For a long time on campus I played rugby for the DRFC. Then this year, after burning Norwich University to the ground again (look it up), their team decided to take revenge on us by ripping my knee in half. They did not quite succeed; they just managed to dismantle my anterior cruciate ligament and implant some device in my eye-duct that made it produce some wet, salty substance that tasted like high school prom. Naturally, it's been a tough start to senior year.
But I dare say that in this struggle (for once), I'm not alone. If you look around you these days you'll see a lot of folks hobbling around in finger-splints or awkwardly trying to play pong inside an iron lung. And yeah, some of you facetime-addicts are probably faking it to try and get me to mention you in a column (Hi Kemper!) but it really seems to be the case that a lot more of our best and brightest appear a bit dimmer and a bit less-best these days.
By now you're probably thinking that my observations are skewed because I too am amongst the walking wounded. I feared it may be true as well, so I paid some people to talk to me and found that I in fact was not entirely in the wrong. Frat enthusiast R. Barniker '08 had an interesting take on the subject, noting, "Fools aren't injured in the first place. It's true that B's are rolling on chrome crutch, but it's really all just a fashion steez. If I'm slamming Skoal Fro-Yo and watching Gilmore Girlz in Pavilion, I need to accent my soft-hard-guy image with a soft-hard-guy ensemble. And what says 'I facebook poked your little sister' like a plush leopard neck brace?"
Initially I was inclined to protest, but the pressing need to wash Skoal Fro-Yo off my face outweighed my journalistic integrity at the moment.
Unsatisfied with Mr. Barniker's explanation, I was forced to set out this week to try and figure out what the sh*t is up. Why has this collection of prep-school exiles and trust-fund babies been beset with a turn of misfortune? I thought we weren't supposed to get our come-uppance until the last scene at the airport or the big game.
So again I took to the streets. It seemed natural that the only way to get to the bottom of this was to study the habits of the hobbled and search for a unifying trait.
Emma Haberman '08 was quick to reveal that she has the clap. "Yeah, I mean, I always kind of felt that I may have had it in a metaphysical way, but only recently have I noticed its physical manifestation. I wouldn't say it's a constant problem, but really just more of a general downer. I'm pretty deep." After I made a quick appointment to get tested, I danced myself a little jig; this was a real start. Apparently, Dartmouth students were being affected in a myriad of ways, both plainly visible and hidden.
I was lucky enough to dance my jig right into an old friend, John Rosen '07, and after we established a comfortable heterosexual distance between ourselves, I asked him how he was doing:
Me: Hey John, how are you doing?
John: Colorblind.
Me: Really?
John: Yeah. All of a sudden. I don't even know whether this is dip-spit or water.
Me: Well that's pretty gross.
John: Yeah. (Glug, glug, extended vomit sesh.)
My mind was restless as I walked John back to his cave. Emma Haberman? John Rosen? Myself? What did we all have in common? The answer came in the form of a beleaguered old man, standing on the corner in front of the Hanover Inn, handing out thumbnail bibles and screaming at unwed mothers. We were sinners.
He was right. It's the only explanation, really. What is the common bond we share in this den of iniquity we call Dartmouth? The answer is a raging collective alcoholism, unbridled drug addiction, a taste for premarital intercourse, and a penchant for loitering.
This, my readers, is God's 11th plague in action. He's just thinking outside the box this time. (Oh God, you're so clever.) We've gone through plagues of locusts and unhealable boils (Wikipedia, 59). Why not a few torn ACLs and a case of dyslexia or two? It's simple logic and if you're not onboard, well, then you're part of the problem.
To be honest, we're lucky the solution is as simple as it is. I did a little research, and it turns out that East Wheelock has a max capacity of 4,200 persons. So do what you want in the mean time, but be sure to find me when the flood starts coming down; I'll be icing my knee and rolling a blunt in Brace Commons.
