I’m Lena Chapin. I am graduating from John Carroll University with a double major in English and communications with a focus on writing. I’m just kidding.

Rather, I thought I’d be all nostalgic and sentimental by sharing with you some of my favorite memories of the past four years. That gets boring though, so I’ll limit it to five.

Freshman year: The dance parties and Rhapsody Blue-stalking tendencies of the Murphy 4W will go down in history and be forever relived via YouTube. Camp out on Murphy Lawn during Senior Week?

Sophomore Year: I developed a taste for cinnamon tea and Kit-Kats, as well as other things, with my Facebook wife, Margaret Gleeson, and the rest of my “night time friends.” I’m so stoked for the second cap and gown party. 

Junior Year: Spending hours upon hours on the broken pink futon listening to Matt Nathanson with my roommate Laura. As it turns out, her torn ACL and my general laziness really came in handy considering JCU brought him to campus not once, but twice. It only reaffirmed my love for this school.

Senior Year: Karaoke nights at the Purple Shamrock have never failed to be a good time. Whether I knew the words or not, everything from Bootylicious to Otis Redding has been belted on Carroll News-free Tuesday nights. I’ve found that there is nothing better than having all of your roommates, most of your friends, and your fellow Blue Streaks in two tiny rooms with corn hole and microphones.

Overall: Realizing that the year was full of last-firsts (day of school, Jake’s Night, etc.) and first-lasts (Labrepalooza, Sweet Carrollines concert, time I’ll see three-fourths of you) and taking full advantage of it. And by full, I mean full; check my GPA if you don’t believe me. (Dad, I’m kidding.)

 Wasn’t that fun? The great senior struggle with column writing is whether to go out with humor, or seriousness, or take the typical route and try to provide those of you who are left to carry on the legacy with advice. I think that Baz Luhrmann and Mary Schmich took the cake with the departing advice realm, so I won’t attempt to repeat that. (For those of you who I completely lost with that please do  yourselves a favor and watch “Everyone’s Free [To Wear Sunscreen]” on YouTube). However, I will say a few things that I wish someone had told me.

Don’t let college ruin your love of recreational reading.

If there is ever anything going on in the Atrium, participate. If there is nothing going on, turn on the Jukebox and start a dance party. I personally recommend 1007.

Your professors really are awesome. Start dropping in on them early. They give great advice, and it’s a lot easier to come in late for class if they know what is going on in your life.

You’ve only got four years. It will seem so slow and so fast at the same time. Say what you want to say. Do the things that make you and others happy. Be friendly, and read the entire Carroll News every week (or at least op/ed and diversions).

I often think when watching her show that the melodrama of it all is annoying and her facial expressions never really change, whether she’s happy, sad or giving away humpback whales. 

It always annoyed me that she gave away free cars. Not everyone needs a free car, especially when they have to pay for gas, insurance and taxes on that brand new freebie. 

I get mad with most of the give-aways. For instance, a few weeks ago I was forced to watch Oprah because the cast of “Glee” was on her show. She talked to them for awhile, but then doing her philanthropic duty took over. 

She brought in the best show choir in the nation, had them perform, and then gave them a brand new grand piano. That was all well and good, except these kids had just performed in head-to-toe flashy 17th century ball gowns and velvet suits that they had bought on their own. 

Coming from a show choir that was a little more Glee-esque with one broken, out of tune, old piano and thirteen-year-old hand-me-down costumes that made us look like hostesses, I became a little upset with Oprah for once again giving something to those who weren’t very needy. 

It sparked some anger and I changed my Facebook status to “I hate Oprah. I don’t know why; she just makes me angry.” It immediately sparked a response.  After eight comments and two likes, I found out that I wasn’t alone in my unjustified distaste for the woman. 

Many of the comments suggested I write my column on the matter, and what the public demands I deliver. So I sat down to write, but in the good sense of scholarship I decided I should be a little more educated on the topic. So I did what any self-respecting soon to be college graduate would do in my situation … I Wiki’d her. 

Turns out I can’t hate Oprah. I can disagree with what she does and a few of the ways she uses her money, but all in all, that woman deserves and has earned quite a bit of my respect. 

Did you know that her teenage mother raised her, in poverty? Her life didn’t get easier for a long time. She has been through an amazing amount of hardships, experiencing everything from rape to the loss of a child. She has overcome so much that it isn’t any wonder why she is so well-loved by the American population. 

