DP SWAMIS: Once a Swami, always a Swami, says we

But no matter their incomes, Swamis emiriti come to Homecoming in style -- magic carpets are the only way to fly. After we lost many of our own to the dreaded plague that is graduation, we felt it fitting to fly off in search of six of our recent grads. To our shock and dismay, we found one of our recent losses still within walking distance of good old West Philly. Half-Pint was more than eager to talk about his life as a paralegal. "It's got its moments," he said. "There's no heavy lifting." Half-Pint came to Penn as just another sports writer, but a unique defect turned out to be a blessing. "My hair's always ridiculous," Half-Pint said. "[The turban is] why I wanted to be a Swami." But times have been rough for our former leader, as he was recently thrown out of Van Pelt Library for having an expired PennCard. We then paid a visit to Not That, who is clearly putting his $120,000 education to good use as a concert manager for a local chamber music group. But do not be so quick to judge, my turbanless readers, for Not That was a music major who claims this is exactly what he wants to be doing. "Unlike all Penn students who major in something just to have a major, I actually used it for my career," Not That said. When it came down to making his picks, however, Not That was all business. "My money's on Penn? if I had money to bet," he said. After witnessing another Swami without an outlet for his prognosticating powers, we knew the CT Kid would come through. But the first words out of his mouth almost made the turbans pop right off our heads. "Right now I'm working for Mobil over in New Jersey," he said, "as a chemical engineer, not like a gas station attendant. If I work real hard, I can become manager of a Quickie Mart too." Quickly growing tired of the City of Brotherly Love, we dusted off our carpets and went in search of some of our more adventurous brethren. Jasper was seen just a few blocks from the butt of many a Swami jest -- the football factory that is Columbia. "It's rough living the life of a sky blue pansy," said the law student. "Here every football win they tear down the goalposts, because they only win one a decade." Our final '98 graduate, Tequila, is working back home in West Hartford, Conn., still hoping to return to the Ivy League for law school. "I was a Swami, but I can't put that on my resume," Tequila said. Alas, we Swamis have still not figured out how to use our powers to sway admissions officers, although we have a committee working diligently to make it happen. We started our trip home with our carpets slightly frayed, wondering if we would face the same fate as our elders. Was there no justice in the world? But then we saw a ray of light in the distance. It was Available, hard at work for the Daytona Beach News Journal. Reminiscing about her work as a Swami produced an intriguing conclusion. "There's a lot more going to the beach here," Available said. "Otherwise it's pretty much the same." While our tour of Swamis past was not as comforting as we had hoped, we learned a valuable lesson from Available. For no matter where we are, our turbans will never prevent us from getting the perfect tan.