"Guest-Host Relationships" in great literature/bard-songs are go-to topics to bring up for discussion when you're trying to score points in any Classics or English class here at Dartmouth. Our notion of Guest-Host responsibilities has been informed by the experiences of pairs like Odysseus and King Alcinous, Huck Finn and the Grangerfords, Martha Stewart and Alderson and Sinbad and Phil Hartman. I'll briefly summarize the typical duties of each role, for you Econ majors out there who aren't familiar with the term "xenia" and haven't seen the film "Houseguest." (Now that's what I call tragedy -- I'm sure it's at Videostop.)
In storybooks, the host is a figure burdened by great responsibility. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and weekends just after sunset, the host must lower the bridge over his moat and welcome his guests into his castle (as long as their names are on the list). Each guest just busts out her I.D. card at the door, and once she is wrist-banded by the gatekeeper, she's free to descend into the fluorescent-lit dungeon to imbibe free Mead-stone Light, to get down to some minstrel music, and to be entertained by (and often even participate in) the friendly competitions being held upon the host's generous tables.
Stories are exchanged, dances are jigged, and finally, the Everything But Ambrosia's party pack arrives. Upon filling up on grub, all raise their chalices to the wise host for registering his party. The host bows, and proudly marks his territory on the walls- subtly reminding everyone of "who is hosting whom." The party rages on, but eventually, the host is exhausted of provisions. At this point, the guests peace out and transport their insatiable appetites for rage to the party at the palace down the row.
The moral of the story: being a guest is sweet and being a host is, well, I guess, "less sweet" than being a guest?
Given the above information, I never understood why the Beast's kitchen utensils were so psyched to host Beauty. Belle just waltzed into this enormous house and all the pots started frantically dancing around and singing: "Be our guest! Be our guest! Put our service to the test!" Those tea sets were totally ecstatic about boiling and pouring her Earl Gray. What is it about being the providers that is just so satisfying? As a nationally-affiliated "sorority girl" I'm a permanent "guest" in the Greek social scene at Dartmouth, so I really couldn't tell you what this "hosting" hype is all about.
My hypothesis is that it has something to do with (the inverted version of) a lesson I once learned from Spider-Man, that is: "with great responsibility comes great power." Being the host might be a big job, but the endeavor is compensated by a little thing called "The Home-Court Advantage."
When you're the one behind the bar, you can force that cute dude to hang out right next to you for just about as long as you want (while he waits for you to give him a drink). When he finally looks like he's totally frustrated and ready to leave, you can nonchalantly hand a beer his way, wink, and say: "Hang on a second, let me get a wingman over here." (You've only got about 40 lying around the basement, so you'll find one without a problem.) Once a partner-in-seduction is summoned to schmooze with Cute Dude's buddy, you can (again, nonchalantly) offer him a pong game on the, a-hem, V-I-P table. Throughout the game, you can woo him with heart-wrenching stories about how you painted these basement walls with your own, bare hands. Once the game is over you can warn him of the ferocious blizzard hindering his journey home, and offer him a bed (just upstairs!) as an alternative place-to-crash. When he eventually breaks up with you for prioritizing your sisters over him, you can retaliate by removing his name from your gatekeeper's "Guest List" (permanently, or, at least until you recover from your heartbreak). It will be slightly reassuring to know that his friends will have no choice but to ditch him every weekend, after all, you are a sister at their favorite house on campus.
Sing, O Muse, of the reasons why there are so few chick-run basements around here. Also, Muse, do you think you could just bust out a little freestyle-rap explaining to the masses why "Frat Free Friday" didn't work?
What was intended to be a kind of "Opposite Day" for the social scene here at dear old Dartmouth was misinterpreted by many to be an "Opposition Day." Newsflash: girls "don't not-like getting free beer" almost as much as we like boys.
We appreciate both so much that we thought we should reciprocate by being the beer-donors and encouraging men-folk to "be-our-guests" last Friday night. Everyone was on the list. In orchestrating this thing, chicks were also hoping to call attention to the fact that, among other things, it is unfair that dudes are almost always stuck footing the bill for everyone's booze.
We were hoping that the guys would realize this injustice and join the campaign for more parties in "female-spaces," underwritten by women. Unfortunately, the invitation wasn't properly delivered to the men on campus. (I'll have faith that this was the reason the event wasn't such a success.)
Many dismissed "Frat Free Friday" as ineffectual because it was just one night. I say that, at a minimum, it was just one night that got us talking. While we're at it, let's "talk" about one of many not-so "just-one-night" solutions to empowering women in the basements. I just don't buy the explanations that it is "easier" to start up a national sorority and/or that the college can't handle insuring another local house and/or that we should be grateful to have "the moratorium" lifted at all.
There are thirteen fraternities and THREE sororities on this campus that can host members of the opposite sex! In my modest, frat-friendly opinion, it is totally, totally bogus (bordering on obscenely bogus) that the new female-dominated addition to Dartmouth's subterranean social scene is not going to be a space wherein women can host men. What is this about? Was "progress" roofied? (That's as "unchained" as I'm getting on the subject, but I just wanted to throw that out there.)
This little ditty is by no means intended as A) an assault on the new seventh sorority. (Again, I'm in a national house; they're a-okay in my book.) I also don't want this shtick to be misinterpreted as B) a sance to resurrect the spirit of the Student Life Initiative and certainly not as C) a frat-attack. I'd like to point out that this is "The Artist Formerly Known as The Madfratter" rocking the mic right now. I back the basement and I can certainly be spotted enthusiastically fratting on any given weekend, (including last weekend beginning on Saturday at 12:01 a.m.) I would be very disappointed if future Dartmouth Fridays were entirely Frat Free, but I think I speak for many women of Dartmouth when I say that encouraging future Reduced-Frat Fridays (featuring alternative party venues) is a really good idea ... especially since last Friday's program got me hooked on 4 p.m. pong at Theta. I'm going to need to cut back on something to make room for all that Mead-stone.
-Host ya later!
