Ah, Binghamton. I’ve been a part of this lovely community for all of one month, and yet, day-in and day-out, I’ve felt like there has been something missing in my life.

Every morning, I’ve repeated the natural routine of waking up wrapped up in blankets that feel as warm and soft as God’s love. Every morning, I’ve raped the “snooze” button (snooze? that sounds too whimsical a name for the malicious beeping it produces every few minutes), until I could force myself off the mattress and into the shower. I’ve seen the myriad tired, disorientated faces like my own walking to their classes.

After listening to professors rant and rave, or just simply speak like their mouths are filled with cotton, I have managed to emancipate myself from my seat and expect the friendly feeling of freedom in the remaining afternoon.

Being the eager beaver freshman that I am, I have grabbed my books and approached lounges anticipating a nice, quiet, romantic moment with my studies. But alas, people don’t seem to share my romanticism in the late afternoon. Every time I’ve sat in the lounge, I hear people in the halls screaming such pearls of wisdom as, “YEAH?! YOUR MOTHER LIKES PEPPERONI PIZZA!” And from the volley ballers playing outside, “SCORE FIVE TO TWO … YOUR PARENTS NEVER WANTED YOU!” As if that wasn’t enough on its own merit, it had to be followed by subsequent yelps and guffaws from those standing around.

After the first few times, I remained slightly amused and just told myself that this is what I should come to expect in a college environment. But after a particularly retarded session of insults and “jokes” (if one uses that word lightly), I decided to venture off and find myself a friend: a grassy knoll (and for those of you who’ve taken Professor Stoner’s history of the 1960s class, this is not some veiled reference to JFK, so just stop that now).

Let me begin by describing the background of the day I discovered the knoll.

It was a sunny morning, with a soft breeze blowing in my hair, and I was trotting to class admiring the clouds and the trees and all of nature’s gifts. Eventually, class was over and I decided that this would be the day I would find a new locale for my studying. I ventured through Mountainview, and then, just as I was about to leave and return to my dorm, heavy-hearted and unfulfilled, I spotted the most glorious of glorious green fields.

The sun was radiating off of the grass in such a way that it made everything seem to sparkle. I practically skipped through the field until I found a hilly portion that I could lean on while I did my work. It was a magical moment. There were no perverted noises, no half-assed mockery … just me, my books and the grass (cue slightly dramatic but dreamy music).

To those of you who have shared the depressing experience of a quiet lounge being attacked by the ongoing brain-cell killing screams, I highly recommend taking a walk to the field and spending some time there, before Binghamton winter has a chance to reach us all and bite us hard on our already frostbitten asses.