Several years ago, at the tender age of 16, I lost my ability to spell. Now you may ask how it might have been that I lost that ability, but I think the more important question to ask is how I gained it back. I will do you the favor of answering both.

It was my sophomore year in high school; Western Civilization, second period. Mr. Johnson handed back my essay drenched in red ink. At the top he wrote: Learn how to spell.

It was true that my spelling was nothing short of atrocious and an insult to the English language. However, at such a young age I was stubborn and full of myself so I argued with Mr. Johnson for a better grade, convincing him that my spelling mistakes were an inherent part of the new generation where our dependence on technology and programs like “Spell Check” made it unnecessary to know how to spell.

Yes. I blamed it on technology. But is it not true? Ever since the dawn of the World Wide Web, I have found that activities I once enjoyed – like reading or spending time outdoors with friends – seemed so mundane and almost useless. Everything I needed to do, I could do on the internet.

No longer did I need to reach for a dictionary when Dictionary.com appears with the click of a button, and who knew reading the encyclopedia would be so much fun until Wikipedia came along. I could learn new things, talk with friends, communicate with long-lost relatives, watch movies, go shopping, even pay the bills — online! What couldn’t the internet do?

The internet made itself an essential part of my everyday life. First thing in the morning, before I would think about eating, brushing my teeth or getting dressed, I would open Google Chrome to the homepage, skim over the headlines in the news and proceed to my e-mail. While I waited for my e-mail page to load, I would hastily open up three other tabs to vital pages such as Facebook, YouTube and StumbleUpon.

I jumped back and forth like a maniac between these sites, scrolling mechanically through the news feed or browsing absent-mindedly through videos and pictures. And much like a robot, I would repeat this process compulsively several times throughout the day.

The internet is a drug — extremely addictive, and hard to kick. And like a drug, the absence of the internet gave me withdrawal symptoms. Without it, I felt disconnected from mankind and I would get a sick feeling in my stomach as though I had just lost a loved one. Also similar to a drug, the internet would bring me into a world much different from reality, a world that’s faster, easier and so much more entertaining.

But my English grade suffered and I couldn’t write essays without Spell Check as a crutch. My vocabulary waned to the point of non-existence and my new vernacular consisted of words like, “lol,” “omg,” and the ever-so-annoying “for realz.” Mr. Johnson was right. I had to learn how to spell – or in this instance, read, write and speak.

I slowly weaned off the internet by using it only when absolutely needed. And when I did use it, I would read the actual news, instead of just the headline. I did my homework without the distraction of Facebook, and when I wanted to look up a word, I flipped through the pages of a physical dictionary.

I can’t say I particularly enjoyed this new way of life, but my essays were returned with fewer and fewer red markings and I built my vocabulary to a level acceptable for my age group. What really mattered, though, was rediscovering a quaint and simple life sans instant gratification.

I found myself taking pleasure in holding a pen and watching my thoughts transform into calligraphy on paper. And the more detached I was from the virtual world, the more satisfying it was to spend a rainy day simply shifting through old books on my dad’s bookcase and, oddly enough, delight in the old musty smell of yellow-stained book pages.

So there does exist a world outside the perimeters of your LCD screen. It may not be flashy, bright and instantaneous, but since it is a world without borders, you’ll have many things to do and places to discover. This world requires that you touch and feel with your hands and not with a mouse, so it may take getting used to. But for everything you’ll gain, it’s also well worth a shot.

Give MICHELLE NGUYEN your thoughts on the internet at michellen1990@yahoo.com.

If today you find yourself innocently lingering on your beloved’s Facebook page, tomorrow you might just be sitting on the ledge of his or her third-story window, hidden by the darkness of twilight. However, it’s important that you learn to display the right amount of infatuation. The rest should be locked in an impermeable safe and buried in a sandy wasteland.

So what is the “right amount”, anyway? Sadly, there is no quantified range of infatuation that is socially accepted, and even if there were, it would not reflect the preference of your dream man or gal. For these reasons, it is usually best to keep the crazy to a minimum. If you are determined to follow your darling 24 hours a day and log his or her actions, friends, potential lovers, etc. on a minute-to-minute basis, guard that notebook with your life and do not get caught!

While it is flattering to receive undue amounts of attention, an extended period of this will only cause recipients irritation, then frustration, then anger and finally an all-consuming, sanity-threatening panic. Keep in mind that by emotionally distressing your love, you are reducing your chances (by 99.9 percent). So again, if you’re going to stalk, I suggest you invest in an invisibility cloak and do it the right way – with zipped lips and in tip-top secret.

Now halt. Many things in addition to stalking might disenchant your purported soulmate. Though I have never been an honored victim of serious stalking, I have on occasion been frightened by certain hair-raising, chill-inducing wooing techniques practiced by guys who would have been great catches had they simply left the surplus gusto at home, tied, chained and completely confounded.

