It was what we were all waiting for &- an assertive and confrontational President Barack Obama. He served the GOP its first warm can of whoop-ass at the televised Q&'A session at the House Issues Conference in Baltimore, digging into on any Republican with inconsistent stats and faulty arguments. House Minority Leader John Boehner (unfortunately pronounced Bay-ner) sat idly by on stage, the glow of his fake tan paling as his heart sank.

As George Washington stepped down as the first president of the United States, he advised the country with these words: "The great rule of conduct for us in regard to foreign nations is... to have with them as little political connection as possible."

What's in a name? Apparently everything.

I ventured down to Brown University this past weekend to visit some friends, get my fix of the classic, quaint, red-brick-building collegiate experience and dabble a little in the surreal social scene of an Ivy League school. Harvard University parties are guest list only, so I had to travel farther.

The lights are off. It is completely dark except for the faint glow of the television. The room is totally silent. Seemingly incomprehensible images come up on the screen. Polar bears? Hydrogen bombs? A four-toed foot statue? You meekly venture an inquiry as to what is happening but the only response you get is a very annoyed and uniform "SHHHHH!"

I'm the kind of guy who gets tipsy on the first night of December and hangs Christmas decorations up in his anything-but-luxurious Allston apartment. I'm also the kind of guy who feels slightly bad when his roommates and their girlfriends quietly poke their heads out of bedroom doors and politely ask, 'Billy, would you mind turning 'Santa Baby' down a little'hellip; and why are you in your boxers dancing on a chair?'

People you haven't talked to in years are sending you pictures of their children. No one is complaining about the guy who keeps his Christmas lights up all year. 'Stuff my stocking' is a socially acceptable phrase. It all points to one thing: the holiday season. Instead of getting them real presents, we're letting our interns take over the column this week. Be kind to these Guest Nancies; they're not very good at this.

It would be difficult, perhaps even impossible, for me to legitimately claim to be a private individual. Sure, there are a few genres of emotion I keep under lock and key, and with other people's secrets I am a veritable vault (one less susceptible than that of a sauced-up Elaine Benes), but I have trouble bringing to mind any secrets I myself have.

My mother took my sister to look at colleges during Spring Break the year I was in seventh grade, and I went along. I had a certainty and a temper that far outshone my sister's, though she was the actual adolescent. I previewed each school and made judgments with heartbreaking severity.

If you had asked me six months ago how to properly prune a tomato plant, or the difference between green zebra and beefsteak tomatoes, I would have laughed. Since May, however, I've learned bushels about organic farming '- by reading seed catalogues, by nagging busy farmers at the market, but mostly by sticking my hands in the dirt, yanking out a stem and hoping I get a weed.

I've been trying my best over these past few months to avoid clich'eacute; through sentimentalism. I ventured toward emotional sincerity with my O'Reilly tirade, but it was still something surmised at arm's length.

Have you seen the BU athletic situation? We don't have a football team! Why can't we have one so this school can get some classic all-American Hooooo-Rah spirit?

I'm not exactly what some might refer to as 'a movie person.' It probably started when I was a kid, when my parents were fairly strict with what my sisters and I were allowed to watch, and therefore, it was a rare occasion until early-ish in my double-digit-age years (don't underplay the importance of that 10th birthday) that we watched a movie with cursing, gratuitous promiscuity, etc.