Imagine the scene: One chiseled reality star — the master of ceremonies — looms above the crowd of a dance tent, shouting, “Bein’ a guido is a way of life!” while you, self-obsessed student, in the midst of your Popov binge, gyrate amongst the sweaty masses, ignoring the hilarity of who is actually at the root of it all because irony doesn’t exist when you’re drunk, and “Jersey Shore” makes complete, total and undeniable sense. Fist pumping isn’t amusing — it’s serious business, and more satisfying than you could possibly understand.

This, my friends, is the solution to all our problems.

After budget cuts, racial tension, protests and entirely too much Drake at last year’s Sun God Festival, UCSD needs some serious help. Add a bad shut-in and study reputation and it’s obvious how much guidance is truly necessary. But we’re not totally lost! All our ill-spirited campus needs to start fresh is one event, one moment, to bring us back to consciousness and out of our depressing slump.

Which brings me back to my unbelievable discovery. But first, let me tell you about my summer; it’s to blame for my life-altering epiphany.

I mostly did nothing, but damn, it was the most glorious nothingness that anyone could possibly enjoy. I reveled in nothingness, rolled around in it, kicked its ass and then fell in love with it all over again. I became a pop culture connoisseur, devouring entertainment’s gourmet specials, along with its dollar menu. The highest highs and the lowest lows were equally at my disposal. I loved (and loathed) it all.

I defended Teen Mom. I started quoting Twin Peaks regularly. I read Perez Hilton. I learned to play a vuvuzela. I watched the first season of True Blood in one day flat. I began to mold my drink choices after Don Draper (Manhattan, please), and most importantly, I watched an uncomfortably large amount of Jersey Shore — the pantheon of Ke$ha-dominated garbage.  Through all of this, I became enlightened.

I may have been consuming cultural trash, but hell, I vomited up diamonds.

Through the culmination of my cultural studies, through digesting both the savory and the torrid, I have stumbled upon the insight necessary to determine what UCSD needs. My remedy is the key that will unleash the good fortune that we have all been waiting for.

While watching Jersey Shore last Thursday, it dawned on me: DJ Pauly D must play at Sun God. That’s it. The answer to the world’s problems.

I know what you’re thinking: What would make one hilariously coiffed Italian–American DJ so special? Why would an orange guido be our savior?

Think about it: This could be the event that brings UCSD back to life. You can’t go downhill from Pauly D. You can’t leave such belligerent moments in the dust, you can only expand upon it. In a year’s time you’ll see. We’ll all be proponents of the GTL regimen, and ya know, we might just become better from it.

Unlike most of our school’s population, Pauly D doesn’t care about an A on an organic chemistry midterm, he only cares about whether or not the girl in his bed is a grenade or not, and that’s a sentiment that UCSD could use a little more of.

So help me out, guys. Let’s start the campaign: DJ Pauly D for Sun God. Don’t let this year become so stale.

Let the Facebook groups begin!