You might think, before coming to a moderately-to-highly selective campus such as UC Davis, that the student body is going to consist of like-minded, generally intelligent individuals. Yet here I am, writing in silent obscurity behind my war-torn Toshiba, surrounded by dudes discussing an extracurricular short film they’re making about gay samurai warriors. The wardrobe of the video, from what I gather, centers around the extensive use of rainbow motifs and quips involving katanas and anuses making conversational cameos. The skit in question stops short of a romance scene, however. Whoa, now: that would overstep the boundaries of basic discretion.

I feel compelled to add a quick disclaimer for my readership: this is not all about LGBT politics. Also, don’t see it as a crusade for boundless diplomacy and equal love for everyone — if you’ve read me before, you know I’ve already established that as an impossibility. In fact, this column isn’t pro-anything; it’s anti-idiot.

I shouldn’t have to be so wary in a facility of higher education, but experiences like this have come to teach me that if a university can’t provide sanctuary from stupidity, then nowhere can. I know the GPAs and SAT/ACT scores required to gain admission don’t exactly double as character bios, but you’d think they would reflect, to a certain extent, the caliber of a person’s general intelligence. On the contrary, I have learned that a college environment is to students as alcohol is to Mel Gibson: put the two together and the true colors flow freely.

To take this tirade off the “respect gay people!” track it started on, let’s segue into the trending topic of all the protesting that’s going on throughout Davis right now. If you haven’t seen the masses storming Mrak Hall, or driven past the handfuls pitching their tents in Central Park, or if the term “the 1%” still means nothing to you, then, by all means, stop reading and go experience the outside world. You have my blessing.

At this point you might be wondering what exactly the tie-in between the strikers and the good people of paragraph uno is. Don’t worry, I’m getting to that.

When it comes to said protesters, I’ve found that for every well-informed, economically/politically inclined picketer, there’s another whose knowledge on the matter is limited to robotically memorized statistics; for every protester who offers a valid justification of their anger, there’s the barnacle tagging along behind them, offering a simple “well, a lot of people don’t have money.”

More times than I can (or care to) count, I’ve encountered impassioned dissenters, waving signs with catchy rallying mottos written on them, who go deer-in-the-headlights when asked about their reasons for protesting or about possible solutions for our country’s/school system’s economic problems.

I would say — and the wording here is optimistic — that I’m not exactly a political/economical aficionado, but I know well enough to shut my mouth when the only answers I can offer to back up my opinions are on the same level as “there’s children dying in Africa” or “Yudof makes too much money.”

The point I’m trying to get across as pedantically as possible (I’m a busy man with a word quota to fulfill — deal with it) is that you have to walk before you can run. In the words of my conversely politically and economically-minded brother, don’t make a stand if your only reason for doing so is seeking this generation’s answer to the Vietnam protests. If you understand something and believe in it wholeheartedly, then by all means join the crowd; I’m sure there are at least one in two among the rest who are just like you.

Otherwise, though, don’t get swept up in the furor of something just because the opportunity presents itself. Don’t be the one asking to have your voice heard and then not knowing what to say. Don’t be the idiot who stands around in a Technicolor kimono and thinks for a second that he knows anything about being gay, or being a samurai for that matter.

When all is said and done — when the picket signs or the video cameras are stowed — you’re only going to end up sitting around and wondering what it was that you really accomplished. Then again, maybe you’ll find yourself caught in the same room as an eavesdropping columnist and unwittingly become his inspiration for the week — then you’ll have really achieved something.

DYLAN GALLAGHER insists that any/all attempts to spark political discussions at dylaaaaan@gmail.com be accompanied by compliments and Red Lobster gift certificates.

I peruse books on wilderness survival about as often as the planets parade in a perfect conga line, but of three things I am certain: sea water sucks, fire is awesome and it’s unwise to strut around in 30-degree weather wearing skimpy mini-dresses that are shorter than my patience on a caffeine-free Monday morning, or thinner than the cheapest toilet paper sliced in half.

I’m not one to conflate the ideas of chivalry and male chauvinism – guys, you’re welcome to open our doors, or even tow us to our classes by means of golden, ruby-encrusted carriages. But if you ever encounter a girl standing in the rain, creating seismic waves by quaking the earth with her shivers … refuse to give her your jacket if she is wearing more eyeliner than fabric.

Okay, I suppose that may be too mean, plus you’d run the risk of being the target of her next vindictive act of vengeance, or worse, her next personal vendetta. Instead, please let her know that girls can be fashionable without sacrificing their fingers and toes to frostbite.

I moved to Davis from season-less Orange County – a place where the weather fluctuates by no more than five degrees, no more than five times a year. So whenever I see people dressed for the beach prancing around in the early phases of winter, the eerie sensation of a thousand icy needles prickles my skin.

Last year, I narrowly avoided freezing to death not only by dressing according to the weather, but also by devising a few innovative ways to ward off cold.

For example, when hypothermia threatens to purple your lips, diminish your circulation and solidify your blood, it’s best to move around and generate heat. If I find myself unable to handle the sly winds infiltrating my room through the edges of windows, I unscrew myself from the iron clench of my work and do jumping jacks or sit-ups to avoid falling into perpetual sleep.

