So when I took this two week gig as a guest columnist, I got to thinkin’, “What does it mean, Alex Coley, to be a columnist for The Daily?” Well, after a few solid minutes of contemplating this and that, running various abstract ideas and notions through my understandably thick skull, the very first and only answer that appealed to my simple mind was this: to be a Daily columnist is to be a glory-seeking egomaniac whose every word is drenched in cliche, easy enough on the throat to be downed like Mike’s Hard, a veritable “Opiate of the Masses,” as certain distinguished philosopher-revolutionaries.

And that’s just what I think I’ll do. Except, this time, it won’t just be one dose of cliche, it will be an overdose! I owe it to the freshman class of Oh-Leven to expose them, right off the proverbial “bat,” to the impressive scope of issues (of both the local and global varieties) which The Daily’s staff is traditionally capable of probing in each volume with utmost subtlety of analysis and keenness of eye. But here I’ll do the economical thing and squeeze all that juicy Daily cliche into one slimmed down, easy to swallow package.

You see, certain critics (not excluding irritable alumni and parents) like to “rake muck” by pronouncing that we columnists regurgitate the same old columns year after grindingly dull year, producing and reproducing ad nauseam/infinitum such triteness as “What I Did This Summer (Besides Eat, Sleep, and Work)” or “Fill Lake Lag” or maybe “Stanford Cops and the OSA and All Important Administrative Figures Can !@#$!@(*&$%.” Maybe if I stuff it all into one column, get it out of the way, I say to myself, these loud-mouthed strumpets will quit their slandering.

So, first off, I want to declare that What I Did This Summer was this: I delightfully frittered away my summer on the simultaneously flammable and inflammable pastures of the Farm, hitting golf balls in all manner of direction, velocity, and spin and conducting research. Unfortunately, nothing eventful whatsoever occurred, and, thus, spinning an edgy and hip column out of such a dull 10 weeks would be a formidable challenge — a challenge that a Daily columnist, of course, could meet.

And then there’s always FMOTQ, which is approaching with the speed of, well, a lunar cycle. I know freshmen haven’t yet had the acronym hardwired into their puny brains after nearly 10 days of Stanford programming, you know, when you add up Admit Weekend and NSO, carry the one and all that, so to clarify: F(ull) M(oon) O(n) T(he) Q(uad), only the most over-hyped and watered down Stanford tradition of all time! Normally, I’d say we ought to have at least two or three columns devoted to teaching freshmen how to pronounce the thing. That way we could all learn to be adept at complaining about how disappointing it will invariably be!

I could say something about Big Game, but ever since we started to suck, no one talks pigskin anymore. So instead, what about some roommate drama, or an exegesis on the latest bonehead move by geek of the century, Mark Zuckerberg? And of course we’ll need another go at categorizing the (pick a number) types of campus bikers, including a witty dig at grad students in helmets. Or a shocking and in-depth exposition on the everyday life of the Daily Columnist (oh so exotic!) in a journalistic move unrivaled in narcissism. What about some explanation to that classic metaphysical quandary: the nonexistence of the Stanford Dating Scene?

Sadly, it’s been nearly 800 words, and we’re barely past midterms of fall quarter (OK, I took some liberties at the beginning). But maybe that’s a good thing. The freshmen could use a fresh slate of “rehashed” columns, and maybe so could I. Many of us will faithfully read the Opinions section no matter how repetitive it is said to be, which is, in truth, not nearly as repetitive as some critics make it out to be. I’ll read that New York Times publication when I want politics. The homey columns that form the backbone of this Opinions operation are hewn of an ancient and time-tested stone, so try to show some respect, why don’t you?

But there’s no need to despair, cynics. Last year we got Azia Kim. This year, who knows what scandal Donald Rumsfeld will bring? Something legendary always goes down, as they say, and then we can all cherish it for years, long years, until we’re old enough to browse The Daily at work from faraway offices in downtown Palo Alto or Mountain View and, between sips of coffee, debate whether to scold these students so exultant in their immaturity, or to laugh.