We’ve all been in a situation where we’re experiencing brain fuzz and can’t focus on the mountain of work in front of us. So, like the good students we are, we march over to our favorite library, plop down, and try to find the will to write our 3,000 word research papers on the origin of butter (or whatever).

Shakespeare once said, “If food be the love of college students, they’re really bad at love,” or something like that. Shakespeare may have been a pretty wise guy, but we can’t ignore that he was a pretty big drama queen. In fact, college students are among the most creative of minds when it comes to ensuring their nutritional needs are met—our food pyramid model is reshaped into oblate spheroids, prisms, and hexagonal prisms. Spectrum has compiled the six of the top myths about college dining:

Sometimes, we all need to cry. Crying is the body’s way of expelling all those bad vibes your astrology-obsessed bestie said you’d be harboring while Mercury was in retrograde. But between your roommate hibernating in their bed for the rest of eternity and every other space on campus being tragically communal, being at college can feel like there’s no good place to cry. Wrong. Here’s how to push the boundaries of what a “cryable” space is and reimagine the Morningside campus as your personal crying playground.

Decorating your new dorm room can be a dreadful task: you have to tap into the quirky part of yourself that lives in a seventh-grade art classroom, wearing a paint-splattered XXL shirt that you stole from home and used as a smock. Sometimes, that passion is hard to scrounge up, but that doesn’t mean you have to settle for the Columbia harsh, fluorescent lighting you pay thousands of dollars for. Spectrum is here to provide you with some free advice on how to drip out your adult-sized crib—MTV-style—shipping not included.

As you embark on your first year of college, you may be feeling a bit lost about where to even start your journey. Spectrum is here to help you plan out your time at Columbia for every stage of your academic career—starting where you are right now!

Thinking back on enduring lovingly listening to your friends’ breakdowns about the Principles of Econ midterm and receiving mocking emails about study breaks you don’t have time for, remember the glorious prize you claimed: spring break. Ah, it even sounds crisp to the ear, doesn’t it? We all looked forward to the generously long week we finally got after sobbing over our calculators attempting to calculate a minimum passing grade for the class.

Oh, how long it has been since I’ve lounged on my living room couch watching you take a sledgehammer to the hearts of restaurant owners and kitchen countertops. My family would groan as another episode cycled onto the screen, begging, “Please, please, please, can we watch ‘Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives?’”—and a mischievous grin would creep over my face as they picked up the remote to discover I had stolen the batteries. They would be subjected to yet another taste testing of unchewable calamari, chicken so uncooked it was still running headless, and revelations of asbestos mold growing in the ventilators above the stoves their food was just cooked on. You put the “possible” in “Restaurant: Impossible,” and it warmed my little seven-year-old heart each time your hard exterior dissolved as you’d give people and their restaurants a new life. A single tear would roll down my cheek and I would think, “That. That is what I want to be.”

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Do you remember the day you were told you’d infiltrated the Columbia gates? Picture it: You’re in front of your computer, the sweet symphony of “Roar, Lion Roar” filling your ears. A single tear rolls down your cheek, you envision yourself at the institution of your dreams, and you think: “Mom, I’m finally not a disappointment.”

As Elon Musk’s recent Twitter acquisition rocked the markets and feeds of Twitter users around the world, a new problem emerged on the scene: identity theft, and not the Melissa McCarthy kind. After Musk’s announcement that Twitter verification could be obtained with a petty premium price, a generation of impractical jokers impersonating accounts like Eli Lily, Coca-Cola, and even Rudy Giuliani wreaked enough havoc to make Loki, the god of mischief himself, jealous.