Since there are only 200 people who hang out at Dartmouth, it shouldn't be too hard to make a name for yourself. Still, we've been carefully constructing our campus identities for two years now. But the class of 2010 is coming to a crossroads.
It's time for the truly socially adept among us to step forward from the shadows and start proclaiming themselves so sick of their respective Greek houses. Think of all the times that upper-classmen who lives off-campus have screamed at you over the basement soundtrack: "Like, I don't even pay dues anymore."
We too must join the ranks of the "Too Cool for School".
In fact, now that it's sophomore summer, many of the 200 are already living off-campus. As "off-campus" becomes more central to our social life, we all must discover a new set of skills. We must un-learn our tendency to associate "drunk" with "yeah!" and attempt to learn a thing or five about cachet. Whoever blitzes out about parties at Sig Ep, can you hear me? I said, cachet. It's French for "hard to get."
So, here's five simple steps to give you a leg up on the other 200, as we all enter the brave new world of an off-campus social life.
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Catch-phrase Cachet. Your abode must have a catchy name, preferably alliterative, rhyming or with some use of imagery. And, a maximum of two syllables. You know what I mean: Red Barn, Blue Zoo or 9P.
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Character Composition. When cobbling together the group who will make up your off-campus house, remember to keep things balanced. The most basic recipe looks like this: At least one truly beautiful girl, for the Facebook albums; one drug addict, to corrupt everyone; and one martyr who will do the dishes while you borrow their car.
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Dcor-chet. As an off-campus locale, you must capitalize on the areas where frats fall flat. Your prime target is aesthetic: the circular conversations around a paraphernalia-scattered coffee table can now happen somewhere pretty. So make it pretty.
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The Breakfast Club. Remember to stock the fridge with delicious breakfast food. In an off-campus house, breakfast really is the most important, and funniest, meal of the day -- everyone is still drunk and last night is always better in retrospect, anyway. And there's no hiding who came home with whom in the breakfast nook. So, skip that free-basing Bagel place and cook your slampiece a big, fat omelet.
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So you think you can throw a party? First, be sure you're filling an appropriate gap in the scene-schedule for the given weekend. Second, you are allowed two blitzes -- one to announce, the next to remind. No attachments, and no more than 25 words. Finally, make absolutely sure you've got twice as much alcohol as you could ever need. Half the point of throwing a party is that you get to spend the next week "needing to kill" the gallon of gin in the freezer. And the keg.
