I hated my 20th birthday almost as much as I did my 19th. The three years before then, you see, were jam-packed with excitement: at 16 I could drive; at 17 my legal curfew disappeared and I could see R-rated movies; and at 18 I became an adult — so not only could I view pornographic films, I could also star in them. (You’re not quite there yet, Miley Cyrus.)

Now, as a Penn sophomore on the last day of classes, I’m getting that same lukewarm feeling as when I turned 19. There’s just nothing that great about finishing sophomore year.

I remember my last day as a freshman, when I was overcome with a sense of relief at having completed the first of my four collegiate years. At the time, I was excited for summer, nervous to see my home friend(s) again and eternally convinced that life was just one giant episode of The Hills. (I’ve learned from Penn that it’s just one giant episode of The Hillels.) The end of freshman year left me in that comfortable, pressure-free interim period: I was too old to be considered a minor, but too young to have declared a major. The story’s just not the same after sophomore year.

Then there’s the end of junior year, celebrated on this campus by an animalistic tradition where seniors throw condiments and water balloons at those one year below them. This is the official reigning in of the new senior class, often marked by one too many juniors wondering what “condiment” is naturally brown in color. (And a note to this year’s juniors: if you happen to make eye contact with Nick Barr on Hey Day, run like hell.)

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In case you missed it, Monday was a huge night for star-studded TV appearances.

First, President George Bush showed up on Deal or No Deal to joke about how he’s “thrilled to be anywhere with high ratings these days” — unaware at the time that his episode matched Deal’s lowest-rated Monday ever. I guess we should just be happy that Bush, appearing on the Iraq War Veterans edition, didn’t tell any contestants that they’d been stop-lossed.

Then Barack Obama stopped by The Daily Show to cater to common collegians, or the one faction of Pennsylvania that he already locked up. (Or at least thought he did.) It seems that Hillary Clinton’s approach — taking a whiskey shot and embarrassing her family — had more resonance with the campus crowd.

But by far, my favorite celebrity appearance of the night came from our very own Kal Penn, who guested on Conan to talk about two things: Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay and “Images of Asian Americans in the Media.” (I’ll let you guess which one is a Penn course.) During the interview, Kal mentioned that he doesn’t smoke weed and that he was formerly a vegetarian — two traits fundamentally antithetical to the best characteristics of Kumar. Dude sounds more like a professor than ever.

But seeing Kal on TV got me thinking: what other celebrities do I want to interim teach here at Penn? I’ve come up with a short wishlist — along with accompanying course titles — that I can only hope come true.

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Some might argue that applying to a high-profile university is like trying to go to a New York City club on opening night. If you know someone, you’ll get in. If you don’t meet the club’s minimum requirements — maybe you’re under 21 or visibly pregnant — then you’ll get turned away at the door.

And then there’s the dreaded third group: those who will spend the majority of the night stuck in a line just to see if they can go inside. Sure, there’s no real reason for them to keep waiting; after all, they’ve never been to this club, so there’s no guarantee it’ll live up to the hype. But if they leave now to go somewhere else, they’ll give up all-night drink specials forever.

This third list is akin to the college waitlist — where more and more high school seniors are being placed each year. This admissions season, Penn leads the Ivy League in waitlisted students: 2,300 are still unsure of their Quaker fate, a number up 500 from a year ago. Eric Kaplan, Penn’s admissions director/metaphorical bouncer, has some words of wisdom for these students in limbo:

“I do feel for them,” he told the U.S. News & World Report last week. “[But] don’t send roses. No chocolate. It doesn’t work.” (Kind words, but thousands of adulterous husbands would disagree.)

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Today, I feel that it’s appropriate to quote a story originally told by John W. Schlatter in Chicken Soup for the Soul:

“Mark was walking home from school one day when he noticed the boy ahead of him had dropped all of the books he was carrying. Mark knelt down and helped the boy pick up the scattered articles. Since they were going the same way, he helped to carry part of the burden. As they walked, he learned that the boy’s name was Bill…[t]hey arrived at Bill’s house and Mark was invited in. They ended up in the same high school [and when] the long awaited senior year came, Bill asked Mark if they could talk.

Bill reminded him of the day years ago when they had first met. ‘Do you ever wonder why I was carrying so many things that day?’ asked Bill. ‘You see, I cleaned out my locker because I didn’t want to leave a mess. I had stored away some of my mother’s sleeping pills and I was going home to commit suicide. But after we spent some time together…I realized that if I had killed myself, I would have missed that time and so many others that might have followed. So you see, Mark, when you picked up my books that day…[y]ou saved my life.’”

Today — April 16, 2008 — marks the one-year anniversary of the Virginia Tech Massacre, which left 32 dead and many more injured.

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In the fall of 2008, I’ll be studying in Paris, France — mostly because of my penchant for silly hats, effeminate men and unlikely combinations of the two.

But I’m a College student, so I’m not part of Penn’s current problem with getting engineering students abroad. Sometimes, that’s the fault of engineering students — who perceive study abroad as “difficult,” uninteresting and inconvenient. Other times, it’s the fault of the program; to study at France’s leading scientific school, for example, engineering students are required to stay a full academic year. (And really, who wants eight whole months of pacifism, gastronomic bliss and encouraged societal polygamy?)

