College Park Burnout

College Towns.
The phrase works in much the same way Candy Land does.
In your mind you conjure a vision of a wonderland. A fantastical landscape that consists of the pros of the first word smashing on top of the geography of the second word.
To illustrate:
Candy Land - A deep, mystical, bucolic grove of licorice trees with taffy leaves. Milk chocolate bunnies prance around, running for their warrens before the gumdrop rains begin.
College Town - A spiderweb network of streets and footpaths, all of them leading to bars, small local shops, and imaginative restaurants and cafes. Hot girls strut around in miniskirts while intellectually stimulating men engage them in conversations about Proust, Cassavettes, and Picasso. Knowledge abounds and yet sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll permeate the air in an everlasting haze of all that is awesome.

But what you may never think about (though if you want to go to the University of Maryland, you probably should) is the reverse scenario.

Candy Land (the bad kind) - An expansive, soul crushing desert (dessert?) wasteland. Limitless planes of granulated sugar dunes punctuated by the occasional candy corn cactus or rocks made of Now and Laters (better known as the inedible bastard, half-sister of Starbursts).*

College Town (the bad kind) - College Park, MD.

Yes, I live in and have endured College Park for upwards of four years. Be it in dorms or in the House of Awesome Times this place never gets any better. We have four bars (to anyone who says we have five: The Mark doesn't fucking count) and every restaurant we have is either some godawful fastfood chain, 'quick-service' chain, or it closes in two months. Ratsie's and Plato's Diner stand firm, are exceptions, but you know what they say about exceptions. They only serve to prove the rule.
The one independent bookstore we had closed recently, we have more bubble tea cafes than we have any other form of food, and heaven help you if you want to sit down for a cup of coffee at a local shop. Fuck you, here's your Starbucks. We have four seats, all occupied by hipster or sorority trash who would just as soon eat your heart as look at you. Those MacBooks might as well be tazers.
Perhaps you can tell that I am upset by this. Perhaps you can also walk outside and tell whether it is raining or not.
The point is that my sister went to school in Fredericksburg, VA, where they have local joints, thrift shops, book stores, and a rich colonial history. Not only that, but the city seems to actually like the fact that there is a college close by. The municipality seems to understand that these young hooligans are actually its life-blood.
Not so in College Park, where the city treats the students like some sort of benign cancer, barely tolerated, constantly on the verge of being violently excised. They would happily sink into the mire of their own socio-economic destruction at the hands of the townies (I know I am coming off as elitist, but its true, ask around) if it meant all of us college kids with our book learning and our parents' money would just leave.
How backwards is that?

I suppose the genesis of this rant is the fact that soon I will be moving to Silver Spring. And while Silver Spring is the very definition of gentrification ("Starbucks... we meet again...") it at least has character and culture. It has a soul. It is alive.
For four years I had to escape College Park any time I wanted to do anything that had any meaning. Rather than serve as a joining point for me and my intellectual peers to nurture one another's minds, it acted like a massive, bed-bug ridden pillow slowly smothering the life and verve out of me. I would step off the metro after having seen an indie flick at E Street or AFI Silver and immediately deflate because I was back on Route 1, that four lane street that cuts through the block and a half of "downtown" that everyone frequents.
Depressing.

Anyway, I could go on forever, but why? If you are ever in DC and feel overwhelmed by the culture, the sights, the sounds, and the rich history, hop on the green line and come to College Park. Five minutes later you'll be begging some over-eager tour guide to tell you where Lincoln combed his beard one last time.

*If you like candy corn or Now and Laters, you might as well stop reading this blog now. I have nothing to say to you.