Evenings cool and days shorten, finals and formals approach and everybody acts personally betrayed by the arrival of August. Summer is ending. Worse, sophomore summer is ending. It's disorienting to have something that you've been looking forward to for so long become a memory, but in the 37 seconds that was July, that is apparently what happened.
In grade school, September meant a new school year and a blank slate. The summer had brought changes -- braces came off, people grew taller, got tanner. We used the first week or so of school to reevaluate each other, figure out where we stood, what had changed and what had remained the same.
For the Class of 2008, this September means we are officially old. College is halfway over and graduation is the next major marker in our Dartmouth careers.
Fortunately, none of this means we are close to mature. Yet, we do have a few scars to show for the years we've spent here. That's not a metaphor. Case in point: Ephraim Froehlich, sometime this summer, "built a loft, then blacked out that night and fell off of it only to split open my face and get a black eye for a week." I'm happy to say that Froehlich is far from alone in his exploits. We're still the same directionless idiots, sleeping through class and blacking out in the early afternoons, that we were freshman fall, except for that now we can actually get on tables and don't have to ask for directions to "Theta Delta Chi". So we've learned a little.
Mostly, we've learned that Dartmouth doesn't so much prepare us for the real world as it does isolate us from it. To that end, consider the following.
You have completed sophomore summer and are ready for '06F if:
You or someone you know took Engines 003.
You had a weird sense of relief as the off-campus party you attended got broken up by the Hanover Police cause it meant you could return to the basement.
You have gone to the library just for the air conditioning.
Your landlord has never seen your face. Case in point, Betsy Bryant '08 walked over to a friend's apartment recently with a visiting student from Boston College. The apartment was unlocked and the friend was not home, so Bryant walked in and proceeded to remove some items she had asked to borrow. The landlord happened to come by at that moment. In true Hanover fashion he asked neither a) "Who are you?" nor b) "Why are you and this random guy removing things from this empty apartment?" but c) "Do you have any idea where the tenants are or when they'll be back?".
The fact that the Appalachian Trail apparently crosses in front of the Canoe Club no longer phases you, nor does the smell of the thru-hikers.
You know all the lyrics to "Promiscuous Girl."
You have gone to Psi U, Phi Delt or AD just to see the puppy.
(Girls only): You have given and/or listened to at least three separate, increasingly vehement tirades about the toxic nature of the frat system when it comes to treatment of women in basements, in bed and beyond. You have agonized over flirtatious blitzes, morning after blitzes, late night blitzes, lack of blitzes. You eagerly await the return of older boys (or younger boys, as the case may be) and lament the lack of any kind of legitimate dating scene or even just the blatant lack of respect for women on this campus.
-(Boys only): You really don't care where the girls are.
-The 12 year-olds in Novack know more about current affairs than you do.
-You were interviewed for this article because I know you did something dumb, but you told me you couldn't be quoted because your parents/landlords/professors/ex-girlfriends/coaches/employers read The D.
-An S&S officer has seen you naked.
There's more, of course. Sophomore summer can't be encapsulated in a few sentences.
As I type, people ride by on bikes and motorcycles and unicycles and scooters, random children are playing on the Green (some game involving large sticks - who is watching these kids?), and the campers feast at Thayer. The Hanover Inn has apparently started allowing guests to sing and the Baker Bells compete for attention as they dutifully dole out the alma mater and another summer night eases in. So, here's to August, the last hurrah of summer and to two more years, whatever they may bring.