So how do we convince more SEAS students to spend time away from this university? Apparently, Penn’s original strategy — locating itself in West Philadelphia — hasn’t done enough to push future engineers away from campus. But perhaps we can solve the problem with an idea taken from Virginia’s Randolph College: reinstating the collegiate field trip.

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Editor’s Note: SFCU’s not collapsing. Jon “didn’t know we had a joke issue.” Luckily (for you), I have no qualms about publicly embarrassing my bloggers, so it’s staying up. But don’t worry - your PennCash is safe.

First Club Wizzards. Then Bear Sterns. Now the front page of the DP announces yet another corporate meltdown in this same academic year: the Student Federal Credit Union, Penn’s student-run campus bank, is facing “imminent bankruptcy due to heavy losses.” PNC has already offered to buy them out for $2 a share.

Usually, this kind of thing wouldn’t bother me. I’m not really a finance kind of guy; my idea of “smart saving” is my tin can of loose change that I expect to eventually accumulate millions. (So far: $10.73.) But I had a significant portion of my savings in an SFCU account, and now that money might be gone forever. Never has it been more apparent to me that you can’t spell SFCU without “F-U.”

What really irks me about his collapse, though, is that SFCU is run primarily by Wharton students.

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A few weeks ago, The New York Observer ran an article called “Nerds of Steel” — suggesting that the “new nerd is a beast” and pointing to celebs like Daniel Radcliffe and Steve Carell as proof. Evidently, the great American geek has gotten bigger and stronger in what appears to be a statistical attempt to garner the attention of the ever-elusive female sex. Is it working? Ha, that’s like asking if pi is finite.

But all joking aside, I think the rather toned study body at Penn serves as further evidence for this phenomenon. Just last Thursday, for example, Pottruck held another annual bench press competition — where University Hospital employee Richard Scarlett put up 425 lbs (!) before growing extremely angry and bursting into flames.

(To put things into perspective, 425 lbs is approximately equivalent to 8 sorority girls.)

Scarlett wasn’t the only standout at the event; College senior Kaelin Ainley put up 95 lbs, the most among female participants, and Engineering junior Michael Provenzano won the sub-150 group by benching 235. Again, the idea is that Penn’s geeks are in the gym while its athletes excel at academia.

This is unlike, say, Penn State — where the only athletes in the library are there for entirely different reasons.

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When I was in elementary school, I was enrolled in DARE — the mandatory drug awareness program where cops would come to class and warn students of the dangers of illegal substances. DARE left me absolutely terrified of drug use, though comically ill-informed: in my final essay, for instance, I wrote that I would never take a sniff of marijuana. (I still haven’t.)

Now, more than a decade removed from my anti-drug “education,” I still remember DARE’s main arguments against substance abuse: it would leave you friendless, physically weak and unsuccessful in all life’s endeavors. And given today’s celebrity climate — with more and more stars falling in and out of rehab — I think we’ve all learned that same lesson.

Or have we? I don’t think it would come as a surprise to say that drugs have a new face in America, and it’s not as scary as it used to be. What might be surprising, however, is that Penn and other universities are helping market the drug makeover — including our esteemed professors.

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Today is the last day of March, which means a few things. First, it shouldn’t be 45 degrees and raining. Second, tomorrow is April Fool’s Day — so try to remember that spaghetti, like money, doesn’t just grow on trees. And third, we’re just two short weeks away from Spring Fling. By then, we should all be done with midterms and relaxed enough to enjoy ourselves — and it might even be 50 degrees outside.

But not everyone is über-excited about the prospect of fun and festivities at this year’s Spring Fling. Perhaps you like all your hos in the same area code and therefore aren’t stoked about SPEC’s music selection. Or maybe you’re so exhausted from a month of perfunctory bag checks that the idea of amusement seems unfathomable. It’s even possible that you’re a “good person” who doesn’t engage in rampant partying or otherwise questionable behavior.

Whatever the case may be, many of you have valid reasons not to be thrilled about the weekend of April 11th. So just as Penn offers alternative Spring breaks — for those more concerned with helping people build homes than helping people get home at 3 a.m. — I’ve compiled a short list of substitute activities that might be more suitable for this year’s non-Spring Flinger.

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So The Colbert Report is coming to the Zellerbach theatre from April 14 to 17. Want tickets? Too bad. I think they sold out thirty minutes before Stephen even made the announcement.

But alas, this column is not about Stephen Colbert. Nor is it about selling out. It’s about Doritos — as in the sponsor of Colbert’s visit, officially titled “The Colbert Report: Doritos Spicy Sweet Pennsylvania Primary Coverage from Chili-Delphia — The City of Brotherly Crunch.” And this column is about America. And maybe, just maybe, it’s about a collision of the two. (Missy Elliot not included, but we might just be able to get OK Go.)

Doritos, you see, are an American snack food. For one thing, the Doritos headquarters are located in Dallas, Texas — the most American state we’ve got. (Despite that whole “annexation” thing.) For another, the execs over at Frito-Lay have managed to come up with a wide array of Dorito flavors to parallel this country’s diversity: Blazin’ Buffalo & Ranch (delicious), Nacho Cheese (traditional), even Cheeseburger (fire that guy).

But perhaps most importantly, Americans consume more Doritos per capita than any other nation on any other continent. And sure, that might make us the most obese country in the history of the universe — but that can’t be blamed on just one snack, can it?

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