I agree with Brent Clayton's assertion that "the men of Dartmouth are gone" ("Why No One Rages Anymore," July 12). Like Clayton, I don't very much care for this "new population of males either." Some of them are just too effeminate for my tastes. Where are all the masculine men?
Last weekend, I also found myself watching stereotypical fluff similar to Clayton's own subjection to "Something's Gotta Give." The gossipy, nit-picking male queens on "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" made me want to vomit. The show didn't at all represent me or tap into my manly desires. Clayton is right: the most satisfying display of manliness can be found at the new construction sites on campus.
Every time I walk by men hard at work, sweating under the hot sun, I think, "That's my kind of man." In fact, sometimes I can't help but stare if I catch a glimpse of some young muscular guys using a power tool correctly. I bow to their masculine assertions of control. When I'm watching these men, nothing pleases me more than one of them unleashing his masculinity and scratching his "masculine sides."
Clayton should be congratulated for articulating my own, until now, unspoken realizations. Dartmouth does have very few outlets for people like me to release my "pent-up inner masculine desires." And Clayton's also dead on when affirming my own daydreams: "almost every other guy walking by the site was just as captivated as I was."
It certainly makes me feel secure to know that my genetic makeup has "preprogrammed a special survival instinct within" me: when I need a release, I know where to go. Or look.
Everything makes perfect sense now. During my childhood, I had an innate impulse to do the things boys did. I played with guns and toy cars, not because of the toys, but because of the boys. In fifth grade, I also found myself craving wrestling matches with my male friends. But college life has hindered these clearly masculine expressions.
I tried to play sports when I was younger in an attempt to rekindle some of the male companionship and masculinity I craved. But I found myself quickly losing the game when "girls" came up. All my guy friends became so touchy-feely. If only they would have stopped talking about "girls" in the locker room. So I began holding back my impulses. One day, I couldn't restrain myself any longer and had a sudden outburst that threw my cover in a most violent tone: "Where are all the masculine men?"
I send my deepest thanks to Clayton for pointing me toward a solution.
Instituting student-run construction work is simply delightful. The younger the guys, the better. Problem solved.
Between classes I could finally enact my deepest fantasies as I spread concrete and let it dry hard, with that guy from history class looking on in agreement. And then we'd go together to carry long, steel pipes that demanded the tightest of grips.
And yes, to cap it all off, we would have to play pong first. Everyone knows what a little alcohol can do to your inhibitions. Only then would the night's festivities finally begin at the construction sites. Hard hats would be encouraged for safety, and the SA could incorporate all the "miscellaneous items" it wanted.
I also did a little research about this and found that such male dominated communities did exist in Dartmouth's past. The BEMA, incidentally, was just the location it all went down. Here Clayton makes his one mistake.
Activity there was not merely contained to a few years in the late 1880s. "The BEMA was used as a location for students to take out their deep masculine yearnings" well into the 1980s. It makes perfect sense. The BEMA is secluded and private. Two guys could go off into the woods if they'd like. As the "Big Empty Masculine Area," there is also ample room for more group-oriented activities.
Without hard hats, the older men of Dartmouth weren't as safe as we are now. But they still found ways to act on their masculine urges. Activities were characterized by "digging deep holes" and filling them with freshmen.
Contemporary times are more politically correct. Therefore, men have found other substitutes for their holes in place of freshmen.
It may seem a little far-fetched to take over the construction sites, but what else can a man like me do? My Dartmouth forefathers would be astounded at the adoption of "metrosexuality" by my fellow male students.
Dartmouth is merely one example of a wider societal problem. Parents need to stop letting their little boys watch reruns of "Care Bears." Otherwise, there will be no real men left.
Maybe playing with Justin Timberlake action figures isn't such a bad idea. With the right amount of alcohol and willing enough friends, something is bound to "just happen."
I'm scared for our next generation, too. But forget the discussion; I'll join Clayton at the BEMA. Freshmen welcome.
