Spring break is supposed to be exactly what its name implies: a break from everyday life, from classes and from any sort of academic thought other than “What did my professor say about the symptoms of chlamydia again?”

But alas, this promise is only bittersweet for me. I don’t know if it’s the timing—just after midterms, with finals on the horizon—or my own disgusting attempt to justify my college education through real-life applications, but common spring break occurrences seem to trigger a relevance back to the very schoolwork I try to escape.

For example:

Communication Arts: the Interstate pull-over

In no other spring break situation is an education in rhetoric put to the real-life test with so much to lose. You establish an ethos by throwing the radar detector in the glovebox and turning the stereo to country, oldies or easy listening. You check out your rhetorical audience as it walks to your door, noting whether the cop is having a good day or ready to hook you up to the chair.

Then come the big strategic decisions. Do you appear annoyed, plead ignorance, apologize profusely or offer your wallet when the cop asks for your license, making clear that it’s OK if it’s a little lighter when he returns it (provided there is no ticket)? Options abound, but like in any tense public speaking situation, just one rhetorical slip can end in failure.

Philosophy: drunk kids who lost their friends

Philosophy is the search for deeper truths, and perhaps no one is better suited to find them than the isolated and intoxicated, since both conditions tend to wipe away the situational fa