My first year of college was more like a VH-1 Behind the Music, what with the sudden fame, the parties, drugs, and fancy pants, the eventual fall from grace and run in with the law, and the final life-altering decision. To make matters worse, it was in Los Angeles.

I took what you might call the long road to Columbia. Sure, everyone here has accepted me as an equal, but let's face it, I am still a transplant. I mean, transfer. That said, it would be very difficult for me to offer any of you any sort of sagely advice on how to navigate your first few months in our beloved Morningside Heights.

Now, I did spend a great deal of my youth in New York City, so there would obviously be much I could teach you about it. However, my peers and myself consider most of these bits of enlightenment to be closely guarded secrets, and we're not about to spill our guts about NYC to a bunch of greenhorns. No offense.

By now, you have probably had your fill of Orientation nonsense, and you're thinking, why am I wasting my time reading what this guy has to say when he wasn't even a freshman here? In anticipation of just this brand of insubordination, I racked my brain for a way to help you new people adjust to Columbia.

Then it dawned on me: the best way to learn about this school would be to get a job as an Admissions Tour Guide. So that's exactly what I did. Apparently, I was perfectly qualified, what with my until-now-underutilized ability to walk backwards and the fact that I voluntarily eat at Deluxe (don't hate me because I'm beautiful). As a tour guide, I have learned much indeed. I am not sure exactly how much of this will be useful to you, but I have tried to put a contemporary Fed spin on it all.

To be honest, when I first flipped through my inch-thick Undergraduate Tour Guide Handbook 1999-2000 (even the book is outdated), I nearly fell asleep. I pressed on though, partly because my job depended on it, but also partly because I was convinced there would be something of use in there.

For the first few days, the only solid advice I had for first years (I'm not allowed to refer to you lot as freshmen) was the location of Butler and the hours of Lerner. You're probably losing faith in me, and frankly, by that point, I was losing faith in myself. Surely this was not worth my time or the weekly lumberjack breakfast they were offering me as payment. I pressed on, though, in hopes that I would find something.

And as if Cthulu himself had placed one of his holy tendrils upon my head and opened my eyes, I saw it, a little-known fact about Columbia that could be quite useful to the most daring of horny first-years! Surely there is always the temptation for aquatic sex. I mean, come on, we're only human.

Sadly, this ain't the countryside or the suburbs, so pristine watering holes and the neighbor's pool are out of the question. What to do, you ask? Take my advice and overlook the obvious Olympic-size swimming pool at the bottom of the fitness center, for that is far too obvious.

It is a well-kept secret that the crew team keeps their practice tanks in the basement of Low Library. Well, maybe it's not a well-kept secret, but no one else really cares, so you are guaranteed privacy. Be careful, though, for the security office is only a floor above, and you'll have to get past them somehow to get to the basement. If you like a challenge, not to mention a great lovemaking anecdote, give this one a try. I would be interested to see how you all fare.