I live in an apartment complex that lies squarely between two college campuses. Due to the sudden lack of parking on the street and the increase of people shouting, "Woo," at 3 a.m., I have determined that classes on both campuses start this week.

Woo!

Who doesn't look back fondly on those first few days of the semester, when they had yet to exhaust all the options available at the dining hall? That, of course, will happen sometime next week. Most college dining halls have around 12 meals that they prepare over and over again -- usually consisting of the same four ingredients.

My college had a soft-serve ice cream machine. Hooray! Soft-serve ice cream! Every day. Vanilla soft-serve ice cream that, for some totally inexplicable reason, they would not let you take outside of the dining hall. Hooray.

If you are a student, right now things are great. The football team has yet to lose all its games, a fire alarm has yet to send you to stand in the snow for 45 minutes without a jacket and it's still weeks before you finally trace that smell to its source: A hoagie sandwich that your roommate left under a pile of clothes.

But, of course, it's important to remember that there is serious business to be had at college. Namely, spending all the money your parents gave you on Keystone Light.

No. I'm kidding. You should definitely not do that. Keystone Light tastes awful.

There is also, occasionally -- when nothing good is on TV -- studying. To that end, I offer this advice to the class of 2008 (or, if you have my study habits, the class of 2067): Learn something useful.

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Really. Learn how to actually do something. I have heard that there are college degrees in wine making. That's a good one. At the end of it, you have wine. There is a long-running joke about taking underwater basket weaving, but it's a shame that there isn't such a thing. At the end of it, you would have a basket.

I was a political science major. At the end of that, I had nothing. Well, nothing apart from the good feeling you get from referencing Roscoe Pound when calling in to Rush Limbaugh.

What did I do with all my fancy-shmancy poli-sci learnin'? I joined the Global Media Conspiracy. Journalists are utterly worthless. You'll get no homemade wine or soggy baskets from us.

If you've somehow forgotten where you've put all your liquor, we may be able to help there, but beyond that we have no useful skills.

Recently, this point was driven home when I applied to join the Peace Corps.

"Oh, I'm afraid we don't really have a journalism need," the recruiter said.

Pity the country that would. There are houses to be built and diseases to be cured -- things have gone horribly wrong if some country calls the United States and pleads, "Send journalists!"

But that leaves me pretty much out of the loop. I was told to go away and learn how to garden or build a house. A head full of Rousseau and fridge full of Guinness do not a valuable citizen make.

Perhaps, though, mine can serve as a cautionary tale. Perhaps I can still be useful by sharing with today's young men and women some hard-leaned advice. Perhaps my frustration and suffering will all be worthwhile if it can help to brighten the future in even a small way.

So, again, college students of America, make yourself useful. And don't drink Keystone Light.