Surviving Freshman Year: Prescriptions for the Perplexed Proselyte

Reinvent yourself. Change your name to Wendelmoet Jones and adopt the mannerisms of Cecil Vyse. Record ensuing experiences in your journal, and see #7.
Don’t just bring a car to campus. Bring a hearse. It will come in handy for transporting dirty laundry, crates of books, and the bones of bumbling bureaucrats.
Decorate your dorm room with garlands of fennel and radishes. Watch them slowly rot and compose sad poetry comparing them to your soul. You will win a prize and a coterie of devotees.
If you are having a problem with your roommate, do not discuss it with her in an adult manner. Instead, take up the banjo, or similar cacophonous instrument. Practice from Matins to Lauds. Your roommate will soon move in with her hapless boyfriend.
If Step 4 fails and the problem persists, smother your roommate with her tasteless shag rug that has become a supermarket for despicable vermin. Dispose of body, see #2.
Try out as many clubs as possible. You might even start your own. Some ideas: Society for the Alleviation of First World Problems, Consortium of Cantankerous Cannibals, or a handcraft group open only to those who work with the hair of their dead relatives.
Keep a journal. Look back years later and cry a salty ocean of humiliation.
Go to every career fair. Once there, approach each representative and enumerate your many fine qualities, such as your ability to offend people without ever having met them, and discern the flavor of a melon by listening to it.
Keep a to do list. If you can do this on your thumbnail, Papa Thoreau will return from the grave and festoon you with laurels.
Ask questions. Do not ask, “But, like…what even is a god?” Contrary to what you have been told, there are stupid questions. That is one.
Get the most out of your meal ticket, like Jim Morrison. The freshman 15 is for milquetoasts. Enlarge your body in proportion to your soul. Jim Morrison on Why Fat is Beautiful
Do not ask frat boys if they think Virtue can be taught. That is not what is meant by “Greek life.”
If you’re trying to study and feeling stuck, locate the highest point on campus, ascend thence, and launch your entire library the heads of passersby while proclaiming, “Woeful sinner that I am, I deserve thee not – ah, me!”
Try to keep your room tidy, but if mushrooms begin to grow in the corners despite your efforts, do not despair. Make a frittata. A despair frittata.
Categorize your contemporaries according to Oscar Wilde’s words: “I choose my friends for their good looks, my acquaintances for their good characters, and my enemies for their intellects.” If, however, you find yourself surrounded by reprobates with the acuity and aesthetics of garden toads, drop out. Take your banjo and live in the hills as a hermit skilled in leechcraft.