My first encounter with the dark side of love (aside from Shakespeare’s tragedies … or Star Wars) occurred one charming college day. The sun was shining, birds were singing and for some reason my imagination insists on implanting a couple rainbows into the picture. Upon arriving home, I threw my belongings unceremoniously onto my desk when I noticed my roommate had company…

We chatted for a bit, became friends, and for a while he remained in the periphery of my vision, in the fringe of my existence. I interpreted his incorporation into our lives as a means to get closer to my roommate, but after weeks of oblivion, a friend disclosed the shocking truth: he fancied me! Since I’m the type to immediately doubt any confession of like or love, I smiled and told myself she was kidding.

A dozen phone calls, a fancy poker set, a scented sonnet and a bouquet of artificially colored flowers later, I realized how wrong I was.

Though his attention was flattering and welcome at first, soon it wound its way around my neck like a noose, progressing into something that made me extremely uncomfortable. While this man was a perfect gentleman who abided my stalking bylaws, I am sorry to say he ruined his chances by getting a bit too ambitious in the game of love.

Thus, please remember not to force any zealous feelings on your darling. It may work for some, but most will squirm under the pressure and close their hearts and minds to your prying advances. If you’d rather not watch your love wilt like an old rose, call just once, leave only one voicemail, save the gifts for later, and either disguise your jealousy with an expensive set of acrylic paints, or toss it from the roof of the Empire State building.

“Now that I know what not to do, what exactly should I do?” you might ask, twiddling your thumbs while your thoughts twirl and tangle into an incoherent mess. The world of romance is not as romantic as it may seem – its grounds are speckled with shards of broken hearts and its dumpsters contain the recently rejected, buried among tons of flaccid flowers. If you steer clear of those dark corners where the heartbroken weep, this world will fascinate you with its glitz and glamour.

Don’t be fooled.

So how do you navigate tricky love? How do you avoid the dismal streets of depression, the ensnaring traps of jealousy, the waste bins of rejection? How do you gallop into the sunset with your dearest, wearing the smug smile of success?

Fear not, triumph is certainly within reach. There are many fish in the sea, and though some may taste sour and others may slip away or be stolen by gluttonous seagulls, you can still make a lovely catch if you keep your courage and keep on fishing.

ZENITA SINGH would love to hear what pesky problems plague your minds at zensingh@ucdavis.edu.

There are hierarchies here that go completely unobserved to the untrained eye. After three years of people watching, I have developed a keen sense of what lifestyle someone leads just by looking at them.

After arriving in Davis, people seem to slowly fall into what is easiest to refer to as a “type.” In this detailed field guide I will give the descriptions you need to distinguish one Davis persona from another. So grab your binoculars, get out your 20x zoom camera lens and let’s do some people watching.

The first type of Davisian (Can you say Davisian? Is that a thing I just made up? Is it actually Davisite and I just embarrassed myself?) I would like to discuss is the ARC member — the one who pays two separate visits to the gym each day.

When attempting to observe these majestic creatures it is easiest to head to our beautiful state of the art fitness center to see them in their natural habitat. However, this feels a bit like going to the zoo and I’m pretty sure people will think you’re creepy if you go to the weight room just to look at people.

This is why we have to pay attention to the key signs that reveal whether someone can be labeled as a true ARC member when you manage to catch up with them off the court. The easiest thing to look for is probably their clothing. If the observed considers it acceptable to wear a sports bra or poorly scissored muscle tee to class, then they are easily identified.

The next Davis citizen worth discussing is the socialite. A visit to their Facebook page will reveal that they have added three friends and been tagged in two albums since you saw them a few hours earlier that day.

Popular quotes from a socialite might include: “So I was at this party at Delta Sig when my friends from SOS wanted to get in so I talked to that girl I know who works at the bookstore and she brought me to talk to these guys from the crew team who went and handled it.”

The trick to ascending into the socialite class is not to know everyone, but to know one person in every social circle. It’s easy to target a new friend when you know someone they know. If you don’t believe me, then try talking your way into a frat party without a reference.

The socialite is the friend that gives you a hard time for not going out. Granted they come in handy on a Friday where you’re almost ready to concede to a movie night. However, this person can also make you feel an unreasonable amount of guilt for not taking shots on a Tuesday afternoon when you still have that Human Sex lecture later.

Another notable personality you might run into while adventuring through Davis is the workaholic. Unlike the rest of us who are either self-admitted or parent-considered alcoholics, these students are addicted to the much more dangerous substance — workahol.

