My first few months at the University of Chicago were bliss. College! Great books! Stimulating conversations in the dorm cafeteria! At first it did not bother me that everyone around me was miserable. This, after all, was a place that welcomed misery. We thrived on it.
And if you were feeling down, you could open the campus newspaper and turn to the funnies:
Ha ha ha ha ha. See? Instant pick-me-up.
During my first year a magazine—I think it was Playboy—ran a survey of the Best Party Schools. We came in at number 300, dead last. #299 was West Point.
But hey, I tried to make the best of things. I launched into this world with great seriousness and a masochistic redefinition of fun.
It worked for a while. Continue reading