Binghamton is a university. Not only is it a university, but it is a university known for its stand-out achievements: the sheer divide between the ~40% acceptance rate and the average intelligence of any given student, its status as “SUNY Harvard, The Public Ivy,” and, of course, the student body’s shared Long Island heritage, just to name a few. With campus tours underway, we Binghamters get a glimpse of our successors, the very future of this college. The only caveat is that not everyone who visits gets the memo, exactly; we’re not just proud of our roots, they define us, and to go against what defines us, defies us. The school spirit of Binghamton, Baxter, whatever you want to call it, it doesn't take too kindly to strangers, you see, and the recent onslaught of unbelievable meteorological phenomenon is proof of that. They have upset the gods and there is only one means of quelling their anger.
Last Tuesday, as many may recall, was truly the worst of it so far. Snow, downpours of freezing rain, thunder and lightning, Gilligan, the Skipper too, the millionaire and his wife, the movie star, the professor, and Mary Ann made for complete pandemonium all the span of roughly half an hour or so. Oh, if it only stopped there! Remember when your classes and events were potentially canceled within the span of the last few days and possibly even the near future? I do! I was awe-struck by how my education was being drained by my surroundings and all I could do was sit and watch. But no, you and your precious little Timmy wanted to be led along like lambs to the slaughter by an underpaid undergraduate who knows they’re lying through their teeth when they tell the clueless pack that prison food is really quite good, the best actually, how it certainly does not cause a “Binghamton Plague” that makes everyone shit their brains out constantly. This, of course, is fine if you and your socially stunted electronically addicted child hail from Long Island, however.
So, what’s to do? It’s simple, really. Head to the giant "coin" engraving, the one in front of the Classroom Wing (which, by the way, you should visit at 6:45 PM on Wednesdays, especially room 314). Place your pipsqueak in the center and watch as the lining glows with a great growing green flame. A staff member on standby nearby will contact those from the Fine Arts building to deliver the ancient Blade of Arctictis Binturong. Pay your tribute and all will be forgiven. God, how old will next year’s freshmen be… well obviously the same age, but like what year, smartass... 2006???? Are you fucking shitting me? As much as I secretly enjoy it, I cannot help but scoff at the contemporary rise of the “Y2K Aesthetic,” especially since my favorite obscure YouTuber who I have let mold a decent amount of my personality predicted it a few years ago. Perhaps it’s a projection of my self-loathing, but I find it hard to glamorize such times, it’s the epochal equivalent of huffing hot glue with broken plastic bits mixed in the gunk (not to mention the microplastics involved). Anyway, where was I... Oh yeah. I am from Long Island myself. You guys remember taking the regents? Where was the best place to grab a BEC or hero in your town? The roughly 3-4 drive to get here sure does suck.