I find it not so ironic that not only are you near Cuba in geographic origination, but you are on a strikingly similar level to said country in your desire for the destruction of the democratic principles on which this country was founded -- liberty and justice for all."
I received this blitz from a friend after telling him that I would not write my last and final column of the year about him. I told him that he had been voted down by the dictatorship that is me. But because I was looking for something to write about that would end the year on an epic note, I have changed my mind. Alas, Bill, this column is not solely dedicated to you. I have been thinking about my first year at college and everything that's happened here, and above all the sleepless nights and 15 page papers, I have been thinking about my friends. I'm not going to tell you that college friends are different from friends at home, because you know that. You know that these are the friends that meet you when you're fully in control of your bladder, unlike those friends you made in the first years of life. And these people don't have memories of you dancing to Vanilla Ice in the cafeteria during your sixth grade formal. Friendships develop fast and superficially here -- maybe you have lunch after your 11 with the only other person in your government class who writhes in an agony of internal laughter over the way the professor says "appeasement" -- but soon you find yourself discussing your parents' divorce, or picking your friend up from Dick's House and taking care of her.
After being bombarded with blitzes from my friends, and suggestions from one that I "write a really really sweet and touching profile" about her -- about how she always wears sandals and tiny sundresses, even when everyone else is in coats; about how she has to leave five minutes early to get to class because it takes her a long time to totter around campus on platform shoes that she frequently falls off of; about how she always always always checks herself out in the mirror by the information desk in Collis; about how she buys lilacs from the flower shop to carry around some days; how flowers are a necessary item in her budget; about how writing poetry is more important to her than eating; and about how she always sends me blitzes so full of joy and happiness that I can't help but smile when I read them.
One friend writes, "I want you to write about me and how I want to go to New Zealand to pick kiwi. No, write about how I am a monkey or write about how I am cool." This from a girl whose reply-to has changed from flipfloppers to spidermonkey to velvetcowgirl in a few short days and whose peals of laughter ring out across the Green whenever it's sunny out.
I have made friends every which way this year. There's something about sharing a sleeping bag with someone that really brings you together -- three of my trippees are still close friends. I immediately bonded with one of them, and he has hugged me on numerous bad days. I didn't immediately take to another trippee -- I was scared of her on our trip (she is from Wyoming and knew all about that outdoor stuff) -- but by the time we got back to campus, I thought she was the coolest person I knew. Hell, just telling people that she was my trippee increased my level of coolness in their eyes. Over the year, I have discovered that not only is she cool, but she's thoughtful and sweet and wonderful, too. She's the only friend who didn't suggest that I write a column about her when blitzing out for ideas. She tried to stick some personal issues in her list ("Write it about the positive aspects of vegetarianism -- there are many, I can help you"), but for the most part she suggested topics that were important to me and that involved things that happened in my life.
When asked, "What makes you sexy?" one of my friends answers "my subversive charm devastates women and third-world dictatorships alike. I am also bullet-proof." I once had a serious conversation with this Minnesota man, this wrangler of truth and flippant commentator on everything nonsensical, and we talked about relationships and girls and life. For all his bullet-proof sex appeal, he resorts to being a real person occasionally.
Why are my friends crazy? I don't know. But I do know that they're fun, comforting, always there to listen, and they are the reason my past year was wonderful. Above the great facilities Dartmouth offers, above the small student-to-faculty ratio, above the remarkable blitz-powers, above the magic Hop fries and Collis baked goods, the wonderful friendships I've made here reign. What makes Dartmouth great? I say it's the people, from professors who take you to lunch or go to your plays to friends who bring you soup when you're sick.