Even though I can’t bring myself to love her, I have to admit that my opinion has been swayed a little bit. No, I still don’t agree she should have nearly as much power as she does. She has been called the most influential woman in the world and I think that’s a crock of hooey. She hosts a talk show for gosh sakes. 

I respect the fact that she took her life and turned it around to launch her own production company, magazine, book club, school for girls, and whatever else she has under her belt. As an entrepreneur she’s amazing; as a philanthropist she’s good, but could be a bit better; as a person she’s probably doing her best like everyone else out there. 

If there is one thing I’ve learned from Oprah, it’s the age-old tale of don’t judge a book by its cover. 

It’s easy to judge people and your initial interaction without getting to know them or anything about them, but it’s important to keep in mind that there is a whole life behind these people that you don’t even know about.  You can’t just decide someone is annoying or weird and hate them for no reason. 

Who knows, you could be missing out on your best friend.

I mean, I expect myself to be busting out some box steps and singing at the top of my lungs, but to walk into the newsroom and see two 22-year-old self-proclaimed chauvinists jamming out to “Defying Gravity” was a bit out of the norm. It was quite entertaining though. The boys were taking a study break for a bit of inspiration and what better song to choose that that one? “No wizard that there is or was, is ever gonna bring me down!” See?

Later that week, in not one, but three of my classes, the song “My Favorite Things” from “The Sound of Music” came up. It was pretty funny watching professors Brian Macaskill and George Bilgere reference the song and then hum the next few lines in their heads. “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens” said by graying men with their doctorates is always amusing, but picturing these two in lederhosens added to the hilarity.  Even professor Patrick McBrine sang a bit of the ditty in my medieval literature class, changing the lyrics and adding his own medieval-themed words.

My professors aren’t the only ones making musical references, though. It’s been the trend for television shows to do musical episodes. One of my favorites, by far, has been the rendition of “West Side Story” in “Scrubs.” It only lasted for a few seconds, but seeing Turk and J.D.  snap and sashay down the hallway made the season. “Always Sunny in Philadelphia” took it to the next level by writing their own musical. Their “The Night Man Cometh” was definitely a hit. Charlie can compose a musical for me anytime as long as he doesn’t let Frank, Dennis and Mac anywhere near it.

I think the reason that this phenomenon has caught my attention was because of my past. You see, I grew up without cable, so I spent my time watching musicals on VHS over and over. I’m pretty sure I watched “Fiddler on the Roof” about 73 times. The best part of it was that my dad would generally watch and sing along. His favorite musical is “West Side Story” and it’s very apparent when my niece Aaliyah is around.  “Aaliyah. I just met a girl named Aaliyah,” he’ll sing.

I grew up thinking my dad was the best man in the world. I thought he looked just like Indiana Jones and could solve any problem. I especially thought that he was awesome when he would take me to the musicals. I remember going to see “Grease” when I was, maybe, eight and listening to the soundtrack the whole way there and back. Though, these days, he doesn’t resemble Harrison Ford and he can’t decide my life for me, I still thank him for the fact that when I was little I thought that every man was a musical fan.

I find it sad that these days it’s not necessarily “cool” or “macho” to be a fan of musicals. I think that all men should embrace the awesomeness of singing and dancing through life events. I encourage all men to go against this oppression of appreciation.

Why not swing around the light posts in O’Malley once in a while and belt out a line from “The Music Man?” Why not learn every word to “9600” from “In the Heights” (it’s pretty hip, despite the fact I described it as hip)? Why not let the world know that you absolutely love “Wicked”? You’ll feel so much better, probably attract more girls (or at least cooler ones) and you’ll bring me one step closer to achieving my life goal of living in a musical.

In case you haven’t ever been to Immokalee or even heard of it, its population is largely made up of migrant farm workers. These people spend long days under the Sun dealing with pesticides and back-breaking work to make sickeningly low wages.

Seriously, field workers have to pick over two and a half tons of tomatoes just to earn the equivalent of Florida minimum wage for a 10-hour workday. Not only that, but when working for these crappy wages that aren’t enough to pay for housing and feed their families, they don’t know if they’ll even make it back home at night. 

There have been seven documented cases of modern day slavery in Florida since 1997 where farm workers have been held against their will, beaten, chained and even murdered. That’s just part of Immokalee’s story.

There are people in the world who think that the more friends you have and the more money you have, the better person you are. They base success on how many people you can say “hi” to on campus.

In our college atmosphere it’s easy to get caught up in this, but after spending a week working, talking and protesting with these people, we realized that there really is no correlation between money and friends and being “good.” 

