I've only actually been here for one otherGreen Key; that was my freshman year. But from what I remember of those few days, I'm really excited for this year. I seem to remember excessive amounts of drinking, no accountability, and a general sense of euphoria that in fact we didn't have a damn thing in the world to worry about. Some guy on AD's lawn was giving away T-shirts if we would sign up for a credit card or something. Needless to day I signed up for seven credit cards, then made off like a bandit with all my precious shirts. I wound up drinking Jack Daniels mixed drinks in Rip Wood Smith, in what ironically became my room sophomore year. Up till then I didn't even know Rip Wood Smith existed. I'm still trying to forget. And you know what the best thing about Green Key is? Nobody has a clue about what is supposed to actually go on at Green Key.
It's not like there's a huge bonfire or a big snow sculpture to remind everybody what's going on. It's basically just a huge College-sanctioned (or at least College-overlooked) party. Sure, there's the Green Key Society, and I'm sure they do stuff that's important, but no one really knows about it, and no one really cares. For my part, I'm going to spend the whole weekend drifting from one house to another, seeing friends, and soaking up the good weather.
Add to that the realization that this is in fact the last Green Key, in spirit if not in name. We'll see what happens down the road, but for me, this is the last one. I'm gonna get all my angst and childish youth and ridiculousness out this year for fear that next year Green Key will consist of a substantially coed sit-in on the Green to protest the United States and our "democratic" way of "freedom for all." We clearly aren't giving animals the rights they deserve. What sort of freedom does a caged elephant have, huh? We should protest. Plus this whole Kosovo thing. My lord. Let's bomb China's embassy! Never mind the fact that when we go to war with them, we'll all die. The big culmination of the whole weekend will be a huge candlelight vigil in memory of the fraternities. Of course no one will be allowed to drink, since there are open container laws. You ever feel like you're a part of some big, oh I don't know, matrix? And there are agents all around you controlling your world? I feel like I might have to get medieval Keanu Reeves-style and start drinking beers so fast that the cops can't even see them.
And even as I sit here typing this, I can't help but feel ecstatic to know that the merriment is so close at hand. I will not crack a book until Sunday evening to be sure. And you know what? That's fine. Man is a social animal. Even the ancient philosophers knew that. This whole creative loner business is ridiculous. Let's be what we're not! If you've ever read Symposium by Plato, then you'll know that even those guys acknowledged the need for a little of the sauce while discussing important philosophical questions. Symposium literally means "drinking discussion." (thank you Humanities II and Professor Schwartz). So we, the student body, having burdened ourselves with the tireless duty of intellectual pursuits, now arrive at what could be called a refueling point in our term-a chance to load up on the essential human needs that even lofty intellectualism cannot provide us with: namely spirit, love, soul, exuberance, foolishness, and of course inebriation.
Let's look quickly at the lineage of great American writers. Twain: drunk. Hemingway: big drunk. Fitzgerald: huge drunk. London: Klondike drunk. Faulkner: Southern drunk. Poe: Give me a break. Steinbeck: drunk and a half. you know Steinbeck is a drunk when he writes enitre novels about Old Granddad and Johnny Walker (Travels with Charlie). Emerson and Thoreau maybe not quite as much, but what exactly were they doing out in the woods? Living deliberately? Or hiding their stash deliberately. Our founding fathers are reknowned for not exactly being the most drug free people in the world.
The point is you know all those guys, between books, were refueling themselves in preparation for their lofty work. In the end, some of them wound up killing themselves, but if you read The Sun Also Rises you can't help but envy Hemingway for the life he had before his untimely death.
So Green Key is here. Dartmouth's equivalent to the running of the bulls. It's go time. Put down that manuscript for a major motion picture. Leave that sculpture unfinished for the weekend. Let the lab sit empty. And get outside and enjoy yourselves. You won't regret it when the weekend's over and suddenly everything is so much easier, and next thing you know, you're famous, all because you took Plato's advice. Good work.
