Dear Miss Muffin Top,
Room draw is next week, and I have no idea how to manage the process. I can't wait to get out of The River, but I need help figuring out how to land my best possible option. Please help me!
Soon-to-be-Soph
Dear River Rat,
There is little Miss Muffin Top likes more than real estate hunting. In fact, she highly recommends The New York Times online real estate listings (search parameters: no budget; sort high to low) as a procrastination technique. As such, she will be more than happy to help you navigate the treacherous waters of room draw with the sincerest hope that you will emerge with a shiny new set of roommates and a pristine, new room in Hitchcock.
Actually scratch that. Lesson number one: don't set your sights too high. You are a sophomore and the likelihood of your getting your own new single in Hitchcock or New Hamp, the choicest digs on campus, is extremely, extremely low. Have you ever wondered why all sophomores live in the Fayerweathers? Resign yourself to your two room triple, sophomore.
If you are lucky enough to have snagged a number in the top third of your class, don't advertise it unless you are trying to win yourself some new friends who will stick you with a top bunk and ignore you for three terms; flaunt it and you are just asking to be used. Alternatively if you have a total-shit number, advertise your willingness to sleep in the outer-chamber. In the sophomore world of two room doubles and triples, this is tantamount to the ultimate personal sacrifice. Living in the outer room is the equivalent of living in a hallway, where your days and nights are interrupted by your roommate's comings and goings.
On the bright side, if you live in the outer room, your roommate's constant tromping through your quarters can occasionally be a blessing. Miss Muffin Top's former roommate once emerged from the inner room bright-eyed, ready to face the world, only to find Miss Muffin Top sprawled naked on the floor post-revelry. Who knows what would have become of the Muffin had she been trapped on the inside? Dealing with inner/outer room politics is one of the inevitabilities of sophomore year. While you mentally approach this reality, begin to steel yourself for anxiety-ridden saga of room draw. Bring snacks, try to pretend that you don't care that the loser in front of you just snagged your top choice and capitalize on every opportunity to play mind games with your peers. Talk loudly so that everyone within earshot can hear just how much the third floor of Mid-Mass reeks of Food Court, and how you heard the heater in that two room double on the fourth floor of Mid-Fay never shuts off.
Mostly winning room draw all depends on your personal priorities. Are you looking for maximum square-footage or a prize location? Do your homework, be prepared for that guy who hosed your bed to take your dream room and if you don't get housing, you can always live in the Lodge with the rest of the hamsters.
Happy Hunting,Miss Muffin Top
Dear Miss Muffin Top,
I have this miserable empty feeling in my stomach, and I'm not hungover. I tried to Web MD my symptoms, and the website said "Shark Bite." I have not been bitten by a shark, if recent memory serves. What is wrong with me?
Hurt Locker
Dear dear,
Miss Muffin Top knows of such an affliction. It is probably among the most common ailments of Dartmouth students, all of whom seem to have mastered the method of coping with the physically manifested symptoms of alcohol consumption. Unfortunately, you can eat all the Billy Bobs you want, and give yourself 12 ulcers popping Advils in your 10A and it will do nothing to cure what ails you. It sounds like you, dear one, are dealing with a mean case of the Metaphysical Hangover.
Miss Muffin Top happened upon this diagnosis during her sophomore Summer, when she was forced to consult the experts about her baffling symptoms of deep shame, self-loathing and inexplicable melancholy. Who were these experts, you ask? Why Kingsley Amis, the inscrutable author of the one book every Dartmouth student should own: Everyday Drinking. If you don't have it, run out and buy it immediately. Amis has all kinds of useful tips for confronting the "psychological, moral, emotional and spiritual" aspects of your advanced, hungover state.
Among his most relevant suggestions are to "devote at least a good part of the day to yourself and your condition." In the context of Dartmouth life, this is what Thursdays and Sundays are for. When you wake up feeling ill about your utter lack of accomplishments and sick over your willing participation in the Greek system, recognize these emotions for what they are: symptoms of your metaphysical hangover. You are not an unworthy Dartmouth student, or even an unworthy human being. Amis suggests that you avoid activities that expose you to the superior achievements of humanity: things like listening to Mozart and reading passages of Paradise Lost.
Translated into the language of Dartmouth, this means that under no circumstances are you to enter the library, where people are writing papers, or the back section of Food Court, where people are doing civilized things like eating meals and talking to each other. Food Court is the worst.
Instead, Miss Muffin Top has found that darkness of her room and the comfort of vending-machine Cheez-its is enough to snap her out of whatever hungover, self-loathing funk she is in. She would encourage you not to despair. Diagnosis is the first step to recovery. And trust the Muffin: her MH about graduation is worse than anything you've got.
L8r,Miss Muffin Top
