

The parade also included a handful of dignitaries. President Chicoine greeted on-lookers from the comfort of Golf Cart One, city councilors handed out candy to young children (I suppose handing out candy to adults would make them no better than those who participated in the recent Oats for Votes scandal), and Senator John Thune was literally running for office (no sign from his challenger though).

After the parade I participated in my first ever indoor-tailgate party. We were served Sloppy Joes (for those of you who use a vernacular from west of Minnesota, Sloppy Joe loosely translates to barbeque). We spent the time preceding kick-off watching listening to the sounds of America’s golden decade, the 1980s.

The game was epic, the crowd was epic, the half-time show was epic, and after losing the match to the SDSU Jackrabbits, the ride home for the Youngstown State Penguins was epoch. One thing about the game confused me though. At one point during the game I looked around me and noticed that a lot of people had removed their shoes and were holding them defiantly in the air. If anyone knows the answer to this please fill me in.

After the game I went downtown for dinner and drinks. My wife and I were dressed like hobos, complete with fingerless gloves. Dinner was filled with lots of laughter, camaraderie and rambunctious chanting. Our chanting even garnered us some birthday cake from the table next to ours. I don’t know if it was because they appreciated hearing us chant (Harney Peak, Hobo Day, Birthday Cake, Take your time, and the obligatory USA among other topics) or if they wanted our mouths full so that they could enjoy their meal.

In the spirit of Hobo Day I carried an empty tin can in which I collected change. All in all I brought in about $9. Thank you to all who donated to my hobo fund. I appreciate it. I used the funds to procure some Grain Belt Premium.

Even though Hobo Day is passed, it’s never too early to start thinking about next year’s celebration. I have come up with ideas for themes:

*Mr. Hobo-chev tear down this wall (my personal favorite)

*Eat, Pray, Hobo, or Eat, Prey, Hobo

*Hobo Aid

*Beverly Hobos 90210

*Hobo Potter

*Beverly Hills Hobo

*Indiana Hobo and the Hobo of Doom

*Hobo Wars V: The Hobo-pire Strikes Back

*Dude, Where’s My Bindle?

*I Voted for Weary Wil and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt … And an Unexplained Rash

Join me next time when I revisit what it’s like to turn 21.

Tony Reiss is a non-traditional student majoring in economics. Contact Tony at anthony.reiss@jacks.sdstate.edu.

The freshman 15 is typically referred to as the weight one puts on during their freshman year of college– something that we are all warned about. I have found that there are four distinct stages to the freshman 15.

1) Denial8212;”I haven’t gained 15 pounds! What are you talking about? I have only put on 13.75 pounds. That’s nowhere near 15. Why don’t you go and check your math again Grandma. What’s that you say? You want me to weigh myself right now? Okay, fine I will and when I do I will be accepting your apology . . . and a dozen icebox cookies. “

2) Blame8212;”Your scale says 17 pounds, but I know that isn’t right. It’s your scale’s fault. It’s not accurate.”

3) New Pants Phase8212;”You know what Grandma, I don’t have sit here and take this from you. I don’t even want your icebox cookies. I need to get out of here. I am going pants shopping at Sears. No Grandma, I don’t need new pants. I want new pants because these ones have a defective waistline. On second thought, I will take some cookies for the road.”

4) Acceptance8212;”Okay. So maybe I did put on over 15 pounds in the last semester. But, that doesn’t mean elastic waist Dockers aren’t in this season. I wonder where the food court is. I could really go for a pretzel.”

The freshman 15 is something completely avoidable. Before graduating high school you could lose 15 pounds, so when you put on the freshman 15 it’s more like you’re working your way up to your normal weight. A lot of people make use of the wonderful facility on campus known as the Wellness Center. This place is great. It’s like the Noah’s Arc of gyms. There are just about two of every kind of machine. There is never a line for a treadmill or an elliptical (IDEA ALERT: A workout video starring Taylor Lautner’s abs. The title? “Twilight: Elliptical”). Eat in moderation. Grandma’s icebox cookies may have won the blue ribbon at the Koochiching County Fair in 1945, but that doesn’t mean you have to eat a dozen of them.

