Thursday was my Mom's birthday. I'm feeling kind of guilty about the present I gave her. Somehow, it just doesn't seem like enough, all things considered. I mean, when you think of all the things mothers do for their children, all the stuff (in both a material and spiritual sense) they sacrifice through the years, it is tough to come up with a commensurate present. But I didn't even come close this year. She gave me the gift of life and I gave her the gift of a seven dollar coffee mug from the Dartmouth Co-op. To make matters worse, it's probably the same exact mug I gave her last year. In my pitiful defense, who has the gall to have a birthday this close to Christmas, anyway? (apparently everyone, if you've been reading The Dartmouth lately.)
In addition to being one of the few people in the world with the saint-like patience required to put up with all my crap for 22 years, my mom also happens to be one of the most loyal readers of this column, and she doesn't hesitate to let me know what she thinks of it. Usually she'll say something like, "It was okay, but watch your dangling prepositions" (she's an English teacher). She also often asks if I really am as bitter and miserable as I appear in these columns. In fact, a lot of people have asked me if I really hate Dartmouth as much as it seems.
Well, I don't. I like it here a lot, actually. All in all, I'd have to say that it's the right place for me. I just complain a lot. But there are a lot of great things on this campus that often get a little overlooked. Take, for example, last term's Senior 'Tails. Used to drinking piss-warm Keystones out of plastic cups in grimy basements, I was a little out of my league class-wise sipping Merlot in the Hood Museum, yet I had a great time nonetheless, and not just because I'm a wannabe creative loner who enjoys hobnobbing with Dartmouth's literati and artsy types (in fact, some of those kids terrify me). Say what you will, Senior 'Tails is a fun Dartmouth tradition that's probably more in keeping with what the social engineers of the Student Life Initiative had in mind than all-night pong tournaments, and yet it only happens once a term and the turnout (so far) has been somewhat less than stellar. A friend of mine who attends an Ivy League institution in New Haven that will remain nameless (comparisons being odious and whatnot) says that his school has something very similar to Senior 'Tails, but they have it every afternoon instead of once or twice a semester. And while his school can't boast of such bumping nightspots as Poison Ivy, they do have fraternities, societies, a strong residential college system and a town free from draconian zoning laws (oh yeah, and the administrators at his school seem secure enough with the school's image and U.S. News ranking to resist financially bleeding to death certain institutions deemed unattractive to "high-ability" students just to kowtow to a magazinebut I digress). Anyway, I already have a big enough inferiority complex, so I'll stop talking about Yale now before I cry. Besides, I promised myself I'd try to stay happy this term (and the countless hours spent in front of my mirror, reciting Stuart Smalley-esque daily affirmations would all go for naught if I let myself become bitter now).
There are other things about Dartmouth that make it a great place to go to school. I just tend to forget them all every time I sit down to write. The Slushy Noodles at Food Court the other night were excellent. The Facilities Operations & Maintenance people who clear out the snow are fantastic. Seriously, I'm not being sarcastic (I know sometimes it's hard to tell) -- it takes me six hours to shovel my one little car out of its parking space, but these guys have the streets and sidewalks all over the entire campus cleared before you even realize it's snowing. Most of the time.
Remember, just because you read something in The D doesn't make it necessarily true. And just because I write something in The D doesn't mean I necessarily believe it. Now, to get back to the issue of my mother's birthday gift (and steal a page from J.D. Salinger at the same time): Under the belief that two lame gifts are better than one, here's an "unpretentious bouquet of very early-blooming parentheses: (((())))." Maybe next year, if I ever get a job, I'll spring for real flowers. And to answer your questions in advance, Mom: No, I'm not really as bitter and depressed as I seem. No, I don't really hate it here and cry myself to sleep every night. And yes, I did save the receipt for the mug.
