My last article -- in which I lambasted the corporately-recruited -- defended the glory of Summer term. So, in honor of hypocrisy (my own), I've decided to deconstruct this term with a skeptic's eye. I defend my right to criticism as a true Dartmouth summer patriot -- I do believe this to be the best term thus far in my college career. But, as Adlai Stevenson once said, "Patriotism...is not short, frenzied outbursts of emotion, but the tranquil and steady dedication of a lifetime." The similarity ("tedious repetitiveness," some say) of most of my articles' focus finds me in agreement. My skepticism will never wane.
Summer term offers us the unparalleled intimacy of a tiny liberal arts college. To those who chose Dartmouth for the name, this is your alternative Middlebury, Amherst or Haverford. We are in close proximity with our 1,000 some odd peers, all the same age, at the same point in our "Dartmouth Experience" and in the same summer mindset. This is clearly a wonderful context for bonding; at no other time will our similarities -- D-plans, couture, campus activities -- converge, and it's all during the nicest time of year. The sun is out, the workload feels lighter and somehow, everyone else has great abs. I've never seen so much sophomore thigh in my life; in terms of community, the summer even encourages us to share our once-private bodies, safely nestled during colder months.
However, all is not perfect in our hyperborean Xanadu. For all of the intimacy and community building, the summer may become a tiring cultural experiment. Sure, four weeks in we're at our peak of interpersonal overload. Everyone's taking big bites from the Dartmouth Social Scene Pie. But at what point will we be full?
Ours is not solely a community of amity; there's an element of forced interaction as well. Without the filler students (unattractive freshmen and upperclassmen), there's a good chance that the number of encounters with friends and acquaintances are at least doubled or tripled during any cross-campus venture. It is difficult -- some say impossible -- to go anywhere without several "hellos" or small conversations. This is not a declaration of my popularity (there's no need to flaunt such an established fact), but a consideration of the summer's unique social atmosphere. The Dartmouth Bubble may soon feel quite suffocating -- not only are we isolated, but now social interaction is made obligatory.
Remember that hookup from last night? There's a very good chance she'll come say hello, or maybe he'll even ask for a bite of a sandwich (my columns remain gender-neutral). And this, to so many undergraduates, is a situation so mind-numbingly awkward that they wish a quick death, rather than confront someone they could only relate to sexually. These classical qualms of our social scene are magnified by the ubiquity of people we may not want to see. And if you can't think of someone you'd like to avoid, other people are thinking of you.
The social implications of such a small and intimate community are noticeable. How quickly do rumors spread? How lasting are impressions of others? Talk is cheap, but we make up for it in volume. Is anyone afraid that we'll end up hating each other? Even articles in The Dartmouth last for days. To what end?
Seneca once said that "[m]en love their country, not because it is great, but because it is their own." In a Dickensian notion, this may be the summer of our content, if you will -- but plot complications are sure to follow. We should all love Summer term, but not without a wariness for its exhaustive social frenzy. The common problems with Dartmouth's social sphere are only underscored in this concentrated solution of sophomores. As a columnist, I'm just trying to titrate it all.
Moderation -- an idea to which few summer ragers are hospitable -- may soon hold implications not solely for libation, but for conversation. Intimacy, as you all know, is oft a double-edged sword.