Another tip: minimize alcohol – it is a vasodilator which makes you feel warm, when actually your expanded surface blood vessels are losing heat faster than Angry Birds catapult to destruction. Alcohol is a depressant that decreases blood pressure and respiration, so if you’re drinking be prepared to turn up your heater.

If, like me, you’re a poor college student who saves heater money only to waste it on various sweets or outings as a reward for even the most insignificant of accomplishments, you can invest in a kettle and become a tea aficionado. Sure, drinking black teas continuously will give you quite a caffeine craze, but the hot water and incessant jittering will hopefully keep you awake long enough to resist death by heat loss.

I resort to this technique over 10 times per day; people are beginning to confuse my caffeine highs for my actual personality, but it’s no matter. I’m just happy to be alive and have the vigor to work at my desk despite the growing glaciation of my apartment.

The only thing worse than being cold is being cold while waterlogged. We’re at college to study, not to get auditioned for “America’s Next Top Model”. So wrench your bulky old raincoat from the depths of your suitcase and wear it proudly! If you don’t have one, wrap yourself in plastic wrap or drape yourself with a homemade plastic bag quilt.

Alright, I exaggerate. It is possible to stay warm without turning into an overly-insulated giant sphere that travels from one location to the next by rolling. Guys can wear whatever’s warm. Contrary to popular belief, nobody really notices or cares.

Girls, the Ugg boots with short-shorts fad ended years ago, about a week after it started. Quit trying to be unique and wear your boots with sweats. The world doesn’t overlap seasons so why should your wardrobe?

If you can’t dissuade yourselves from wearing skirts in the midst of tempests, at least wear tights underneath and knee-socks, or leg warmers that’ll help you maintain homeostasis and avoid being punctured by any sharp and sneaky indoor icicles.

If you’re unwilling to wear clothes that actually serve as protective barriers for the icy winds and rains of Davis, you can invest in enough kittens to cover every square inch of exposed skin, or search for Edward Cullen and ask him to convert you to a glittery, cold-embracing vampire. Take your pick.

Tell ZENITA SINGH how you avoid the cold at zensingh@ucdavis.edu.

When I was younger, before I knew what I would major in or what sort of career I would pursue, I had very clear ideas about what type of person I wanted to be.

I played the children’s game of make-believe, imagining myself as a skater or a movie star — dressing up, acting everything out, and dreaming myself to another world, as another person.

But when I grew older, the imaginative antics became much more than just a game. Playing make-believe was my life, and I was the attention-seeking actor, putting on foolish charades for the amusement of others.

After a short period of pretending to be a skater with no success, I redirected my attention to a more feminine lifestyle. I spent every night after dinner studying the glossy pages of Vogue, memorizing every detail of various clothing designs and sniffing each perfume sample hidden between the pictures of haute couture dresses and Italian leather heels.

For years, I imagined a career in fashion. I dreamt of one day gracing the designer houses of Milan or Paris, dispensing critique and writing reviews for fashion editors.

I deserted that idea with no regret, however, when I discovered another lifestyle to occupy my daydreams. This one, although more down-to-earth in nature, was perhaps just as impractical in reality as the dreams I had before.

I wanted to be a surfer. My reasons, though, were purely aesthetics. The time that I should have spent out in the water, I spent online shopping for puka shell bracelets and listening to Jack Johnson. The laid-back lifestyle enamored me so much so that I even persuaded my parents to buy a bungalow on the Mexican coast.

Thank God they had more common sense than I did because after I attempted surfing for the first time, everything about the lifestyle that had appealed to me before, washed away in the bitter cold waves, along with my outlandish dream.

Following that fruitless undertaking, I turned my attention towards the Southwest — Texas to be exact. And as you may have guessed, I pretended to be a southern girl, blaring country music from my car speakers and collecting William Faulkner books (which I never read).

I abandoned this country girl charade when I entered college, but not because I realized it was silly and misleading, but because I became enamored, once again, with yet another lifestyle and I changed everything about my life to fit the character I wanted to be. From mixed-martial arts fighter to photographer, I wanted to be it all.

But after all that experimenting, I still haven’t found my niche. I’m still pretending, still walking with my head held high, imagining myself as someone great and extraordinary. But, in reality, the only title I hold is that of a college student.

I don’t know why I do it — why I pretend to be someone I’m not. If I were to be examined by a psychologist, I suppose she’ll attribute my need to play make-believe as a sign of insecurity.

And maybe she’ll be right. Maybe I just want to fit in. Or, perhaps, I just want to be labeled as something neat. After all, being called a “surfer” or a “fashion connoisseur” sounds so much more appealing than being called a “college student.”

Perhaps, all I want is to have a group of friends who share the same hobbies as me and we can call ourselves the “guitarists” or the “artists.” Maybe, all I desire is a feeling of belonging, to have a clan with which I can identify.

But maybe she’ll be wrong. Maybe, I am so talented, I can actually act out all these parts and turn into the characters I tried to play. Maybe I have a wealth of imagination and the energy to make it a reality. And, if I was a little more tenacious and serious about my pursuits, maybe I could’ve become all that and more!

For now though, “college student” doesn’t sound so bad. “College student” could mean “political science major,” “president of a club,” or a “writer.” And for that, I don’t even need to play make-believe.

MICHELLE NGUYEN just wants to talk. Shoot her a message at michellen1990@yahoo.com.