After hours of mulling over my options regarding the ultimate way to get involved in Columbia's far-reaching realm of stern-but-loving influence, it occurred to me that the most positive thing that I could do for my new community would be to whore myself at The West End--our local Freshman-Orientation-Themed bar.

Hard work, preparation and blind perseverance have always been my strategies for getting involved with anyone or anything. Training for this sluttish endeavor was not easy: I spent nineteen hours researching the Internet's finest pick-up lines. I was able to memorize only six, but they were really good . . . really good. I also picked out my most revealing clothes (a see-through gauzy black top, tight leather chaps, and flip flops that left very little to the imagination).

With my fake, fake, fake identification card in hand, and no cash in my pocket, I set off for Broadway. Cars, cabs, and pedestrians slowed their pace to catch a glimpse of the enticing piece of man-meat prowling the street. Parents held their children a little closer.

Within minutes, I was seductively perched at the Northeast corner of the rectangular bar. I was sure to make my posture as perfectly suggestive and inviting as possible: back to the bartender, pelvis to the crowd, right elbow resting in the bowl of pretzels, left eye opened slightly more than the right, etc.

While I got plenty of looks, no one was taking the time to get involved with me at first. I started off engaging the occasional classmate (that GS chick in my Chemistry recitation who still has braces, the girl from my LitHum class with a mowhawk and acne, etc.) in inane small talk.

I tried all of my Internet pick-up lines, but, for some reason, none of them worked--not even the one where you spit on someone and suggest that they "get out of those wet clothes."

With my research proven to be worthless, and my hard work therefore negated, my blind perseverance was being tested. I was at my wits' end: a poor little Freshman, alone in a big city with no one to buy him drinks. Things were bad.

A forty-something year-old Dominican man had been eyeing me from across the bar all evening. When his life partner finally got up to go to the bathroom, he approached me and offered to buy me a drink.

Hell, as long as I didn't have to sit on his lap or anything, I figured it was a harmless offer.

It was then that I saw the bigger picture.

Getting involved in the Columbia community does not only pertain to activities and people immediately related to the university itself; after all, this is Columbia University ļin the City of New York.' Therefore, it is important that we students consider ourselves part of a larger community and get involved with people in the city, not just fellow students or staff-members.