"The Morning After." Cue: Elliot Smith's "Say Yes," please. Okay, now dim those lights. This is gonna be deep, peeps.
When our editor politely suggested that I discuss the theme of this week's Mirror in today's "Unchained!!! (RAHH!)" my immediate reaction was, "Yeah, sweet! Bring it on, Olympics-style! Ice-luge! Uhh, the morning after what?"
There are a lot of happenings that go down in this part of New England that are generally followed by yet another morning, or at least mid-afternoon ... or another night after? (Well, maybe for you nocturnal rage-faces out there, sure.)
The question is: what is so unique about "a Dartmouth morning after" that makes the subject worthy of this highly-coveted half-literarily legitimate-ish -- say that ten times fast -- Mirror-time?
I'm sure that many of us have fond Dartmouth memories that are contained by the earliest pockets of days past. Every once in a while, however, we work-hard students also bump into one of those seemingly inescapable "mournings after": A.m.'s dedicated to mourning the loss of dignity, memory, 20 bucks to EBA's and ... did I mention dignity?
Both forms of mo(u)rnings are the sometimes-welcome consequences of what we like to call "The Dartmouth Experience." They often generate mild panic, cautious elation, thrilling awkwardness or just that general feeling of sinking in your stomach that a friend once cleverly coined "Homework Tummy."
Homework Tummy (n.): The feeling that arrives when the teacher is surprise-collecting homework that you just didn't do.
You can also get this feeling in other situations, for instance: A) when you're skydiving and you remember that you left your car keys in the plane, or B) when you suddenly realize: "Hey, I just remembered I hooked up with a rando last weekend ... count it! Wait, O.M.G. that was my teacher?!? Uh-oh. And he's surprise-collecting homework! Phew, good thing I did it -- but, wait, where are my car keys!?! Ahhh!"
The individual aftermaths of Winter Carnival (rage!) and Valentine's Day (ooh la la?) have joined forces to make the latter segment of this week one Super-Sized morning after (hold the onions, please).
I'm sure that many of us are still recovering from everything: waking up from the Polar Bear Swim, gushing over the love poems our secret admirers Sharpied all over our faces while we were passed out and/or frantically mass-blitzing the campus to see if anyone knows the name of that gorgeous "Magic Man" we were dancing with while our coat was being stolen at Phi Delt on Friday. Tall with brown hair. (Reward! Blitz "heyalice." No questions asked, please.)
Metaphorically speaking, "the morning after" isn't necessarily confined to a single morning. The notion of a morning after can be extended to describe life in the wake of all kinds of landmarks of our young lives: relationships, accomplishments, eternally humiliating strolls across the Green with bowed-in-oblivion foreheads doodled with: "roses are red, violets are blue, so is this 'haha pen-15 club' I Sharpied on your face!"
I expect that life after Dartmouth will feel like one long morning after, which brings me to my next point -- (cue: Iceberg) "I'll never let go, College ... I'll never let go!"**##
I'd like to discuss some of the more (u)-filled "mournings after," because they're generally more dramatic, and I'm all about tragedy (*see above allusion. Like I said: "deep").
Last Saturday night, I was at a delightful gathering at Sigma Alpha Epsilon when I literally stumbled upon a couple of friends having a conversation about one of my favorite conversation topics: "conversation."
Actually, I may have been the one who brought it up. I think they were debating about mortgaging the weather or something, so I interjected with, "Hey! Who wants to talk about NRO-ing this little talk of ours at a C+?" I thought that was pretty eff-ing hilarious at the time, but in retrospect, that was exceptionally rude. (Can that be stricken from my record, please?) Gaah, I'm soo embarrassing.
Needless to say, they were all into the convo, because the "Non-Recording Option" is pretty much the best thing ever. Basically, the discussion that then transpired addressed the fact that it's too bad that (no matter how hard some of us may try) we just can't NRO "how we behave when we go out."
"Pleeease tell me I didn't say/do/blitz that!" are utterances that can be heard echoing across the college on a hill on a sunny morning after. If only you could start off your Friday night with the understanding that if you didn't maintain at least an A- in sweetness, your behavior wouldn't be recorded in the memories of others. I guess the closest thing to the NRO option is offered by the more generous Keystone-enthusiasts among us, who spend a good portion of their weekends "non-recording." Way to contribute to the effort, people.
We all have the capacity to do/say/blitz/wear some bogus stuff on the weekends that we ultimately have to A) cope with or B) just totally disregard when the morning after rolls around.
Many wise Dartmouth students seem to adhere to the latter policy, allowing ignorable incident X to sift into the past and dissolve without a trace into the shimmering cesspool of "stuff we just don't feel like thinking about ever again."
Whenever I have to deal with myself on mornings after, I'm comforted by a simple challenge once proposed by a wise friend of mine: "Whoever graduates with the best stories wins." (As of now, the prize is a face transplant, but I guess I'd settle for a gift certificate to Change-Your-Names-R-Us.)
Patching together the black quilt of what happened last night is a task that often requires collaborative storytelling. It's also a chance to play my favorite game, called: "Hey___! It was soo ___ when you ___ last night!" This activity involves convincing your friends that they did something totally embarrassingly idiotic that they have no recollection of doing. It's a lot of fun, and always makes me (temporarily) feel better about my own (not-so-temporary) not-so-sweetness. Here's an illustration of how to play: "Hey, Darya Fuks '07! It was soo a felony when you stole that extremely valuable composite from Alpha Chi last night!" That one really got her going for a while, but don't worry H-Po, contrary to what her Facebook.com group affiliation might suggest, Darya didn't really steal anything. She may be the founder of the "I Want an Alpha Chi Composite for my 21st Birthday Club," but Darya is no thief. The culprit is Abigail Medvin '07, founder of "I Steal Stuff ... Boo-Yah!"
The final part of the piecing-life-back-together process involves beefing up and checking out that "Sent Messages" folder to see if any damage has been done in the BlitzMail department.
Fortunately, after years of hard work, Student Assembly is finally on the verge of getting an "un-send message" feature added to our BlitzMail options.
By Spring term, we'll be able to rescue any unread, "wow, I really shouldn't have written that" blitzes. Thank you, Student Assembly for doing your small part to help make our lives as NRO-able as possible. The only thing I hate more than A) not being able to "un-send last night" is B) when un-sweet people invent tantalizing rumors to put an end to not-so-unsendable columns. I guess it is walk of shame time for me.
Yeah, so, um -- I guess I'll see you later...?
