Do it in your undies

As my senior year progresses I am being forced to accept the fact that I am graduating in May. On Nov. 1, I went to my fourth consecutive and final LCS semiformal. Two weeks later, on Nov. 14, I went to senior pub night at Dewick. And yesterday, Wednesday, Nov. 20, I registered for classes for the last time in my life. It was one of the saddest days of my college career.

I know that I will miss many things about Tufts: the amazing friends, the inspiring professors, the random people I don't really know but still cordially say hello to, Jumbo, the Language Lab, (falling down) the Memorial Steps, Dowling Hall's air conditioning in the summer, and the ever-reliable Joseph's shuttle service. Still, the collective pain all of these things will cause me next year pales in comparison to the pain I currently feel, knowing that I will never register for classes again.

Registration was one of the most exciting and memorable parts of college. In the old days, when I was a wee freshman, registration was much more complicated and laborious. Students could not register from their own rooms. In the golden age of registration all Jumbos had to trudge to Eaton Hall to complete the process in-person. Back then registration marked the one day when hermits emerged from their dorm room caves, die-hard studiers left the reading room for five minutes, muscle heads did their cardio workout by running to Eaton, and heavily made-up girls put, like, an extra half an hour into their "look."

But, alas, those glorious days are long gone thanks to Tufts finally upgrading its registration system (only 13 years after every other university did). Now, instead of having to wait in excruciatingly long lines in the lobby of Eaton, students simply (try to) sign onto SIS Online.

The average number of attempts it takes to access the system before successfully logging- in is somewhere between 353 and 375. In my last registration ever, I defied all odds and was granted access after 231 tries. At 9:15 a.m. on the dot I got in and prayed that the system wouldn't crash as I frantically input course numbers and repeatedly hit the submit button.

I knew that if I didn't hit the submit button at least a dozen times per second I had no hope of beating the other people with my time. As an experienced registration veteran who had spent the past two weeks preparing _ doing the recommended finger clicking exercises and mouse workout _ I was confident that my selections would go through first. Luckily, they did, and I was able to get all four of the (low-demand) classes I wanted.

While registration day was always exhilarating, my favorite day of each semester was when the new course listings went up on the registrar's web page. I spent countless hours browsing through the classes, categorizing, and making a list of what I was going to take. Not only was this fun to do, but it was also an easily justifiable means of procrastination. After the courses were published I found it virtually impossible to do work for any of my classes. In my mind, the current semester ended when the next semester's listings came out.

Understanding this simple truth cleared up so many things in my life. Namely, my parents' million dollar question, "Adam, how is it possible that for the third year in a row your grades dropped two full letter grades between midterms and finals?"

This semester, I am trying to maintain my concentration and focus despite the heavy temptation to scour the registrar's page. So far, I am doing fairly well. I have only checked the page 15 times since registering 24 hours ago (much better than last year's 54).

To those who have already done the deed, I hope that your registration went as smoothly as mine. To the remaining sophomores, freshmen, and any straggling juniors and seniors, I wish you luck today and tomorrow. Don't take registering for granted, because the day will come when you're in my shoes.

Register with confidence. Register with pride. And most importantly, register from the comfort of your room, in your underwear.