Elementary school plays are always great sources of anxiety and expectation. As a fifth grader, I was intent on landing the role of the king in that year's production of The King and I. Determined to be the king, after delivering my well-practiced Yul Brenner impression in tryouts, I offered to shave my head if the part was given to me. I longed to be the king with all of my fifth-grade heart.

My fifth-grade heart was broken when I was handed the part of villager No. 4, a lowly pauper whose measly lines were spoken in unison with nine other villagers. They expected me to fill the anonymous shoes of a nobody and just blend into an amorphous crowd. One of my lines, for instance, was "Long live the king, the mighty king!" There I stood, praising the stinking sixth-grader who had stolen my precious role from me.

Often, a school with gargantuan proportions like Penn State makes one feel similiarly insignificant, but you're cast in the role of student No. 14,329 instead of villager No. 4. It's tough to be yourself when you feel like thousands of others are already doing it for you. At a Penn State sporting event, the blue and white masses of college-sweatshirt-wearing, lion-paw-cheeked, proud fanatics yelling "Go State!" like some group of lobotomized chimps make me want to share my Nittany stomach contents with them.

Fortunately, there is a way to maintain a sense of identity amidst the endless drones of Pepsi guzzlers. It's possible to be a brightly shining star, a glowing torch or a flickering candle of a personality without feeling outshone by the many lights around you. You simply have to find your niche.

With this philosophy in mind, I managed to breathe life into the role of villager No. 4. First, I carried out an in-depth study of the character, using film resources and library archives, so that I could become one with him and understand his deepest motivations. For that extra touch, I incorporated my pet dog, Mr. Bojangles, into the role by using him as my sheep. In short, I transformed myself into the best darn villager No. 4 the world had ever seen.

Here at Penn State, there's more ways to find your raison d'tre than there are copies of Pearl Jam compact discs in East Halls. Go for a walk. Get a job at a coffee shop. Volunteer at the hospital. Donate blood. Donate sperm. Write a column (The Daily Collegian will publish anything, take this for instance). Start your own newspaper. Sign up for an intramural sport. Plant a tree (perhaps in Beaver Stadium). Go over to Willard and tidy up the scatterings of newspapers strewn across the floor like remnants of journalistic warfare. While you're there, preach a bit on the front steps.

Joining a club is a great way to find your voice at college. If you can't locate a club addressing your interests, start your own. As a matter of fact, I've been thinking about forming a cereal club, devoted to sampling exotic cereals. I'd call it "Students for Real Breakfast." Wouldn't it sound tempting to try alternative breakfast delights like Cracker Snaps, Crack Pops, Scrapple Jacks, Captain Crotch and, best of all, Snapplin' Cracklin' Crap Smacks? What a thrill for my gustatory receptors!

Cultivating a hobby is another approach to finding your niche. In my spare time, I like to write books, have them bound, and inconspicuously place them on the shelves of Pattee. You may have seen some of my works before. How about "Tales of Pegleg Pete: Leggo My Leggo," "Making Puppets From Cold Cuts" or the children's fare, "Pus Boy Goes to the Public Pool?" Right now, I'm working on a public service/health care pamphlet entitled "X-Rays Are Cheap at the Airport: Get On the Belt!"

You see, there's a place for everyone at the mega-University, and once you discover your calling, you'll be sailing smoother than the Great Space Coaster. And if you find that your identity is to not have one, then that's fine too. Just sit in your room and watch 90210.

By the way, everything turned out great with our rendering of The King and I. Unfortunately, everything didn't turn out great for my dog/sheep Mr. Bojangles. During the singing of "Getting to Know You," he was overwhelmed by a fit of insanity, causing him to run into the parking lot where he was hit by a Volkswagen bus. I guess Mr. Bojangle's niche was between the yellow lines of Principal Bowen's and Murray the Janitor's reserved parking spaces.