Ladies, gentlemen, freshmen, etc.: Welcome back to Dartmouth. Spring is in the air, Main Street's Goth Bench is blooming, the Froyo Machine is chirping, and I'm happy to report that the Green is, well, on its way to being greenish. Old Man Winter still hasn't shown up for our annual beating -- word is he finally croaked. Hopefully he won't surprise us with a miraculous resurrection this Spring. That would be pretty unoriginal.
I'm sure you are all pleased to see that some enterprising individual has blackmailed the editor of The Mirror into bringing me back for round two of Unchained!!! (Cue: you applauding.) I've decided to kick off this first set by mixing a few beats about a hodgepodge of issues arriving alongside this new term here at Dartmouth. First, I'd like to address any issues that may have just arrived regarding my recent use of the word "hodgepodge." I agree, it was the right choice. ("Potpourri"= B-side "hodgepodge.") Onwards!
My to-do list this week has resembled that of any average Dartmouth student at the beginning of a new term. I've had to change my meal plan, sign up for PE, sharpen my pong paddles and spend some time not wanting to go to Wheelock Books. Does anyone else fear that place besides me? Not only because of the fact that it (a) represents all that is "homework" and (b) looks like a giant, metal spider about to fang Hanover, but also because (c) come on! Are you serious? Who designed that place???
Hypothesis: a non-certified architect was faced with the task of finding parking in Hanover before (s)he could sit down at Dirt Cowboy to doodle up some quick blueprints; and of course, finding parking in Hanover is impossible, so the architect bailed and those blueprints were never doodled. The aspiring bookstore owners decided to do it themselves and went over to the pretty well-designed Dartmouth Bookstore, skimmed through a copy of "Bookstore Design For Dummies" (they didn't even buy it -- they're too competitive and cheap) and settled with the "box-on-stilts" design, ideal for anyone who hates college students and enjoys forcing them to climb all those stairs/read.
They agreed that this design was also great because they could use it to tempt students to park their cars in that enormous, empty parking lot under the bookstore (just for two minutes while they run upstairs real quick to get those really heavy books that they didn't want to have to carry all the way home to the river) and while the innocent, polite student was waiting in that suspiciously enormous line, the bookstore owners notified the Parking Police that this was a good time to come over and ruin this remarkably patient student's life by giving her another parking ticket, and now the student doesn't have enough money to buy those books, and that's why I didn't do my homework for class today, and my poor little dog is starving.
Plea: My guess is that it's a not-good thing that fragile-looking place is constantly swarming with people stomping around among thousands of textbooks (i.e. "heaviest things ever"). Will whoever is in charge of this world please send a Fire Marshall over there for a check-up/shut-down? This may just be a symptom of my arachnophobia, but that place makes me nervous as hell.
Anyway, back to the applause-inducing story of that summerific Tuesday afternoon. I escaped Wheelock Books and discovered that everyone was chillaxing on the Green, throwing a variety of balls, and discussing the weather/where they're living/how psyched they are for Tubestock. Collis porch was packed with thousands of reunited Collis groupies, awkwardly ogling one another and slurping down their omelets while standing up because some jerks from another house stole our tables. (We don't care if you "painted them," that doesn't disguise the fact that they're round. We will find out who did this, and when we do, something really bad is going to happen. xoxo, The Hippies.)
In spite of the fact that I couldn't get on a table, it was a pretty fun little party. I was happy to notice that (assuming everyone didn't spend spring break reconstructing their faces) it appears as though a lot of people are back for Spring term who have been M.I.A. for a while. This is stupendous. It's like one big family reunion with a bunch of cousins you're not even related to, so you've got the green light to make out.
At the party, I was working on some research for this week's "Overheard" and it seemed as though every convo I was eavesdropping on was kicked off by: (1) Where were you last term? (2) Where have you been for the last two terms? or (3) What trip section were you on? Suddenly, I feared that I had been catapulted from 05X into that "let's-pretend-to-get-to-know-each-other" otherworld of Freshman Orientation.
Fortunately, people didn't continue to talk about boring/stupid stuff like they do for most of Freshman fall. This time, my adventure-seeking peers entertained one another with tales of bold voyages to distant lands, where they battled sea-monster-like file cabinets, and interned to save the world, one hedge fund at a time. They had journeyed to exotic, long islands and learned how to play/spell "ukulele" and they shared these lessons with the children, who they also fed. In just one to two off-terms, Dartmouth students did all this and more, and all without speaking a single word of English/using their hands. Oh, and one guy saved a whale. But apparently that feat involved some English. And he probably used his hands. What a loser.
Conclusion: On Tuesday, I realized that I still don't know about a million of my classmates as well as I'd like to, and I thank the Sun Gods that I still have only one year left (what?!?) to get to know some of them better -- specifically the ones with job offers (for me) and/or sweet apartments in LA or NYC (which also have the option of being for me). Seriously, share or pay the price. I may or may not know that "I Know What You Did Last Summer" is secretly your favorite movie, and I'm prepared to tell people. People who will judge you very harshly.
I'm going outside. This can't possibly last. (Later.)
