My cousin recently bought me what she claimed would be the most amazing pair of sandals ever to embrace my oversized feet. From her glowing praise, it sounded like these podiatric pleasures would not only make my toes sing out in joy, but just might also win friends and influence people.
At the risk of falling into an annoying female stereotype, I must admit that I flip for footwear. The prospect of getting incredible shoes was mildly exciting. I began to imagine what they might feel like.
And then they arrived. I unwrapped them from the plastic and after getting over the shock of the large "Adidas" emblazoned on them, I turned them over in my hands. They were black plastic with hundreds of rubber bumps all along the sole. The anticipation was intense.
I slipped them onto my feet and waited for the profound experience to begin. And I waited some more -- only to realize that these shoes were nothing like I expected. They felt strange -- bumpy and foreign. I still can't decide how I feel about them.
Sidestepping my footwear fantasy, sophomore summer strikes me in exactly the same way as my sandals. Long lauded as the crown jewel of the D-Plan, we '99s have had two years of anticipation -- plenty of time to hear about how great it supposedly is and ample time to develop witty comeback lines to non-Dartmouth friends' jibes of "You're going to school in the summer!?" But now that it's here, it's not at all like any flavor of Dartmouth experience I've ever had. So far it's been a double shot of fun with nutmeg on top, but I can't shake the less-than-profound feeling that Summer term is WEIRD!
For starters, who are all these people roaming Hanover? Between campers practicing shmob-like formations, copious prospective students, adorably sullen Hanover High kids and people who I can only deduce are random Dartmouth tourists, I feel like Ms. Pacman winding my way around downtown Hanover. You want a parking spot, you say? Put on your walking shoes. Dartmouth is clearly being devoured by extraneous people.
Taking refuge in my lovely off-campus house, I'm experiencing further weirdness. I've replaced the term "Food Court" with "the kitchen," while the phrase "wasting time" has become synonymous with "cable television." When a storm blew through Hanover last weekend, my prime concern was taking in the plants and the tiki torches. Since when have my priorities become the well-being of tiki torches? With half of campus living away from it, there are hundreds of us coming to the realization that the minimal ant and mosquito population of Dartmouth dorms was truly incredible. Isn't this the time to bond with your class? Even on a nice afternoon, the Green is empty. Where did everyone go?
Perhaps they're engaged in relaxation-- the apparent buzzword of summer term. Academic terms as I've known them have always made me feel like a ping-pong ball being smacked back and forth between stress paddles. Suddenly I feel like the forgotten ball sitting in the corner. I've seen more movies already this term than the whole year combined. Through a miracle of modern slack-dom, I managed to arrange my rigorous two-class schedule entirely on Tuesday and Thursday. It feels great but it's just so different. This hybrid of school and vacation is confusing.
And there are infinite minor changes. I haven't relied on the telephone this much since junior high school. This might be the only term I haven't worn wool socks. The number of people suddenly interested in Earth Sciences has miraculously skyrocketed.
Yes, summer is no ordinary term. I finally understand what those "Camp Dartmouth" T-shirts are all about. Some people have suggested that perhaps this is what we most get out of college -- the time to grow up outside the classroom before time marches on and we turn into corporate rodents, starving grad students, or at the very least, full-fledged adults. In some ways, I agree. Yes Dad, I am still doing my work, but there are clearly good college times not to be missed this summer. I see some friends scheduling themselves into oblivion and I can't help but think they're missing out on an integral part of college.
Sophomore summer is weird not only because it isn't a part of the familiar school year, but it's also one of the last times we can live in dreamy college fantasy land without being forced to think "what next?" Pretty soon people will begin to use that "J" word that tends to follow "sophomore." I fear that. But for right now, it is still in the future. Join my sandals and me at the movies, won't you?
