It’s registration time again and I would like to take a moment of silence to mourn the passing of registration by telephone.

RBT gave you something to hate. There was a person on the other end of the line – perhaps a recorded one, but a person nonetheless.

I remember passing by a payphone my freshman year and hearing some freshman girl yelling into the receiver.

“Stupid RBT bitch!” she cried.

But now we have GOLD: a nameless, faceless coldhearted machine bent on screwing you out of your classes. It may be 2003, but it feels like 2001. GOLD is not a person. GOLD is “The Man.” Pure and simple.

Wednesday’s forecast: Eighty-five percent chance of your professors reeling off add codes.