These men and women got up every morning before dawn to face exploitation and even slavery for a single purpose: to support their families. 

Whether they sent what little money they made home to another country or spent it on their children right there in Immokalee, these men and women were the faces of determination and strength. They dedicate their lives to better the lives of their families and their community members.

We call ourselves at John Carroll University “men and women for others,” but are we? Sure, we do service and talk about social justice, but when we get out into the real world are we going to continue to work for others? 

Would we be willing to sacrifice that much for our friends and families or will we simply be worried about making sure we look good to others? Will we be interested in working towards a better world or will we just complain because we don’t have any ketchup in the cafeteria?

 Being men and women for others isn’t about being wealthy or poor it’s about being conscious of those around you.

 I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life, but after coming home from this Spring Break trip, I know that no matter what I end up doing my goal is to live out my title as a “woman for others.”

Anyway, although it isn’t my favorite Queen song (that title goes to “Bohemian Rhapsody,” duh) I have had quite a strong connection to it lately. In fact, for the past few months it has been the theme song of my life.

Something is wrong with me. I have had chronic headaches for about three weeks now and I keep falling asleep. I can’t figure it out.

I thought at first that it was lack of sleep due to the grueling hours Craig Willert and I put into this here newspaper to ensure that the editorial and op/ed sections are up to par. I have since ruled out this possibility.

I know it isn’t a lack of caffeine because I’ve been through rehab for my Mountain Dew addiction before and this isn’t the same thing.  I would tell you how I know it’s not a sinus infection, but that may be crossing the grossness line.

So what I’ve attributed it to is the fact that all of the pressures of my life have combined to attack one section of my head at a time. I think it’s an excellent theory. Here’s why:

I’ve got lots of things to be pressured about. One is this very column that you are reading. Apparently, I write pretty interesting things because people read them.

A few Saturdays ago there may or may not have been a party in my basement. I walked downstairs and was practically run down by a fan. Seriously, he was being ushered out by his friend when he grabbed my arm and said something along the lines of “I don’t remember your name, but I love your column. I’m weird too!” (He was referring to the Chapstick in the Feb. 11 issue. If you haven’t read it, do it.) Now, whenever I think of this interaction my head starts to hurt. I have to write something worth reading, something meaningful. Unfortunately, this column probably won’t be it.

Another thing pushing down on me is something that’s probably also pushing down on you: school. It’s midterm time or nearing it for most people, meaning that assignments are due and tensions are high.

My classes aren’t all that hard, but it is difficult to try and keep everything straight–especially when trying to maximize the excellence of my senior year.

Yes, unfortunately for all of you who have joined me in this addiction (ha ha, get it?) there are only a few installments left, which leads me to my next point.

I have to come up with a future. It is quite a big task. College teaches you that you have to figure out who you are and then after that the possibilities are endless. However, college didn’t count on an economic crisis.

It kind of stinks that whenever you tell anyone in the “real world” that you are a senior they look at you with pity in their eye and say “I’m sorry. So what are you doing next year?” Pressure is high.

But I’m not the only one going through any of this. That’s the beauty of college. We all are subjected to this amount of pressure at the same time.

It’s cool to know that even in my misery and constant head pounding there’s someone right there with me. That’s solidarity, people. Dig it, I know I do.

So if the next time you see me, I look as though I’m carrying an elephant or two on my back, give me a high five and whisper “dun dun dun da da dun dun.”

I promise I’ll laugh and be up for a dance party or even a few verses of “Ice Ice Baby” if Queen isn’t your thing.

Articles have been popping up for weeks on our homepages giving us dating tips or explaining to us how men think. Erin Meanly from Glamour magazine must have read our minds because her article was the first thing that caught Laura’s eye when she signed on the Internet.

Erin explained exactly where we as women had gone wrong in seven reasons: 1. We feel entitled 2. We think we have unlimited options 3. We’re judgmental 4. We’re pickier than men 5. We go for the alpha males 6. We love ourselves more 7. We think he needs to share every interest.

After reading the article and agreeing for the most part, I realized that I, like most women, had fallen into her trap. This isn’t how I had gone wrong. This isn’t even how I think.

So because I have a strong affinity for putting off reading for class and also for making lists, I made a list of why I fail at love. 

