Upon seeing a recent episode of "The O.C." -- a show about unrealistically beautiful high school students living unrealistically predictable and convenient life stories -- was the lead-in for the new Fox show "Stars Without Makeup" -- a show "exposing" the unrealistic beauty portrayed in the entertainment industry -- I began to ponder the many ironies of our times, particularly those that have faced us as a community recently.
It should come as a shock to no one when I say that irony abounds in this tiny New Hampshire town. You may have already thought of a few examples off the top of your head: A fraternity trying to improve its reputation denied the right to participate in an event because of its reputation; a "Good Samaritan" bait and switch policy getting students in trouble for being careful; the commonly conspicuous juxtaposition of a girl wearing hundreds of dollars worth of clothing and a guy in sweatpants, dressed for the same event, peeing on the wall behind her; and so on and so forth. Are these examples truly ironic, by dictionary standards? Let's pretend, for the sake of clarity, that I know exactly what I'm talking about. (Continue to apply this to whatever I write or say from now on.)
Reading this publication recently, I've noticed two examples of real irony that are just too good to leave unnoticed or unmentioned.
First, let's examine a relatively recent favorite conversation piece: "The Butcher's Bargain" by Krista Oopik '05. If you're unfamiliar with what I'm talking about, you've either been off campus, too busy to have noticed a giant converted Coke machine filled with old meat wrapped in fur next to your Hinman Box, or very drunk. Kudos in all cases. Oopik explains that she created the piece to "emphasize the outrageousness of American consumerism" ("Oopik's 'The Butcher's Bargain' draws stares," Feb. 28). While I don't quite get how old meat illustrates the failings of our culture of consumption, I can at least understand the ends, if not the means. At face value, the idea seems trenchant, "exploit[ing] the grotesqueness of reuniting two naturally intimate materials that have been entirely disassociated in the product market." That is, until about two paragraphs down the article explains that "in a perfect world she would create textiles for haute couture designers."
Standing up against consumerism and then announcing your desire to set new clothing trends thereby rendering older styles defunct is like taking a stand against alcoholism and then giving 40s to homeless people if they can tell a good joke.
Upon further thought, the biggest failing of our consumption culture illustrated by "The Butcher's Bargain" is that in our demand for new, cutting-edge art, we allow perfectly good sirloin go to waste. I don't mean to criticize Oopik personally for her "art," but rather, the entire world of artists and critics who enjoy stuff like this. Look down your nose at me, call me uncultured, whatever. Just don't make an easily crafted and capricious criticism of an aspect of society that you yourself embody.
The other example of recent irony I want to discuss was articulated more clearly than I ever could in the caption of a photograph in a recent issue of The Dartmouth. It read, "Jim Kuypers, Dartmouth's lone speech professor, has encountered difficulty convincing the College to hire more teachers of rhetoric." ("Speech prof. complains of lack of support," March 1). The fact that the only person responsible for teaching Dartmouth students persuasion cannot himself persuade is funny, until the situation is considered in context.
Effective speaking skills should be an attribute of any graduate from a prestigious school. Many schools even require every student take a speech class before graduation. And yet, we have merely one professor of rhetoric, and he, by title one of the most persuasive members of the Dartmouth community, can't convince the administration to allow him just one more. This is reflective of a greater problem facing Dartmouth: The College is seriously understaffed, and the administration is apparently refusing to acknowledge the problem adequately. Students can't get the classes that they want in many departments, and those that do are often faced with class sizes closer to those of a state school than to those of a school that seriously wants to be called the "foremost institution of undergraduate education in the country." The Campaign for the Dartmouth Experience has made steps in the right direction, endowing two new distinguished professorships this week, but more is necessary. Maybe dipping into that endowment thing might be a good idea. The bottom line is that at a school with so many resources, the difference between the actual number of faculty and the ideal number should never be as great as it is here today.
If you think otherwise, I'd also like to call your attention to a refrigerator full of old meat that used to be near your Hinman box.