Workahol addiction is no laughing matter. Remember the last time you saw your friend Bryan who started work at the Coffee House? Neither do I. That’s because your old buddy B-Ry has started working 40 hours a week in addition to his class schedule. Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but it doesn’t feel much different from reality.

The last personality I want to discuss is the scholar. While all of our parents think that we are here to “take classes” and “learn,” this person actually takes this to heart. While the rest of us are merely flushing tuition money down the toilet by having social lives and enjoying our youth while skating by with a 3.1 GPA, the scholar knows that nothing in life can be more fulfilling than complete and utter dedication to, well, scholastics.

Scholars can be spotted in places all over campus such as Peter J. Shields, the 24-hour room, Griffin lounge, or just about anywhere else someone can look at a book without catching judgmental glares from lazier students. You can distinguish scholars from average crammers by their unconventional tactics, such as creating a study plan and starting essays more than a day ahead of a deadline.

We all fill every one of these roles at a different time. I doubt any one of us has gone to the ARC every day and never been to a party or to the library. Davis students are a collection of “mutts” who come from each different breed. However, when sitting around campus and trying to guess people’s life stories as they walk past you, these categories can be an excellent jumping off point.

AARON WEISS can be reached at atweiss@ucdavis.edu.

As I mentioned last week, I’m a tall girl. I’m 5’11”, in case you never finished reading my column like my friend Ben. In fact, my chem honors teacher in high school wrote, “You’re hella tall and you can totally ball” in my yearbook — apparently, I didn’t make much of an impression in learning any chemistry (that should explain me being a poli sci major). There are definitely perks to being so high above the ground (I can reach the top shelf!) but as tall girls everywhere know, it’s not easy being tall.

Let’s start with first impressions. When I was in second grade, my best friend’s dad thought I was in high school since my friend was pretty short. Frankly, I’d be pretty worried if my second grader was hanging out with what appeared to be a high school kid, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Often when I meet new people, the first exclamation I hear is, “Oh my god, you’re so tall!” followed soon by “do you play basketball or volleyball?” For the record, I used to play both. Now, I just try to hit the ARC where my bruh Aaron works). Some have suggested modeling as a career, but I’d have to be much skinnier and chomp on celery sticks, which doesn’t sound very appealing to me. At family parties little children stare up at me with their mouths open, in awe of such a giant. These young souls are usually afraid that I’m going to step on them so I have to reassure them by sitting down.

Being from a tall family isn’t such a walk in the park, either. When we were looking around for cars to buy, we went to a Volkswagen dealership. Yes, their cars are adorable from the outside, but trying to fit four above-average height individuals into a Jetta is serious work. I can’t even begin to describe the aching of trying to stretch our legs out in the car. Long legs are great until you have to squeeze them behind a reclined front seat. Needless to say, we didn’t get the car.

Tall people, especially tall girls, often have trouble finding clothes that fit properly. I can’t tell you how many times I have tried on a dress only to find that it fits me perfectly as a shirt. If I were to wear it without bottoms like a normal dress, I’d be pulling a serious Lindsay Lohan getting out of the car without underwear. And don’t even get me started on this recent romper trend that has got my panties in a bunch, literally. (TMI?).

Ok, so clothes are one pain in the ass, (man, I can’t stop with these puns!) but probably the most unpleasant thing about being a tall girl is the lack of options in the guy department. Is it just me or are the guys getting shorter and shorter? This serious deficiency of tall guys has even got my Indian music teacher worried. On multiple occasions she has told me to just settle for a short guy after asking, “How are your parents ever going to find you a husband?” FYI: My parents are not going to; it’s up to me to find one — yikes.

There have also been countless times when I’ve gone to parties where, with a quick survey of the room, it’s possible to find maybe one or two tall guys. Much to my regret (the next day), I end up dancing with a guy shorter than me and not realizing it because, let’s be honest, there’s a lot of getting low in dancing. Usually when we’re back to the upright position, the guy says, “Hold up, are you taller than me?” Yes, Sherlock, you got it. And that’s my cue to leave.

The most annoying aspect of this situation to me is when a short girl is dating a tall guy. Shorter girls, I understand that you’re cutely petite and like being with such tall guys, but leave some for us taller girls! Yes, Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries are cute in their height difference, but think about this: not all tall girls want shorter guys. Sure, Katie Holmes is married to Tom Cruise, but they don’t look as cute as say, Gisele Bundchen and Tom Brady.

So next time you see a tall girl, think about the tribulations she faces each and every day. From the gawking and the lack of car options to the ill-fitting clothes and relationship problems, that girl has a lot of issues that she must use her long legs to stand tall with. Tall girls unite!

If you want to set MEDHA SRIDHAR up with a cute, tall guy on the basketball or volleyball team, contact her at mdsridhar@ucdavis.edu.