Chances are you are a lot like me, a die-hard foodie. I am such a fan of food that at a recent football game someone mistook me for the host of “Man vs. Food”(I didn’t correct him at first, I gave him my autograph and had him buy me a burger). I used to watch the Food Network a lot until they came out with their “50 States 50 Burgers” article and didn’t name Nick’s as the best burger in South Dakota. (In their defense the burger they named has bacon ground in with the beef8212;I haven’t had it yet, but I dream about it once a month). But being a foodie doesn’t mean you have to gain weight.

I recently went in for my decennium physical. After getting my weight and checking my other vitals, I glanced over at my chart and noticed something disturbing. Under the weight category, the nurse had circled the sad face. For those of you who are not familiar with medicalese, sad face is the proper medical term for obese. Yes, my fellow students, I am an obese American. You would never guess it by looking at me but it’s true.

This column is supposed to be about the experiences of college life, and the freshman 15 is certainly one of those experiences. I have no plans on putting on 15 more pounds just to satisfy the demands of my editors. I have decided to take the freshman 15 in another direction. I plan on losing some weight this year. As I write this I weigh a sultry 213 pounds. It is my goal to lose at least 15 pounds by graduation. I am doing this for a couple of reasons. First, I want to live a long and happy life. Second, and probably most important, I am sick of buying new pants. Elastic waist Dockers might be in this fall, but I cannot pull them off.

I will keep you all updated on my progress.

Tony Reiss is a non-traditional student majoring in economics. Contact Tony at anthony.reiss@jacks.sdstate.edu.

Last week was full of fun experiences for me. First, on Monday, Consulate General of Canada Martin Loken spoke on campus. Mr. Loken gave a lecture about the relationship that the United States has with Canada. His talk was full of information about the importance of trade between our two countries. Mr. Loken explained that the United States has never had a more important ally than Canada. It is true the United States and Canada share a unique relationship.

During the question and answer portion of the presentation, an audience member asked why Canadians know more about the United States than we know about them. The answer of course is simple: we’re bigger. Mr. Loken pointed out that the population of the United States is ten times the size of Canada, and when there is a behemoth living next door you’re bound to pay attention. The relationship between our two countries got me thinking of another famous relationship: the relationship between Marsha and Jan Brady. Like people paid more attention to Marsha, people pay more attention to the United States than they do Canada. But, Canada is far nicer to us than Jan was ever to Marsha. For instance, when a football was lobbed at our face in December of 1941, did Canada relish in the fact that the United States was never going to be a teen model? No. Canada extended a helping hand in restoring peace in the world. In that respect Canada is more like cousin Oliver, helping us solve our problems, and for that I am thankful.

Friday was Constitution Day. As the name suggests, Constitution Day is a day to celebrate one of humanities greatest documents: the United States Constitution. In honor of the Constitution, the Department of History and Political Science hosted a federally-mandated Constitution Day celebration. I’m sure you”re thinking “Oh, that’s nice.” Go ahead, re-read that sentence again, especially the part about the federally-mandated Constitution Day celebration. You read that correctly. Constitution Day comes with a federal mandate that any institution of higher learning that receives federal funding must set aside time on Constitution Day in order to discuss the Constitution. Now, I have nothing against discussing the Constitution, but it seems a little counter-intuitive to force institutions of higher learning, the bastions of free thought, into celebrating the Constitution.

I’m sure a lot of you don’t remember growing up celebrating Constitution Day. That’s because it wasn’t a holiday until 2004 when a Democrat senator slid the creation of the holiday and the federal mandated celebrations into the omnibus spending bill. I’m sure most of you are familiar with the now infamous University of Florida taser incident. You know, the one that made the quote “Don’t tase me bro!” world- famous. Well, did you know that incident happened at a federally mandated Constitution Day celebration? If federally mandating institutions of higher learning into celebrating and discussing the Constitution wasn’t bad enough, it was only made worse by silencing someone’s free speech at the point of a taser. I’m not a history scholar but it seems to me that this is the very thing we fought for during the Revolutionary War.