1. I am weird. Seriously, I am one of the most bizarre people I know. I freak guys out.

2. I spent my Saturday night reading dating articles online. Let’s take a minute and analyze that. Gay, straight, bi-sexual, whatever, if you’re home on a Saturday night, or if you spend most of your time reading why you aren’t in a relationship, you aren’t going to meet anyone.

3. I’m too busy to notice. If I ever actually put effort into my appearance and get checked out or complimented, I am confused at why people are looking at me or I start laughing.

I’m sure there are many other reasons, but I also have a short attention span so on to my next point. So what if I don’t have a boyfriend, girlfriend or even a valentine? That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the holiday.

In my analysis, this is one of the best ones out there for everyone. Think about it. You walk into any store and you are greeted by shelves and shelves of candy. Chocolate, red and pink Runts, and strawberry daiquiri Jelly Bellies are only a few of the magnificent treats lining the walls.

Also, the absolute best movies are on TV. “Serendipity,” “The Notebook,” “You’ve Got Mail,” you can’t tell me that you don’t love curling up on the couch with candy and watching Hanks, Gosling and Cusack woo their women. (Guys, if you haven’t seen these movies, watch them, take notes and if you feel like crying, go for it.)

Finally, Valentine’s Day marks some memorable event each year. Like last year, when I watched “Step Brothers” twice and introduced my best friend to dessert waffles (ice cream, strawberries, waffles, mmm). Or the year my stepmom bought me sexy Tweety-Bird pajamas. Talk about an oxymoron. Or even in seventh grade when I made cookies for my “boyfriend,” got my present and a kiss, and dumped him the next day. (Sorry, Weaver. If it makes you feel any better, I still use the comb set every day.) 

So in conclusion, all of you out there with a special someone this weekend: flaunt it, enjoy it, live it up. For all of you without someone, don’t put my holiday down. Grab some candy, a movie and get cozy, or better yet get out and enjoy yourself, because anything is better than sitting around on a Saturday (or Sunday) and reading about why you are alone.

I’m really getting freaked out by the fact that suddenly I’m relating better with my 39-year-old sister than my 15-year-old nephew. We both hit up great deals at New York & Company and spent the holidays comparing prices of pencil skirts. 

On my way home the other day I drove past a friend’s home and actually said aloud, “They really need to paint that house.” I knew at that moment that I was in fact becoming more mature. Weird. 

Lately, I have been trying to reverse this process with little actions like wearing Batman belts to formal parties and balancing on curbs whenever I walk somewhere. But then I had an epiphany. 

Getting old is going to be sweet. Sure the adult thing may not be that exciting, but becoming a senior citizen sure will be. Think about it. You have the whole respect your elders thing going for you, so you can get away with whatever you want. There is a poem by Jenny Joseph called “When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple” that speaks of the brilliance I am talking about. Let’s take a gander, shall we? 

“I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells.” How awesome would it be seeing an old woman laughing slyly in the corner as thousands evacuate the theater during a particularly awful movie.

 “And run my stick along the public railings
/And make up for the sobriety of my youth.” I can definitely see myself dragging my cane, which I purchased specifically for this purpose, across every fence I see. Wrought iron, wood, whatever it’s getting clanked. Plus, “making up for the sobriety of my youth” holds a lot of entertaining possibilities considering it will be free of worry about the potential photos that will end up on Facebook the next day. 

“I shall go out in my slippers in the rain/
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens/
And learn to spit.” Classic and classy, I’m totally for it. 

These lines give me hope for my senior citizenship. They inspired me to make a few old lady vows of my own. Here’s what I have so far: I shall eat stewed tomatoes daily, but throw prunes at whoever tries to give them to me. I shall stare at people on public transportation until they volunteer their seat or conversation. I shall remove my teeth at inappropriate times. I shall exaggerate the stories of my youth and take full advantage of senior discounts everywhere I go. 

I have also compiled a list of the many perks of being old. These are just the obvious ones: discounts at the movies, practically free Bob Evans cuisine, bridge games (which are really just a cover for drinking and talking about dirty things with my friends), young boys carrying my groceries to my car, retirement, also known as the entire day to watch soaps and trash TV, grandkids, and immunity from criticism. 

There are the less obvious perks as well, electric scooters, free snow and lawn care, that really cool old person smell, a sudden inherent obsession with game-show hosts, and an excuse to buy moth balls. What could be better? I know I’m pumped. 

So here’s to getting older, to the wrinkles, the old lady perms, the Depends and the false teeth. Here’s to growing old but not up and to the days when we can “make up for the sobriety of our youth.