WARNING: THIS COLUMN WRITTEN UNDER INFLUENCE OF NYQUIL. Unfortunately, computers don’t qualify as heavy equipment.

My name is no longer “Audrey Molina.” Refer to me only as “That Girl Who Writes Those Articles in The Hatchet.” It just seems easier that way for everyone. Ah, if only I could be like Prince – oh, I’m sorry, the “Artist” – I could get a neat symbol for my name and have everyone call me “The Columnist Formerly Known as Audrey Molina.” But that would be really pretentious and annoying. Forget it.

I trust everyone had a good spring break. It appears that some of you had a vacation on the sun, because you look a little orange/red to me. It’s a little unhealthy to have the top layer of your skin fried – that’s just a helpful tip from me. Next time, use sunscreen … about SPF 5000 or so.

In serving my time as a galley slave, oops, I mean, rower, I stayed here with my team and enjoyed (using this word loosely) the ambiance of the Potomac River. My highlight of the week was our annual visit to an all-you-can-eat salad bar. (I’m not sure if I can use the real name of the place, they might get mad). In any case, it rhymes with Sgt. Mepper’s at Mentagon Mity.

Oh sure, you think, “Hey, I’m eating healthy, look at all the salad and fruit and good stuff.” In this deluded state, you then consume enough food to negate any nutritional value and you stagger out of the place with your waist size a couple of inches larger. We only go there once a year because repeated visits would: a.) bankrupt the place, and b.) we could conceivably kill ourselves from eating too much.

And don’t try to pass this off as some weird thing only crew people do – something about the words “All you can eat” changes people everywhere. Suddenly, all bounds of rational human behavior are forgotten and we revert back to the state of ravenous cavemen. See food. EAT food. Thank goodness for those sneeze guards – who knows what would happen without them. People might dive right into the salad bar.

“All you can eat” seems to challenge people, and everyone sets out to prove they really will eat all they can. It also no longer matters what dish is served, as long as you can go back to the buffet and get endless refills on something like, say, creamed corn. Hell, you’re going to do it even if you don’t like creamed corn. “What a bargain! A bottomless plate of creamed corn,” you say to yourself.

For those that are still skeptical, think back to the days when Thurston Dining Hall was all-you-can-eat (eat being another term I am using loosely). Now those were the days (reverting to geezer nostalgia here). I swear people gained their freshman 15 in one meal.

On an entirely different subject, am I the last person in America who has not seen Titanic? I figure that since I’ve heard that Celine Dion song approximately 348 million times with and without the movie dialogue, that’s almost as good as seeing it.

So does the movie get a special bonus for winning so many Academy Awards? Win 10 Oscars, get the 11th one free, or maybe a free all-you-can-eat shrimp dinner at Sizzler’s for the entire cast. I’d go for the dinner – I mean who wants a little gold statue of some amorphous naked guy named Oscar? We’re talking about all-you-can-eat shrimp here!