Secrets of your success
Gimme your brain for a sec. For a magazine story, I'm compiling a list of "secrets of success in college (whether it's your first year or your last)." What are some tips you'd give college students based on your experience? Shmooze teachers more? Less? Drop the goofy nickname you've had since childhood? Sit on the front row? Eat protein at breakfast?
A prize from the bulging prize closet awaits the best three (judged by moi) posted in Comments here by Memorial Day. Funny is good. But within funny should be some good advice, especially for those just heading into college in the fall.
So I'm crunching deadline on several stories. Last week I was pressed into service as a fill-in restaurant critic. Not easy, given that the little bistro I was assigned wasn't exactly Le Cirque quality. I'd have settled for Golden Corral. Or Sonic (love them tater-tots). And I had to eat there twice. You're supposed to go anonymously, paying full price for the meal (the paper reimburses later) and not letting on that you're there as a critic. But on both visits, my friend and I were the only diners in the joint. And we had to order a lot of food. Take my advice: When you ask the waiter if the veal is good and he looks over his shoulder like there might be a sniper in the corner and then he shrugs, don't order it.
I'm also taking a night course online. More about that later.
And because some of you have asked via email -- including some of you nice members of the Nigerian royal family who need my help securing some of that fat inheritance money -- I'll confirm that I'm still seeing Professor Lunch-Guy, about whom I wrote a few months back. To me he's Dr. McDreamy, but I still can't get a read on his attitude toward the whole dating thing. We talk about everything but that.
He's out of town a lot, so I end up going out with my gay friend (as I did last night), which is so much more predictable and easier to navigate. You can ask him anything and he'll tell you what's what. And at the end of the night you don't have to surreptitiously slip one of those vile Listerine tape-lozenges on your tongue in anticipation of the goodbye smooch.
My gay man will go ahead and TiVo American Idol without having to be asked.
And then happily watch it with me later.
OK, secrets of college success. Type me some. Prizes await.