Well gang, I suppose it’s time to start this column.

One hour until deadline. But forgive me if I have a little fun with this. I have a book to read, an essay to write and some sort of portfolio to put together, all immediately following the completion of whatever this turns out to be.

So. Yeah. Column. Right.

Haven’t been following the news much recently. Heard we have a black president now; that’s pretty cool.

Great weather today. What’s that? You’re reading this on Friday? It’s raining? The one-sided conversation has never been very conducive to small talk. You, my reader, are a stranger from the future.

Column, Nate. Time to write a column.

I’m usually full of ideas for these things. Especially at times like this, when I have a lot of schoolwork to do. I’ll be writing an essay, sipping cold coffee in a dark room. “Jeesh, a column would have been nice today,” I’ll think to myself.

Today is different though; today is strange. I find myself completely devoid of material. Strange, because the setting’s just right. Full pack of cigarettes, an empty apartment, important assignments to avoid, a pleasant mix of stimulants flowing through the ole’ bloodstream.

It’s like I’m at a nice restaurant, contentedly hungry. The table is set, but the waiter has forgotten to bring the menu.

Column. Please, Nate, a column.

I always thought the idea of advertising a meeting on world hunger with free food was odd. You see a lot of fliers like that on campus: AWARENESS WORKSHOP ON THE GLOBAL PANDEMIC OF HUNGER AND MALNUTRITION. Stamped across a giant poster in the New University Union, in big font, with a picture of a small, eerily skeletal African child, who stares out from the page, eyes ablaze, with sunken cheekbones and chapped lips. The flier’s tagline: FREE BURGERS.

Always struck me as a tad insensitive.

I don’t really blame the people who make these advertisements. At college, the “free food” offer is the real world equivalent of: “buy one, get one.” Still, I always hoped that they appreciated the irony of the otherwise standard marketing device in this context.

Turns out, at least one of them doesn’t.

Last year, I was at Dickinson Dining Hall with a few friends, when one of these world-changers approached me. She handed me a flier very similar to the one described above, shared a few prepared words on the subject and politely asked if we had any questions.

“Yes,” I said, “I have one.” She turned to me, face aglow with idealistic vigor.

“Do you think it’s strange that your club has free food at a hunger rally?”

Her smile turned to a look of shock, then to anger, then to the sort of expression one might imagine an inspirational speaker would have when, after a speech, he is told he has ketchup on his shirt. I guess the thought had never occurred to her.

“Free food at a hunger rally.” It’s become a mantra of mine. A blanket term for many of the little oddities I notice in college life. Often, it’s for the kinds of things that seemed to have been well-intentioned but, when examined from a distance, are just a little bit off.

Like “Go Green” contests in a dorm community, where the winning building gets a new TV. Like when people flock to the packed library for a quiet place to study during exam week.

Free food at a hunger rally.

Sometimes, I use it to describe things that I know many people my age understand, but I can’t seem to.

UGG boots, greek life, College Republicans, AlcoholEdu, FML, beer pong played seriously, MMA violence, calling someone “bro” without the use of irony, text message conversations, Facebook quizzes, tattoos, celebrity gossip. All of these things confuse me.

Free food at a hunger rally.

Feel free to use it when things in life make you shake your head. Like this column, for instance.