I'm a bad Dartmouth student. I don't mean that in the mid-80's way, like I ride a chopper with no helmet and wear a studded leather jacket with "Raw-HOG" emblazoned on the back. No, I mean that in the same way I tell people that I'm a bad Texan -- I just don't jive with a lot of the stereotypes.
I don't own a Dartmouth Hoodie, and I don't wear a 10-gallon hat. I'm no good at pong, I think the second amendment is overrated and I don't really go to football games. Most of all, I've never really cared all that much for traditions.
It's certainly not the case that I don't like it here -- I like it a lot. However, I don't really think it matters that you're reading (maybe) the nation's oldest student newspaper, and I find it difficult to believe that the mystique of the Ivy League -- which in many ways is the mystique of the nation's old boys' club -- still means anything to anyone. Traditions can be great ways of bringing together communities, but they can also stifle new ideas and build powerful and unfounded hostilities towards difference. And that's kind of wack.
That being said, there is a tradition of Winter Carnival that I wish we still had, and that is the Winter Carnival Queen. Now, before the, the WGST department, the CWG, the 1972 Society, the WCC, the SAPAs, the WISP program, the Women's Crew Team, and all the other right-minded people who are aware of misogyny woven into the pageantry of old carnivals jump down my throat, hold up.
It's not like I'm sad that we don't have a beauty contest anymore. That much is certainly appropriate, given our 200 years of using women exclusively and unjustly as shipped-in eye-candy.
What I do miss, however, is the idea of the Winter Carnival champion. And in a sense, the Winter Carnival Queen was one. Winter Carnival weekend already has a ton of competition, from the human dogsled race to the big ski meet (Three-peat this year? I hope so), to pong tournaments so large that Stinson's will finally be able to afford to open up a second location on Webster Avenue.
But all of these competitions are fairly specific--you have to be really good at cheating to win the dogsled race, for instance, and (stifled laugh) only students who are 21 or over will drink. That's why I'm calling for the establishment of a new Winter Carnival championship.
First of all, we need a term conveying the proper grandeur, strength, artfulness, and braggadocio befitting true Carnival Royalty. Given that I would want everyone to try out for this title, I think "Winter Carnival Queen" has to go. I kind of like "Carnival Mugwump" or "Carnival Muckity-muck" myself, but feel free to blitz your suggestions to James Larimore.
More important than the name, however, would be the tests of skill and fortitude the new Muckity-muck would have to withstand to earn his or her title. In order to involve everyone, I imagine the tests would have to cover all aspects of Dartmouth life, we certainly can't have our Mugwump suck at life except for, say, juggling.
So here's what I propose: to try to balance the interests of all Dartmouth Students. Competitors for the title of Muckity-muck (they would actually have to be teams) must first demonstrate their athletic prowess by winning a ferocious curling tournament. Those who sweep fiercely and push heavy rocks mightily will reap rich rewards. In the second tier, teams will have to demonstrate their intelligence through a song-writing competition (I think it's been long enough since that Co-hog song that we can revive this contest and have fun with it again).
Points will be awarded for epic, anthemic, and operatic grandeur. Points will be awarded for catchy choruses and songs that match the theme of Winter Carnival (make your own Neverland joke if you want one that badly). Points will be subtracted for rhyming things like 'move' and 'love'.
Songs that replace nouns from the Alma Mater with beer-related nouns will probably be hit and miss: "Dear old Dartmouth give [me] a [beer], for the college on the [Awesome!]/ With the lone [shrub] above her, and the loyal ones who love [beer], give a rouse, give a rouse with a [swill!]"
But the final part of the competition must be the hardest, the one that really separates the dross from the gold. Anyone can sweep like a banshee and write an anthem, but not just anyone can do both of those things and revise the college alcohol policy so that it prioritizes the safety of the students and doesn't strangle the Greek system for no reason, all while doing a 15-keg jump into the hole in Occom cut for the Polar Bear Swim.
Any team of five Dartmouth students who can deserve both our adulation and the honored name of Winter Carnival Muckity-Mucks.
