By Rembert Browne
This could be the end of the road for me. I'm a free agent in a month or so, and who knows if the '10s who start running The Dartmouth, America's Oldest College Newspaper, in January will renew my contract. I unfortunately happen to come with my fair share of Michael Vick/Priya Venkatesan-sized baggage, and I'm not sure if the '10s will think the benefits outweigh the costs. In all honesty, they don't. So, assuming that these are my last words written in The Dartmouth, I thought it would be a nice gesture to actually follow the theme of The Mirror for once, that theme being flair.
Throughout my time at Dartmouth, regular clothes at Dartmouth (jeans, black Northface jackets, loafers) have become more flair-like items for me than the clothes I actually own and wear (cutoff jorts, cutoff jean skorts).
When people at Dartmouth say the word "flair," what usually comes to mind is neon spandex, '80s track suits, red mustaches or anything else that could be used at some sort of themed party or semi-formal. But when I think of flair, I think of purchases that I have irresponsibly used my limited amount of money to acquire with no particular purpose, but mainly because it's shiny.
This leads me to my next point: Has anyone seen that flat-screen plasma TV in Food Court?
I have never been more perplexed by a Dartmouth investment in my 3.2 years at Dartmouth. Actually, outside of the Class of 2010, I have never been more perplexed by a Dartmouth investment in my 3.2 years at Dartmouth. Did the College not just lose around $8 trillion (ballpark figure) because we used our entire endowment to buy stock in WaMu? Aren't we struggling these days? If we are, then why is there a flat-screen TV (that is on 50% of the time, and on mute 100% of the time it is on) in Food Court? Every time I walk down the aisle, I feel like I'm in the middle of Jojo's MTV Cribs -- one really nice, awkwardly placed gadget in a rinky-dink shotgun suburban house.
When I make my daily hajj to Food Court to get some food, I order my standard "Ranch on Texas," (I opt out of fries because my mom noticed my figure was changing), and I decide to have a nice meal by my lonesome. Once I sit down, I can't even concentrate on my food, because I keep looking up in amazement at that behemoth of a waste on the wall that I have now suitably dubbed "Waterworld." Sure it's big and pretty, but unless you are sitting directly under it, you can't even read what is on the TV, because half of the time it's just showing the DDS daily menu in 8-point Garamond.
I have made some bold calls in my life about things Dartmouth has wasted money on, and I admit a few of these times I have been wrong. When "The Remix" came into our lives, I publicly denounced it as "embarrassing" and "ridiculous" on the part of Dartmouth ("A Room With a View," May 2, 2008). Now, six months later, I can be a big boy and admit that I find joy every now and then ordering their bucket-sized serving of half Cinnamon Toast Crunch, half Frosted Flakes. I can admit when I was wrong. I'm 21. But with this Texas-sized mistake on the wall of Food Court, there is not a fiber in my being that thinks this will ever be a good idea.
Wait what? The Trustees are in town, somehow are reading my article as I type it and have recognized that buying that TV for Food Court with the hopes of steering people away from the Greek system was a bad idea? And on top of that, they want me to tell them what they should do now?
I'm honored. First, I think you should approve Stephen Colbert as our Commencement speaker.
Secondly, I think you should GoogleMaps the nearest Upper Valley pawn shop. Don't go in as a 'schmob of Trustees -- a Trustmob, if you will. Decide which two or three of you will probably feel most comfortable negotiating with the owner of a rural New Hampshire pawn shop. My picks: Smith, Joyner, Fernandez. Once you get in there, use all those big words you have acquired, say that the 98" flat-screen plasma TV comes with seasons one through seven of "Roseanne," and demand the difference between the 2007-2008 and 2008-2009 endowments. Once he agrees, take the cash. As you walk out, flashy-thing him [this sounds dirty, but I'm pretty sure it's a Men In Black reference] and tell him John Sununu came by looking for a job application.
And that's it. You have my plan to not only undo Dartmouth's greatest financial blunder since Dick's House, but also a very simple, doable plan for saving the College. And, in case you're at home keeping score, my linear train of thought somehow got me from cut-off jean jorts to Dartmouth Trustee Stephen F. Smith in less than 800 words.
So yeah, in conclusion, I love flair.
Thnks fr th mmrs, '09s.
Rembert Browne is a staff writer for The Mirror and if he were constructing his fantasy dinner table of people throughout the years, "It would be Malcolm X, Charlemagne, Caitlin Kelly and Ezekiel Turner."
