The Wrong Advices

Today, I have been commissioned to give advice to impressionable incoming freshmen at a Cornell event out in Newton.

Basically, these kids -- teenagers, in fact -- will come to this event. There, they will be looking for advice and reassurances before they head off for college next week.

Instead, they will be confronted with a brash, loud Mexican constructed from 200 pounds of beer and red meat. His body, in the thankless and futile task of cleaning out his system, will sweat copiously, producing a liquid that is suspiciously reminiscent of full-grain whiskey.

There, this creature will hold court and tell these kids to break up with their girlfriends at home, 'cause, you know, you're going to be in college now so let's be real. He'll tell them to focus on extracurriculars, that it's OK to skip class every once in a while, and that at some point you become immune to hangovers -- all it takes is practice, practice, practice.

Meanwhile, the parents who brought their kids to this event will be busy finding torches and pitchforks to destroy this creature before it can corrupt again.

This is liable to end badly. I have made efforts to tone it down, and have promised to keep my advice and answers family-friendly and calm. I have pledged to do the utmost not to scare the kids and their parents.

As if I wasn't apprehensive enough about this whole arrangement, today I realized that the kids with whom I'll be speaking are incoming freshmen. This means that they were born in 1991. This means that they are somehow, incredibly, members of the Class 0f 2013.

So now one terrified group will meet an equally terrified monster.

Pray for me. More importantly, pray for these kids. They'll definitely need it.