While the Dartmouth Seven is a firmly agreed-upon tradition that students learn of early on in our illustrious careers at the College (I heard about it from an '07 frat boy during Orientation, shortly before he invited me to check Blitz in his room), there is a slight problem -- no one ever wrote down the exact places or any guidelines, and Wikipedia is depressingly silent on the issue.
Sure, the concept is simple: have sex in seven places, make sure someone calls you out at meetings to highlight your massive legit-ness, and brag about it.
But what of the countless ways you can violate the unofficial rules? Is the golf course really part of the Dartmouth Seven? Do you have to do the President's lawn again when Wright's successor moves in? And, most importantly, at least according to my editors, does inviting your pong date back to the shadow of the snow sculpture count as doing it on the Green? After careful and prolonged analysis, I think not.
Assuming the valiant efforts of our snow sculpture builders pay off (I'm only ignoring their pleading blitzes for help because I have no upper body strength, I swear) we should have some sort of imposing structure in the middle of the Green that will cast a large shadow on a moonlit winter night. An illicit tryst under the cover of towering snow is the perfect way to check "in the middle of the Green" off your list, right?
WRONG. What kind of Dartmouth Seven seeker are you? This is not an undertaking for the people who shun Tabard's Lingerie show! It can only be conquered by the few, the brave, the proud, the exhibitionists who fear the prying eyes of no mortal man or Safety and Security officer. Yes, some of the Dartmouth Seven are more secluded (the Bema's rather private, if you ignore the rumors about video cameras), but the quick rendezvous in the Baker study cubicles are a training ground for more public areas.
Think of it like this: The government department refuses to let me graduate without some sort of "culminating experience." Doing it on the Green is the thesis defense of the Dartmouth Seven: it's stressful, it's risky, and there's a certain allure to attempting it while drunk. And there's a significant chance of someone seeing your ass, which is nothing like a thesis defense at all, unless I've been hanging out in the wrong departments.
In short, hiding out under the snow sculpture is like doing it on the side lawn in between the President's lawn and Sig Nu -- it's kind of a weasel move that disgraces the proud public fornicators who finished their Dartmouth Seven long before your time. Even if you insist that the snow sculpture does qualify as an official part of the Seven, it's still not a place I recommend for a drunken hookup.
The snow sculpture is, funnily enough, made of snow, and it seems to me that there's a high risk of some sensitive areas succumbing to frostbite. Also, very recent history tells us that snow is not exactly the most robust building material -- it might be slightly embarrassing if your acrobatic activities cause another collapse and Safety and Security has to dig you out.
Save your Friday night indiscretions for a cozy dorm room and your Dartmouth Seven attempts for sophomore summer. Your unfrozen self will thank me later.
Kate Farley is a staff writer for The Dartmouth. She plans to defend her thesis in a thong.
