COLLEGE

My name is John Nolastname. I am eighteen years old, athletic,,with a great attitude and a knack for really weird facts. For example,did you know that its illegal to tie giraffesto telephone poles in NYC? Considering IONA is near the city,this could,potentialy,be an issue someday. I graduted from high school with few regrets or issues,and I'mreally looking forward to college life and learning.

I would like to know if you college offerspre-med courses,or even full on med,as II would liketo practice medicine for a living after graduation. I want to do this because I hate seeing people in pain and I want to be able to help them as best I can. Also,I would like toknow more about your athletics and student life.

The Future of John's Literacy

Sometime last week, I realized that I'd stopped reading. I don't mean that I couldn't read, or didn't want to, but that I'd stopped. I hadn't read a new book in weeks, months even. It bothered me alot. I remembered fond afternoons and mornings spent in peaceful contemplation of a James Patterson novel, or car trips where I'd soar on the back of a Paolinian dragon across Alagaesia. But now I spent mornings and evenings longing to fall asleep and on car trips I'd tune out the world with Fallout Boy (but lets be honest they're awesome).
Anyways, back to the issue at hand- I wasn't reading, and I felt normal to me. It felt ordinary. And I hated it. So faster than a bolt of lightning from Mount Olympus, I rushed to the nearest bookshelf, and from it I extracted a likely loking volume- The Call of the Wild. I settled down, cracked the cover, and at once was lost in the hard, brutal world of the Alaskan wilderness. I growled at cruel masters and gripped tightly to the ice when the team broke through. I dug into the snow and hid from the cold wind, and I howled as a wolf as the pack chased a snowshoe hare through the woods.
I had found it again- the world of words and papers and ink, which combine in the charmed pot of the human mind to open a magic portal into the human soul. Because I didn't go to Alaska with Buck, I was Buck, and I was in the part of my soul that is that dominant primordial beast, the one that howls with the wolves and fights for survival-beautiful, strong, harsh.

After finding this world again, I will not lose it again. I will read White Fang, and Chasing redbird, and the Color Purple, and Black beauty and a Farewell to Arms and the Lord of the rings and An interview with a vampire and the Hunrting of the Snark and Antigone and Julis Ceasar and To Kill a Mockingbird. And as I read them, my soul will grow to find all the places the words will tske me, and I shall never, ever feel ordinary again. I can't start on this soon enough.

Who has Most impacted my Literacy?

Like most people, I was born into this world with a perfect sculpted body and a medical degree from Harvard, so I had no issues learning how to read. Yeah, right. Not only is this statment completely false, but seventeen years later, my body sure as hell isn't sculpted, and I've got about as much chance as getting a medical degree from Harvard as my cat does(although, come to think of it, she spends most of her time sleeping on top of a copy of Grey's Anatomy, so she's probably better off). So the question is, how did one ten-pound squaling infant wih orange skin (long story) get here, to writing this blog?

In the immortal words of Riley Pool from National Treasure: "The aliens helped them."

In this case, the aliens were my parents. My mom had a very liberal attitude towards books, but she also believed in learning by experience. So after reading to me at night, when I'd beg for another story, she'd say, tommorrow night. So she'd get up, and leave the book next to my bed along with a flashlight. And being the bright young toddler that I was, I took advantage of the situation and taught myself how to read.

Now there was only issue with this. Once I learned how to read, I devoured my books. There wasn't a picture or story book that was safe from my voraciuos appetite for books. So, in an event similar to he library of Alexandria burning, I ran out of books to read.
This is where alien #2 came in, aka, my dad. My dad would read me Yeats poems at night until I could recite them by heart.
 And this is how the aliens helped me learn how to read.