WITH SO FEW weeks left until the end of my undergraduate career, I was hoping to coast by on autopilot for the remainder of the semester, avoiding any and all dirty imbroglios that might come my way.

But as luck (and my big mouth) would have it, the case is entirely different. With little more than two months to go until graduation, and only two and a half months into 2007, I have managed to find myself in the midst of three separate scandals, all of which have annoyed, hurt, or otherwise perturbed me to some extent.

It should go without saying, but aren̢۪t we all a little too old for gossip?

Ideally, but of course not. Who doesn̢۪t love a scandal?

I certainly do. Usually. But given how ridiculous the year has become in such a short span of time, I̢۪m forced to reconsider my love of gossip, either the spreading or the witnessing of it.

In a stroke of journalistic self-indulgence, it̢۪s time for a little reflection. Don̢۪t worry: innocent parties will remain anonymous. After all, any and all disclosure would only reinforce what it is that is aggravating me so. And if we wanted stupid, hypocritical opinions, we̢۪d read an Ann Coulter book.

In a matter of 10 weeks, I have managed to alienate a minimum of four friends and witness the destruction of someone else̢۪s friendship. Mostly (as in the former), it has been at my own indiscretion, convinced that talking loudly to anyone within earshot of things that shouldn̢۪t be talked about would somehow make me the victor in any one of my given situations.

I kind of made a mess of things at work. I made some faulty assumptions, blew some covers and infuriated a few superiors, only to realize that my occupation as a barista is not ever going to be what it once was, and nor are my friendships with the majority of my coworkers.

I̢۪m twenty years old, majoring in the study of language, and I haven̢۪t been able to manage my own.

I kind of lost contact with my best friend in the world, primarily because rumors were circulating regarding substance abuse and some very unkind drunk dialing on New Year̢۪s Eve. Things are pretty irreparable, and no matter how articulate or poetic I attempt to sound in print or in person, I find myself glib with disappointment and shame that things got to the point that they did.

I kind of had to learn that by a misperception of information, people who were once great roommates are no longer speaking. What kills me about their story is that originally both of these people had so much admiration and respect for one another (and I hope, deep down, they still might one day).

I keep coming back to the same root of each of these problems: facts, truths and tidbits continue to affect people negatively because they surface only under the most unflattering means possible — they are treated as though they were exclusively malicious, vindictive, or otherwise catty at conception. And more frequently than not, alcohol is involved, and that’s never very smart.

Sometimes, gossip is all three of those things. Most times though, it isn̢۪t. It̢۪s the delusional pride of the individual that makes it seem as though this information ought to be spread, as though there is something noble to be found in the injuring of another person̢۪s ego.

There is nothing nice or morally responsible about gossip. Duh. Yet, in spite of knowing this, we (by which I mean most all of us) find ourselves trapped in racetracks of scandal, chasing our tails in an effort to make someone feel bad in order to feel good about ourselves. Talk about lame.

It̢۪s awfully hypocritical of me to condemn those who have said and done what I have made a career out of for the past 20 years.
So I won̢۪t. But some of you out there know better, and like me, continue to create unnecessary controversy. It̢۪s shameless, and it should make you feel as icky as I do right now.

On the verge of leaving behind one of the best experiences of my life, I realize there just isn̢۪t time or room for mistakes or misdeeds, that the time I̢۪ve spent harboring little storm clouds of rage at other people has only left me miserable and cranky.

The moral of the story: stop it.

Attempt to say something nice about someone; consider both sides of the coin before you open your mouth. Swallow your pride and apologize first. Trust me on this one — it saves time.

If nothing good is going to come out of your mouth, do the rest of us a favor and put your foot in instead. It probably isn̢۪t anything we haven̢۪t heard, or capable of creating, anyway.