Point: Sophomore Summer Relationships
By Kate Farley, The Dartmouth Staff
Published on Friday, June 27, 2008
Ah, sophomore summer. Warm days, shirtless frisbee players on the Green, vaguely "summerish"-themed tails with the normal amount of alcohol and a quarter of the people ... what more do you need? The more romantically minded would tell you that a steady boyfriend or girlfriend might complete the picture, but there is a major consideration they forget: Dartmouth is not designed for dating. What's a group of about 1,000 (somewhat) nubile young co-eds marooned in the boonies for the summer to do?
Simple solution: Everyone randomly hooks up with everyone. I'm in the minority of the class not majoring in economics, but I'm pretty sure that would optimize some kind of allocation of resources with the most mutual benefit, if you get my botched nerd-joke drift.
Plus, sophomore summer is the perfect time to be a player (or "dirty slut," if you prefer). Observe:
You know almost everyone on campus. This seems like a negative at first -- won't the snarky blitzes be fast and furious? But even the most random of hookups have to start somewhere. And knowing that hot guy's name is half the battle -- you're that much closer to his romantic room in Theta Delt.
In the summer, your walk of shame will be infinitely less painful. Thanks to the early sunrise and improved weather, you can make your awkward trek in someone else's pants in a well-lit, ice-free environment, and with only a quarter of the campus' population here, you're that much more likely to escape the disapproving stares of early risers.
You essentially don't have class -- what are you going to do with all the extra time? Classics 4 reading? I think not. Plus, the next day, you can walk into Loew auditorium together.
The weather is warm. According to MTV, when you combine this with people of the opposite sex and reality tv cameramen, it's a veritable recipe for hot, TV-14 rated action -- hook up!
Sophomore summer marks the midpoint of your Dartmouth experience. After this, every day draws painfully closer to the real world of taxes, long hours in the offices of Goldman Sachs and general being-over-30-related lameness. Hook up now -- get therapy later.