As her time on East Hill draws to a close, Leigha Kemmett '10 wonders which friends she will still in touch with, and why.

The Greek system refuses to be honest about and meaning and function of frat and sorority life. They aren't the only ones living in denial, but they could sure use an ego-check.

As I write this, I am sitting on a flight from Mexico to the U.S., sad to be on my way home after an amazing Spring Break. For the past week, I’ve snorkeled, sunbathed, sailed and sipped margaritas. But my number one favorite Spring Break pastime? People watching.

Every year, college kids descend on beach locales for little more reason than to get trashed and smoosh up against each other (see: Jersey Shore). They descend on these cities with little more than bikinis and a few dollars, and they return to school sunburned and sporting a whopping new case of gonorrhea.

Graduation is swiftly approaching, and some people are scrambling to complete the list of 161 things to do before you graduate. While I never sought to complete the list, in close to four years in Ithaca, it’s pretty easy to get a lot done. What’s more important, frankly, is to amass a list of things not to do during your time at Cornell. And so I’ve compiled such a list — a list of things I will absolutely not do again, and that I would recommend you avoid as well. Thus, here it is: a list of things not to do in Ithaca before you graduate, or after you graduate, or really ever at all, from an old and experienced senior.

The Jersey Shore has been clogging up my DVR for weeks. The show and its “stars” are everywhere — on magazine covers, red carpets and most noticeably in just about every conversation on and around campus. Everyone is obsessed with Snooki’s pouf or the Situation’s situation.

Recently, the Interfraternity Council introduced a new rule establishing a 2.25 minimum grade point average for new fraternity recruits. This decision is contradictory to much of what the IFC strives to promote about fraternities and is, frankly, stupid and exclusionary.

Let’s talk about driving. For those of you who do not drive, this also applies, so don’t just put down this column thinking it’s irrelevant.

It’s cold, it’s icy, it’s often snowy. The roads here are full of potholes, dents and other treacherous features. Driving can be fun. But driving in Ithaca in the winter is not fun.

Growing up outside Boston, I learned the ins and outs of driving in Northeast winters: Do drive slowly. Don’t brake on ice. Do watch out for animals. Don’t swerve into other cars. Do look out for idiots.

Let’s cut right to the chase: The decision to cut the Swedish and Dutch programs from Cornell was a terrible one.

In case you’ve been living under a rock, Cornell’s Department of German Studies decided earlier this year to cut the Swedish and Dutch language programs to save some cash. Being that I am of Swedish descent, this was a mildly insulting and upsetting development. But beyond that, it seemed to be the dumbest decision Cornell has made in my time here — and I say that without exaggeration.

White privilege. Despite my pale, freckled, Irish and Swedish skin (trust me, it doesn’t get much paler than this), it’s not something I really think about on a regular basis.

At least until I go home to Massachusetts. My aunt, whose skin is just as pale and freckled as mine, is a professor at Tufts, teaching classes such as “African American History since 1865” and “Class, Race and Gender in the History of U.S. Education.” She dedicated her education and career to learning about the events that have created white privilege (she acknowledges, ironically, that she occupies a position of privilege as a professor at a majority-white university).

So every time I come home, I am reminded — reprimanded, almost — of the white privilege that my life has been steeped in. My family not only acknowledges our white privilege, but constantly points it out to each other so that we do not take our opportunities for granted.

The ego of the average Cornell student rivals that of Robert Mugabe or Napoleon. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Whether it is the obnoxious cell phone conversations on the Arts Quad, the half-sarcastic comments in a North Campus dining hall or just the sheer number of Cornell logos that can be seen on students on any given day, it is clear that the average Cornellian thinks that he is all that and a bag of chips.