For those of you to whom I haven't said hello yet: yes, I had a fun break. I trust yours was fun as well. Now that we have that out of the way, no more small talk until midterms.
Spring. What a season. The only term at Dartmouth that ends warmer than it begins. People come back from spring break all tan, and, unless they made the mistake of drinking the water, they're in a good mood. Classes seem easier, IM softball kicks into action, and at every turn there is something interesting going on.
But not yet. Right now it's mud season. Mud season is the worst. No two words, except possibly "a cappella" or "Student Assembly," can strike fear in the hearts of a Dartmouth student like "mud season." As I look out my window at this dreary rainy Tuesday, I get that feeling like when you're six and your parents won't let you go out and play in the rain. Of course, it's probably for the best. One misstep out there and you wind up face down in the mud resembling the Golgothan from "Dogma." This once happened to my friend Corinne. She was a walking fecal demon. I bet that's the last time she asks me to put her in a column. But seriously, she's a darling.
Television, the new opiate of the masses, becomes one's only friend in lieu of the great outdoors. And in this fertile crescent we call the Upper Valley, TV really just doesn't cut it. I flip between VH1, Comedy Central and Fox, pausing occasionally to take in a gripping documentary on the giant squid on Discovery. This isn't life. Man was not meant to study the intricacies of the giant squid! We were meant to be out there killing giant squid. (Insert manly chest thumping here.) The giant squid menace is really something that needs to be reckoned with. I refer you to the book "Beast" by Peter Benchley, in which a giant squid runs amok and we eventually kill it. Now that's true to life. These documentaries are just phooey. Man cannot live on Discovery Channel alone.
So what shall we do? Shall we make mudballs and have a huge mud fight? Shall we run around campus splashing tour groups and yelling "The sun never shines here!?" No, we most certainly shall not. It is our lot to simply endure this muck and grimness with stoic dignity. Look at it this way -- at least it's not snowing. I just jinxed us. You may blame me when the winter returns. And it always does.
But our reward for our stoicism is a finale to the muck and a resurgence of growth. In the course of about two weeks, the entire campus turns green. Never mind that much of this is spray paint. There is a certain suspension of disbelief required at first, but it eventually actually turns into grass. Who knew that spray paint was actually good for the earth? And the green poles with yellow ropes will be out again. Stay off the grass you damn kids! Won't you ever learn that $30,000 will only get you so much?
And then everything explodes. Then, my friends, Green Key arrives. Four to five straight days of nonstop insanity. Not like Homecoming insanity either. It's a totally different realm of insanity. Homecoming is the Diet Coke of insanity compared to Green Key. Carnival is only quasi-insane. Never ever do more people commit themselves to doing nothing than on that blessed weekend. Everywhere you look, swarms of people doing nothing. Not even pretending to do something. It is truly our most shining moment as college students.
And as we proceed along, the spring gradually gets hotter, finals get nearer, and everyone gets all weepy in the first week of June as Greek houses pass along their most cherished possessions to the younger classes and students everywhere think about how incredibly lucky they actually are to go to school here. The amount that the weather can change people's attitudes is staggering at Dartmouth. Instead of a Student Life Initiative, what we needed was a weather initiative. I spent my spring break in California with the rugby team. Even I, the pastiest, palest, most ashen of people, got color on my skin. In the words of Homer Simpson, I demand satisfaction. Warmer weather now!
Then graduation eventually comes, and everybody clears out except the sophomores, and the whole cosmic ballet begins anew. But until then, we have a moral obligation to have fun. Even as I look out my window again, the skies begin to clear ever so slightly. This is hands down, uncontestably the best term to be at Dartmouth, and I defy you to enjoy it.