There is a quaintly post-modern nook nestled in the grand amalgamation we call Baker-Berry Library. This place is Novack. During the term, this place is inhabited constantly, all hours of the night and day. The folk of this place are paradoxical. They come here to work, but they procrastinate. Here, procrastination is a disconcerting limbo of doing nothing while attempting everything. Laptops, destined for that ten-pager due in twelve hours, are transformed into toys for surfing and gaming, and later, hypnotic objects for staring. The assignment to be completed is metamorphosed from a benign expression of learning to an evil opponent to be conquered through rejection and ultimate completion.
The center of attraction for these folk is the equally paradoxical Novack Cafe, generally staffed until 2 a.m. Charged with sustaining the maniacal midnight munchies of these folk, the cafe is staffed by several jovial and seemingly academically unburdened students. They dispense such staples as black coffee, Red Bull, and yellow chai tea. After 2 a.m., an array of vending machines offer an array of such gustatory delights as canned ravioli and canteen burgers. The two Coke machines are generally empty by 4 a.m., as intellectual demands pragmatically manifest themselves in pancreatic pangs.
This is not to say that the cenobitical folk of this place do not enjoy an occasional respite from their bucolic desperation. Wednesday nights see a deluge of inebriated frolickers unleashed as house meetings happily conclude and morph into beer pong. They seek such staples as BlitzMail, food and attention. But it is the pledging neophytes who bring the most happiness. The Novack folk have been treated to visits from such diverse personalities as Superman and tropically attired vixens to entire groups who sprint through, clothed only in their unmentionables and their beer goggles. The studious residents look upon these nocturnal Bacchi with a mixture of loathing and envy. The intoxicated revelers see the assiduous ones as those to be pitied and mocked. But the phenomena pass quickly, and the atmosphere of half-hearted concentration resumes, the odor of beer and the echoes of gaiety still lingering in the air.
As the night grows old, and the hilarity of intoxication yields to a return to apathetic effort, this place is visited by the goodly janitors. These agents of cleanliness seek to return this untidy center of concentration into a model of order and freshness. There is mutual resentment between these two parties. The custodians dislike the presence of the students, although it is their mess that paradoxically ensures the livelihood of these guardians of neatness. The inhabitants occupy the tables that must be cleaned, they traverse newly cleaned floors, soil the disinfected rest rooms, and generally obstruct the devoirs of the dedicated staff. The students see the harbingers of freshness concurrently as a blunt reminder of the waning night and as one of many increasingly unwelcome distractions as time passes and the work does not get done.
There is, however, one activity that unites the worker and the student. Although few of the latter partake in it, smoking outside while glumly musing on the work ahead is a peaceful experience. While the custodians consider the next gigantic floor to be mopped, the students are competitively commiserating about their respective word counts and thinking out the next paragraph to be written upon return to their respective tables. Philosophies and theses, compliments and curses drift through the smoke and early morning fog. United by their mutual love of the little white sticks, socialite and proletarian find respite in the sheer change of location, yet return resigned, to their respective raisons d'tre.
Despite these distractions and divergent activity, there is a peculiar camaraderie among these Novack folk. They sense their common destiny of unproductive effort, bringing them together in protest of the hated deadline, waiting for the dawn, The D, the reopening of the Cafe by the bright-eyed friendly matrons of the morning. For the morning brings the refreshing rush of adrenaline, an impetus to finish urged on by the influx of wide-awake employees who stream among the tables, bringing in the frigid, fresh morning air. These last two hours are the best, as the fermenting nocturnal notions take form as a marvelous morning conclusion to an endless night and interminable paper. The resulting masterpiece, no doubt influenced by the events of the night, will hurriedly take tangible form at GreenPrint, and be victoriously handed to the demanding professor whose exigencies resulted in its sleepless production.
I'll see you at Novack tonight.
