First, a word or two of explanation. I, Sean Alpert, had never heard of AnimalHouse.com -- a new web resource for college students. I personally feel that in the middle of the spring, I have better things to do than surf the web for generic, intentionally hip fountains of information some group of people (who probably have dubious motives for doing so) think is attractive to college students. However, that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it, but I think I did so for the wrong reasons.
Once my browser hit the site, I was immediately told that, before being exposed to the trove within, I would have to "log in" and fill out the standard form detailing name, age, address, birthday, school I go to, phone number and "the e-mail of a friend." E-mail of a friend, huh? Dubious motives indeed.
So, once I had filled in the pertinent info with the name of a friend, I was told I had successfully "pledged the house," and was led on a brief tour by FratRat, the neo-Mickey mascot of the site. The sobering image of Mr. Rat's tail vanishing into a hole appears on each page, clicking on his posterior allows the "pledge" to ask FratRat a question of his choosing. To my question about the use of Swiss Cheese as part of pledge initiation rites, he responded that I seek out "a special lotion and a fine toothed comb." Yes, that's really true.
So after that touching and illustrative moment, we began our tour of the house, starting in the Attic, which features job boards, a resume builder and, for all those Fortune 500 companies who must be searching AnimalHouse.com for employees, a resume search.
I next moved on to the "Remedy" section, in which, upon entering my age and sex, it recommended I have a "dental exam" and ask my doctor, upon my next checkup, to test my blood pressure. Technology is good.
Next stop was the "Commonz." I realized I couldn't stop at the "Commonz" without a great loss of dignity, and without laughing really hard, so I moved onto the "Library," which FratRat had promised would tell me "where to find the best coffeehouse for scamming babes on campus" and would have a plethora of term papers and tests for the asking. Eyes closed in anticipation of the Eden that lay ahead, I clicked the mouse.
Sadly, such info was not to be found. There wasn't even a mention of the free tests and stuff, and no one else from Dartmouth had been by to fill in tips on "Hot Places to Makeout." In what I considered a true act of altruism, I entered "Club Homeplate." With all those people doing the Freak and the Bird and just getting down, it gets pretty hot in there. No need to thank me.
Anyway, after a quick spin by the unmoving "Road Trip" section, which was brash enough to suggest "Mexico" as a spring break destination, I returned, feeling that my sense of journalistic duty warrant that I do so, to the "Commonz," which, as it turned out, held the homepages of my fellow pledges.
A sense of brotherly unity led me to the search page, which had been thoughtful enough to organize the pledge pages into pre-set categories. Though my search of the "Civil Rights" category came up nil, the 'Psychedelic" section yielded the page of "Conor," a freshman at Clemson who enjoys "good music and just chilling." His page featured one of those hyper-trippy fractal images and an e-mail address for those interested in trading Phish tapes.
Moving to more fertile pastures, I searched the "sex" pages, which led me to the home of "PezGirl," who is "obsessed with Pez, chocolate and other unmentionables." Also under the "sex" listing was a fellow who called himself "BoredStupid." It must be all that sex.
So, what is this place all about? Pretty much nothing but a collection of eye and head candy for students just "BoredStupid." And I wasn't wrong about those dubious motives, on almost every page there were cutesy animated characters asking if you've brought friends into the house or added to your "buddy list," which is basically a list of people you know who are members on the site.
Even spookier was the "Spring Break Contest" sponsored by Microsoft. I assume that running a free web service that includes no advertising is not exactly profitable, somebody has got to be providing the hard-earned money for the web space and prizes, and it might as well be Billy Boy Gates.
All in all, the site is pretty much useless to a Dartmouth student, unless you're looking for some free web space and another e-mail address. But it does illustrate one of the problems with the web; nowhere on the site does it mention who owns or runs it, and you wonder who's getting their hands on the "pledge information" that you innocently keyed in upon entering. AnimalHouse.com may look nice, but unless you like being telemarketed and placed on advertising lists, I'd stay away.
