Privilege vortex

In keeping with the goals I set for myself this semester, I decided to marathon "Breaking Bad" on Netflix this past week. Schoolwork will come and go, but television series are cultural icons that will live on for at least a few years. However, because I maxed out my credit card buying Crimea from the Russians—I’m doing renovations, it’s really nice now, I promise—my subscription to Netflix was promptly cancelled. I don’t have a lot of experience dealing with my own emotions since I essentially am being forced into helping you all with your mediocre problems, so I was at a loss of how to deal with this personal tragedy.

Because I have no idea how to live without money, your guardian devil decided to use this hopefully once in a lifetime experience to teach normally privileged (but not as privileged as me) Duke students how to get by without a black Amex card in hand. So after spending four hours watching Taylor Swifts’ “Blank Space” video, which was coincidentally filmed at my summer house (I did not appreciate Taylor damaging my car) and looking at Kim Kardashian’s booty, which did seem to "Break the Internet," likely because I had nowhere to go and the Wellness Dorm has a porn filter for its WiFi.

To all the well-to-do’s, I realized that the cheapest thing to do if I couldn’t binge drink, eat or mindlessly watch television, would be to exercise. The gift of healthy living is free, which probably explains why no one wants it. Yet, in an effort to teach you all how easy it is to not have money—after all, mo money mo problems—I thought I would engage in a little exercise in poverty by going for a run.

Now, I’m pretty sure that God has decided to bring on the apocalypse early (definitely for North Carolina’s approval of gay marriage or a belated anger about Civil Rights), but upon experiencing the great outdoors during my brief run from the bus stop to the traffic circle, I got frostbite. The rumors are true—the polar vortex is back and angry. During my painful wait in the cold, where I called Duke Vans to take me back to the Chapel, I came to a sobering realization—yeah, I pregamed my run a bit—that from now until Last Day of Classes this campus would essentially be a wasteland of North Face jackets, darkness, depression and winter weight gain. My doctor told me that my heart was already cold as ice, so in the interest of my health I learned I should minimize my time outside, since I don’t need additional exposure to cruelty. Regardless, from what this semester has taught me so far, it seems that most Duke students are reasonably warm and loving so I advise that you all spend more time outside in the hinterland known as Duke so that you can be more frigid and unloving like me. As much as I hate the polar vortex, I respect it since we are kindred spirits—being hauntingly dark and cold are great qualities, since they’ve obviously gotten me into this position of power.

Because of doctor’s orders and a lack of funds this week to jet off to somewhere warm and exciting like Saudi Arabia, the only other respite for a student like me was to do what I’ve been avoiding for years—going to a Duke athletic event. Your guardian devil is going to assume that most of you basics know how athletic events work here since everyone seems to worship those who are more physically fit and loves waiting for lines as seriously as if Line Monitors are handing out food stamps. Your guardian devil showed up to the Duke vs. Presbyterian game half expecting to see some sort of religious holy war on the court, but mostly disappointed to just be watching a basketball game where it seemed like professional athletes were slaughtering kindergartners who just learned how to dribble. To anyone still needing advice on how to succeed at Duke, your guardian devil, despite not having any money to back up my claims, has learned that this victorious basketball game is essentially a microcosm of what Duke students want to be—just so freaking good at something that, no matter how easy it is, so that you can inflate your ego and mercilessly mock your enemies.

Duke football is in a different league of its own, mostly because the games are played outside and Durham is either too hot or too cold to be away from centralized air conditioning or heating so I can’t really speak much about those athletics since I decided that not freezing to death was more important. However, your guardian devil knows that some of you are masochists, so I imagine what you’ve learned from watching Duke football this week is actually what Duke students know to be true—no matter how hard you try, you can still fail—a lesson more actually akin to what Duke is really like—keep this in mind, potential students.

Because Mommy and Daddy are vacationing on separate space stations and I won’t have any money until Tuesday, I’m utterly stumped on what else to tell you besides the fact that not being able to spend copious amount of money online or in person absolutely sucks. Seriously, I blame my awesome upbringing for not teaching me to appreciate the simpler things in life like community or friends or sports or the C1. The higher ups in the Duke administration, Counseling and Psychological Services and my nutritionist, have all told me this is likely a sign that I draw much of my self-worth, personality and attitudes from my privilege, not from within. They’re probably right, since I now know from my week of half-assed life experiences in poverty—but mostly boredom—that there’s nothing better than having too much money. The life lesson here, my followers, is that the privilege vortex is much better than a polar one and if you don’t experience the former, we have nothing worthwhile in common.