I do have to give kudos to the political science department and history department for putting together a stellar discussion that ended up being standing room only. And the amazing thing was that this was at 3:30 p.m. on a Friday afternoon.

One of my professors recently said in class that the university experience is more than just attending classes (I thought, I know it’s also about O’Hare’s, Cubby’s, Skinners, Ray’s Corner and Jim’s Tap). He said that involves attending events and speakers to broaden your horizon. I couldn’t agree more. I didn’t write this column just to tell you what I did last week. It’s to let you all know that some really cool things happen on campus every week (I mean, come on, it’s not every week that a top diplomat from Canada visits Brookings). And, even if extra credit isn’t offered, it’s important to take advantage of these opportunities.

Tony Reiss is a non-traditional student majoring in economics. Contact Tony at anthony.reiss@jacks.sdstate.edu.

I always thought that living in the dorms would be a lot like living in one of the houses from a Harry Potter book. Given the option I would choose to live in Slytherin. I think Voldemort is not evil, just misunderstood. I know I would be upset too if I heard people referring to me as “You-Know-Who” or “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” Can you imagine what that would to someone’s psyche? Here comes Tom Riddle (I assume he gave himself the awesome nickname Voldemort after some young wizard teased him about being a half-blooded wizard) walking around the grounds of Hogwarts and everyone screams and scatters. I would tend to get a little angry and hurt by these actions, too. Voldemort just wants to fit in. Oh, and people are all upset about Voldemort wanting to kill Harry Potter. Don’t they realize that Voldemort doesn’t have a choice? It’s a prophecy for crying out loud, and last time I checked a prophecy cannot be changed. But anyway, where was I? Oh, yes; dorm life. I have never moved into a dorm, and the full collegiate experience is nothing without dorm living.

I recently helped someone move into a dorm. The dorm rooms did remind me a little bit of Harry Potter in the sense that they were slightly smaller than the cupboard under the stairs where Harry spent most of his childhood. I risked life and limb to navigate across a sea of freaked-out freshmen, mournful mothers, and frustrated fathers, just so I could help a stranger move into a dorm.

When I got to campus I saw a group of people huddled around a microwave, a futon, and a couple of boxes. The telltale signs were there: this is a student ready to move-in. I went over and explained who I was and what I was doing. The student, sophomore Barry Davis, also introduced himself and eagerly accepted my help (if I were in that situation, I probably would have said, “I don’t know you. I need an adult!”). Together, with Barry’s family, we moved him into a room on the second floor of Young Hall. We got all of Barry’s belongings up in two trips (I think that is an SDSU record). As we were moving in, Barry’s dad explained that this year’s move-in went better than last year’s. Ordinarily, I would have just said “Ok” and left it at that, but the writer’s instinct told me to probe a little deeper. So I asked Mr. Davis what he meant. Mr. Davis told me that last year, as a freshman, Barry brought a lot more items to school and he lived on the fourth floor. I am glad all I had to do was help move a couple of things to the second floor.

I couldn’t live in a dorm room for a couple of reasons. For starters, they’re small. And I don’t mean small as in cozy. I mean small as in I have seen mausoleums with more square footage than dorm rooms. Also, I couldn’t get out of my lease, and if I did get out of my lease, I don’t think my wife would be too happy about us moving into a room on a floor with a bunch of guys.

I do want to thank Barry Davis for allowing me to help him move into a dorm. I am proud to be counted as one of the multitudes who call Barry Davis a friend. It’s true; he accepted my request on Facebook.

Tony Reiss is a non-traditional student majoring in economics. Contact Tony at anthony.reiss@jacks.sdstate.edu.