Well friends, I'm not very good with the whole "later, 'tater" talk. I get all up in the mushiness like the sappy heroine of a Danielle Steele novel (the non-sexy sections). Or I brace myself against all emotion, devolving into awkward morning-after Blitz lingo: "So, um, that was fun. Can I get my belt back?"
So I've decided to kick it Big Green style -- in song. As you may have noticed, at Dartmouth one learns the art of the lyrics rewrite. At the Dimensions show, at the Trips safety talk, in sorority rush -- Dartmouth kids just don't know how to explain their experiences without the support of a good Bob Seger tune. Or maybe they just can't talk about spending four years here without bursting into song, a la Oklahoma but with more dancing in hot pink spandex.
Being of one mind with the granite brain I claim to dissect in my usual column, I turned on my Rent soundtrack and let the following words flow out like a Broadway diva belting her big finale.
Which, I guess, this is kind of, for me. Gulp.
Before I start releasing the pent-up gush in my Big Green soul, I'll turn you over to my ode. To be sung to the tune of "La Vie Boheme" from Rent (which you better go upload on your iTunes because I went to the trouble of making this fit). Enjoy. And, um, we should like, get a meal some time maybe.
[cue the orchestra]
Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes.
Here it lies
Where we came of age,
The late great college of an Ivy sage
On these nights when we celebrate the rage
In that little town of Hanover.
We raise our glass -- You bet your ass to --
The Dartmouth Four.
[crescendo]
To nights that become fables,
Playing beer pong, making tables
Out of scrap board.
The need to wear flare,
To have neon hair.
To joining in the rage train,
Going insane,
Going mad.
To apprehension, grade tension.
To coming for Dimensions.
To wanting self-call mentions,
Hating suspension, hating pretension.
Not to mention of course,
Leaving dear old mom and dad.
To running to class each day as bells play Star Wars.
To Scores.
To the facetime whores.
To frat dance floors. To beer.
To "Hey, what's your year?"
To any ironic fad.
To making mistakes galore
But still staying hardcore --
The Dartmouth Four!
To running round bonfires and yelling, "Touch the flames."
To coffee, to caffeine, to Blitz war fun and games.
To Sunja, to Larry, to late night EBAs.
To Sex and the City and scrutinizing Grey's.
Emotion, devotion, BoredatBaker commotion.
To procrastination,
Post-thesis elation.
Compassion, campus fashion.
To passion
When it's new.
To "hang outs."
To hook ups.
To anything taboo.
Keystone, Facebook, Wikipedia.
To the Greeks,
To the Geeks,
To dluv!
To pink eye.
To Lou's Pie .
Boot then rally cries .
To why Eleazor Wheelock went over the hillside --
To blow off his Yale pride.
The Dartmouth Four!
Moments of zen, work without end, all-nighters again, awkward freshmen.
Coeducation, friends --
The Dartmouth Seven.
Cheapskate wine, steep late fines, old lone pines.
Late night crusades, S&S raids.
And the Dartmouth Decade.
To residents, to presidents, to precedents, time well spent.
Not ready yet, not knowing yet what it's meant.
To no shame,
Never leaving as you came.
To senior week!
To growing pains,
With hill wind in your veins.
To creating campus lore --
The Dartmouth Four!
