In high school, many of us were constantly preoccupied with SATs, ACTs, GPAs, WNBAs, N*SYNCs, etc. We served the community and participated in all kinds of quirky activities for the sake of the biggest self-call of all time: the college application. Back in those days, we were lame.
Upon finally arriving in Hanover, we "recovering high schoolers" were swept off our feet by our DOC trips and transformed into super-chillaxed Dartmouth students over the course of a few days. We learned that self-promotion is Princetonian (and therefore, clearly un-cool) and we were encouraged by H-Croo to "screw our SAT scores" (but, uhh ... not our trip leaders). After that brief period of de-highschoolization, we emerged from the woods covered in peanut butter and twigs, ready for a four-year-long journey along the path of humility (with occasional pit stops for Corporate Recruiting).
Definition c/o '07 Phi Delt, Dr. Andrew Eastman: "Self-Call (noun, verb): Any statement or action deliberately calling attention to oneself for the purpose of illustrating how sweet oneself is."
All of my planned tactics for rounding-up friends were shot from under my feet when I learned that I couldn't wear my purple, hologram "I'm Sweet" shirt out to the frats without being accused of making one of these "self-calls." I realized that if I didn't want to continue to spend every weekend playing pong by myself in my dorm room, I'd have to come up with some creative ways, (besides mass-blitzing out my resume,) to make people think that I was cool and not as dumb as I look/act/am.
I decided that using my intellect was a surefire way to attract new friends. All I had to do was put on those black-rimmed, non-prescription, Emo-librarian glasses that my Mom gave to me to wear to my college interviews. She told me that I should wear them because they made me look "sophisticated," but I think she was secretly worried that the interviewer would realize that I'm blond. (Good thing I was wearing that wig.)
I guess those glasses pulled through for me again, because by the time Parent's Weekend rolled around in April, I had one hefty handful of Moms and Dads to buy me free dinner. I was excited to meet the parents of my new pals, especially because they were all so proud of their kids (and might even be willing to spill about what my friends got on their SATs). What I discovered that weekend was just that: if you want to find out the secret, truly glorious accomplishments of humble Dartmouth students, all you have to do is talk to their mothers.
I realized this fact when I met the mother of Ms. Caroline McKenzie '07 (i.e. an editor of this very newspaper). Caroline's mom refused the ten bucks I offered her for Caroline's SAT Math IIC score, but she did let a gem of a "self-call" slip on modest Caroline's behalf when I accidentally fell off my Razor Scooter and got a massive carpet burn on my knee. I was basically gushing blood all over the Hanover Inn lobby when Caroline's mom emerged from the elevator, saw that I was bleeding, and generously offered me a Curaid (not Band-Aid) band-aid. Now, this was no ordinary bandage. There were tiny, adorable cartoon dogs and cats tumbling from the blue-sky background, and on it, in big letters, it said: "It's Raining Cats and Dogs!" Not only did I thank Caroline's mom, (I'm great with parents), but I went so far as to comment on the incredible design of this bandage that she had shared with me. That's when she dropped the call. In seventh grade, Caroline McKenzie was runner-up in a national design-a-bandage contest sponsored by Curaid. "It's Raining Cats and Dogs!" was her masterpiece.
At that moment, I realized that this "let's be modest!" philosophy of ours is stupid. Caroline is one of my best friends, and I came so close to never finding out this incredible thing about her because everyone around here's all: "a-hem, no self-calls, please."
That close call with McKenzie wasn't the only incident that has driven me to the conclusion that you "Self-Call" police around here need to take a chill pill.
The other day, I was commissioned by the founder of Domino's Pizza to write/direct/edit a commercial endorsing abstinence. All I needed to start the shoot was an adequate leg model. I couldn't find one anywhere. For some reason, no one told me that my very own Safer-Sex Educator, Ms. Kristen Wong '06, is an experienced abstinence-commercial leg model! By the time Kristen's mom piped up about the abstinence commercial her daughter starred in a few years ago, I had already hired Stephanie Herbert '06, whose acting experience involved appearing half-naked in two high-school theatrical productions and playing a prostitute in three other plays. Needless to say, we had to change the goal of the commercial from "Abstinence" to "OK Fine, Just Keep Out of the Red Light District, Kids." Mr. Domino wasn't pleased.
I suggested to my two freshmen brothers, Petey Sweetie and Teddy Spaghetti, that they should learn from Big Sis and dial up some moms to get the goods on some of their new friends. After all, they are trying to pick roommates for next year. For some reason they thought my idea was "weird," so of course, I volunteered to do it for them (to ensure that they won't end up living with freaks).
I called up contestant number one's mom, and she told me that, in addition to playing lead guitar for the famed Trans-Dimensional Wizards, her son, rock star William V. Imbert '09, was also ranked ninth in the world in the real-time strategy online video game, "Warcraft III!" "So what" you might say? Well, apparently he was ranked on the Solo Ladder of the Asia Server, which, as you probably know, is the most competitive server out there. (There were people ranked lower than him who are professional "Warcraft III" players in Seoul, Korea.) I obvi Facebook-friended him immediately.
I then called up the madre of potential new roommate number two, Mr. Benjamin Chapman '09. She was busy, so I talked to his little sister Ellie, who is a Dartmouth '10. (Is there an apostrophe before 10? That's somehow really jarring.) As an uncorrupted high schooler, Ben's sister had no inhibitions about filling me in on her bro's accomplishments as an X-treme ice climber. His climbing skills are all fine and dandy, but what really impressed me was that Ben was ranked no. 3 out of about 65,000 in the Eastern US "Warcraft III" league. Now, like I said, the Asia Server is more competitive, but Ben is ranked higher than Will, so ... It's tough to make the call. I guess it would be ideal if Pete and Ted could score that quad in Mid-Fayer and live with both of these accomplished gamers, but unfortunately, the only thing my lame-o brothers are highly ranked in is room-draw.
All this mom-calling is a bit exhausting, so I'm just going to leave you with a little plea. Friends, if you're one of those closet tool-types who wrote a book in high school, I really want to read it! I want to be able to congratulate Sarah Hughes '07 for getting a trophy for being "most enthusiastic" on her middle-school swim team; and Tasha Sterling '07 for getting an award for the biggest care package in Windridge Camp history. (It weighed in at 60 lbs and contained an entire honey cured ham, which she graciously donated to the kitchen.)
I want to go to a school where Brad Proctor '06 feels free to rave about his internship at Saturday Night Live last year. I'm dying to know all about how he appeared on the show twice and how Kelly Clarkson asked for his number. If his mom hadn't explained to me how much the cast worshiped him, I would never have gotten this great idea to kidnap him and hold him hostage until they offer me a job, too.
Please don't ship me off to Princeton for saying this, but I think that the college experience of little Ellie Chapman, '010, would only be enhanced if all of us weren't so unpretentious all the time. Hopefully, we will all calm down with this "Self-Call" business so that next year Ellie will feel comfortable wearing that purple, hologram "I'm Sweet" shirt that I'm planning on handing-down to her as a thank-you present for accepting the charges of my 1-800-COLLECT phone call.
I'm gonna be on SNL!!
(Laterrr.)
