It is no secret that Dartmouth students have an addiction to time. Everywhere you look, students, and occasionally professors and administrators, are stumbling around campus running into stationary objects and tripping down stairs. Strangely, however, this behavior has nothing to do with careless debauchery, but instead with anal retentiveness. I am writing about people who plan every hour of their day in those ridiculous daily planners.
My first encounter with daily organizers was three years ago when I attended a seminar on journalism management. The entire lecture was in the speaker's day book. She wanted to show the secret to organization and promptly emptied the contents of her purse -- which was about the size of a beach bag -- onto a table. She rooted through various purse items for five minutes before uncovering what appeared to be a beleaguered edition of Webster's unabridged dictionary. This monstrous book which had everything from candy bar wrappers, leaves, and tube socks poking out of its pages was supposed to be the disorganized person's salvation.
I was far from convinced after this lecture, but I decided to give it a try since I suffer from severe disorganization. I bought a little brown book and sat down, poised to write something important in it. Two months later I found the book underneath one of my car seats with only those first appointments written in it. The experiment was a colossal failure.
Although these books seem utterly ridiculous to me, they are obviously important to their dependents. For instance, Peter Alphonso '96 looks at his every night to help plan the next day in his mind. Brian Hill '96 does not carry his life in his book bag, but he does keep a large calendar on his desk. "It helps me keep track of all my dates [with women]," he said. But I could not see this calendar since it was buried underneath six inches of papers, used tissues and library books.
Such arguments as these seem legitimate, but some people abuse their planners. Have you ever asked a friend if he wants to eat lunch with you, and he whips out his Dartmouth Day by Day calendar and responds, "No, sorry, it's 1:45 ... time to go to the bathroom." I even know of one male who opened his day book, flipped a few pages, and then said, "Hey, it's time to get a haircut in a week!"
Sure, these organizers are helpful to remind people of certain appointments, but some people have become dangerously dependent on them. If these individuals lost their daily planners, I fear that they would cease to function. Would they remember to eat, go to the bathroom or do laundry? It is frightening but true: some things can be done on impulse.
I challenge students to drop their calendars for just a week. Free yourselves of the bonds that hold you! For just one week, experience the thrill and excitement of realizing that you had an appointment with an adviser 30 minutes ago. Or do your laundry because it is stinking up your entire room, not because the planner says you have another three days to go. Ah, the joys of freedom!
