Dudes on Parade: I have a dream
I was talking to a friend the other day and she happened to mention that the past few weeks she has been plagued by a recurring dream. One in which she had miraculously developed "sock hands."
Everything about her life seemed otherwise as it should be. She simply had socks for hands. Aside from the very obvious problems this would present in terms of limiting one's ability to flick off Parkhurst, masturbate in Lower Level Stacks and give Rob Friedman '08 wet willies, this circumstance seemed pretty hilarious to my puerile mind.
It also got me thinking, and I realized that the age-old Dartmouth saying really is true: "Nobody talks about their dreams anymore."
Remember the good old days when dreams were a portal to your true consciousness and hard drugs didn't leave you feeling so paranoid and alone?
Freud used to be all about that sh*t and he got more (vestigial) tail than Aaron Carter at the Vatican. Martin Luther King? That guy was all about his dreams and people think he is sweeter than Von Dutch hats. (Do people still think those are sweet?) So as part of my thus far fruitless life-long quest to get a holiday named after myself, I'm running it back. DRMLKJR, this one's for you big guy.
To be read aloud, preferably by someone respectable like Morgan Freeman or Jason Priestley. (Quick aside: Did you know that Priestley is actually a word in the MS Word Dictionary? ... no squiggly red line, for real.)
I have a dream. I have a dream that Natalie Portman will agree to do a tasteful, though prolonged, sex scene in her next movie to try and bring home that Oscar before Keira does.
I have a dream that it will be directed by Pauley Shore. I have a dream that Dartmouth will someday recognize that spending money on the development of an Office of Sustainability is a little like spending money on an interpreter for a school of the blind, and that if they really wanted to do something about the school's environmental policy they would start by not running the air conditioning in Novack in the middle of November. I have a dream.
I have a dream that Winona Ryder will see my true beauty within. I have a dream that Blunt Alumni Center will drop the damn pretense and get involved.
I have a dream that Polocrosse will no longer try to pass itself off as Lacrosse on horses, but instead embrace its true identity as Polo on Motorcross bikes.
I have a dream that David Eckstein will disappear. I have a dream sometimes that I'm wandering the desert alone, only I'm wearing moonshoes and compulsively devouring pixy stix.
I have a dream sometimes. I have a dream that Professor Pease will finally drop his rap album on us. I have a dream that courses titled things like "Sex, Women and the Modern Age" won't be so misleading.
I have a dream that the football team would stop relying on "The Flying V Approach" to formulating a balanced offensive attack. I have a dream.
I have a dream that if kids are going to attempt to raise awareness for hunger and homelessness in the Upper Valley (respectable), they won't do it by "spending an evening as a homeless person would" in a Marmot sleeping bag, listening to a capella and drinking apple cider (indescribable).
I have a dream that the word "ghetto" will never again be used in a party invitation for Kappa/TDX tails. I have a pipe-dream that Mindy Kaling '00 will randomly Google her name today, appreciate the facetime I have generously tossed her way and offer me a job writing for "The Office" via Blitz. I have a pipe-dream.
I have a dream that Party Packs will from this day forth consist of nothing but The Hop's General Tso's Chicken.
I have a dream that empathy and understanding will prevail and all races and creeds will join hands under a rainbow made of unicorns and gummy bears. I have a dream that Kyle Joseph '07 will stop beating up DREAM kids and abusing the AD dogs all the time in public.
I have a dream that Tom Cruise will shut up and let me enjoy my memories of Top Gun and Cocktail in peace. I have a dream.
[Hold for applause... motion for audience to sit back down ... collect the underwear that have been thrown on stage ... give them back to Brent Clayton '07 and explain to him that you love him too, just not in that way.]
Well, if you've made it this far, I commend you and really do appreciate the efforts. It's been a great term getting to know you all through your respective pieces of hate mail, and I look forward to pretending I'm important again next term. Take care and be safe.