Not In My Dojo

It's time to speak of mentoring. No, no! Come back! This is still a humor column and I'm not actually going to present you with an opinion. Seriously, I cringe at opinions; I shudder; I convulse -- especially when they're not mine and are, therefore, wrong. I will reserve my potentially provocative -- read: liberal, read: radical, read: socialist, read un-American, goddamn Commie-pinko opinions for a future date. And by future date I mean when I have armed and able-bodied protection against those minions at that lovely bastion of conservatism on campus (to think I once thought, as a nave fresh(wo)man, that they were an underground publication devoted to sex, drugs, and rock and roll -- how easily the young are deceived).

But anyway, to return to the topic. Mentoring. No, this is not a call to arms. This is not a request that you, the fresh-faced Dartmouth student, drive your Audi, your Range Rover, or what have you, to the nearest elementary school to present the kids with the sight of what they might someday achieve (if, of course, they study hard enough, and if, of course, their parents are WASP-y enough, and if, of course, they inherit enough money from their Mayflower ancestors).

(I interrupt this column to remind the reader that this is intended to be funny and if perhaps it is not humorous to all readers, particularly if said reader is the Audi-owning, fresh-faced Dartmouth student) and that I am merely being sarcastic. I am by no means intending to stereotype all Dartmouth students or all owners of Audis or Range Rovers as undeservedly privileged and excessively self-important and self-aggrandizing. In fact, I will state here that not all Dartmouth students own Audis or Range Rovers. Indeed, I will even go so far as to concede that not all Dartmouth students own cars).

So what is this mentoring business? If you remember being a first year, or if you are one now, perhaps the term "first-year advisor" rings a bell. My advisor, a professor in a department that I will probably never take a course in, was great. Really nice, really helpful, really advise-y. Whatever happened to that guidance? Where are the upperclassmen advisors? Why is it assumed that only freshmen need the help of such compassionate professors as are willing to take the time out to help the ignorant and completely oblivious?

I have big dreams for myself. So, maybe I won't be an I-banker, but so what? In the apt words of Trent Reznor: "Even though I'm not an I-banker, I [still] want to know everything, I [still] want to be everywhere, I [still] want to (insert appropriate profanity here) everyone in the world, I [still] want to do something that matters." And to arrive at such enlightenment, to achieve such goals, the only possible answer must be that I need a mentor (fine, so maybe the lyric did not start off with "even though I'm not an I-banker").

I need someone to call me "Grasshopper" or if not "Grasshopper," at least, Nancy-san. I need someone who will command me to shave my head, don a garment of sackcloth, and leave off wearing shoes. I want to be beaten into submission (if you wish, you can interpret that as a sign of masochism). I want to be taken to the Organic Farm and forced to labor until I comprehend the ultimate meaning and cycle of life.

Here is my short list of requirements for those professors who will indubitably begin flocking to my doors in an effort to become my mentor:

1. Extensive knowledge in the following subjects: a) literature, b) art, c) the creation of literature and art, d) literary theory (the best class in the world!), e) various movements, such as: Marxism, feminism, et al., f) philosophy, g) psychology, h) religion (all), i) history (starting from the beginning of time until present day), j) Spanish, k) Portuguese, l) Italian, m) French, n) all genres of music (excepting country, which is not music but noise), and any other areas of study that pique my interest over the course of my life.

2. Must be willing to teach me how to drive. I'm from New York! What can I say?

3. Must know answers to such questions as how did we get here? Where do we go after we die? Why are we here? How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop?

4. Must be very wealthy, and, upon leaving this materialistic society of ours to live an ascetic life of purity and of disciplined pursuit of transcendence, will bequeath all worldly goods to his/her beloved disciple.

Wax on, wax off.