It’s time to pop this cherry! Your cherry? My cherry, everyone’s cherry. Maraschino cherries. And to be clear, by cherry, I mean the Dartmouth bubble. I guess what I’m trying to say is: Scoot, skiddadle! Get out of here you perv! It’s time to graduate.
Who will carry on my legacy/spirit? To whom shall I pass the torch? If history is any indication of the future — thanks to my Dartmouth education, I am approximately 70 percent sure that history is the best predictor of future behavior — the former man behind the mask of Sun God will still be terrorizing the streets of Hanover and our worst nightmares. Literally, as I am writing this I have heard him driving in circles around campus for the past three hours. HAGS, never change. Indeed, it’s long past overdue that I throw in a bit of a discussion of the alleged grad student who masquerades as this deity/foreign idol (You have to check out the Sun God’s Facebook fan page for the [very] detailed explanation of all that this masked figure represents for JJR) and who knows how to put on some great performance art for the Hanover community. But actually how does the man, the myth, the legend support himself? Trust fund?
Seriously though @SunGod, never stop wearing those tight red/white (depending on your mood when you get dressed?) pants you sexy mofo.
So it’s not even June yet, but as I always say, a little role-play never hurt nobody, right? I’ll be the graduate. You can be Phil Hanlon.
Ready for a little more role-play? I’ll be the valedictorian (still waiting to hear back about whether I got that…) and you can be the Wall Street sellout. So, congratulations to all my future financier friends. I hope you made the most of your time as a Dartmouth student and grew a taste for the fine wine that is cocaine, the official jet fuel of investment bankers everywhere.
Don’t worry mom: I honestly don’t know what finance people with the most significant drug problems/most need for drugs use to get by, but as a soon-to-be Ivy League grad, I am making an educated guess here.
Who among us will be the next Thaddeus Stevens? Meredith Grey? Timothy Geithner? Mindy Kaling? Me. Connie Britton? Still me. Senator Kirsten Gillibrand (NY)? Also me. Michael Corleone? You guessed it — me, again.
On the other end of the spectrum, a good number of you graduates sitting in those plastic folding chairs today can’t be weaned off the teat that is academia. To the many grads pursuing a higher degree — well played. I guess if you can get into Dartmouth, you are quite likely going to be more prone to being a professional student.
As the Class of 2015 valedictorian, I have the rest of my life planned out, obviously.
I will not be taking any further questions on this topic.
I may be onto bigger and better things — Harvard med school calls! But I’ll never forget the little people whose backs I stepped on to get to where I am today — a gainfully employed but somehow-also-in-med school adult, a food shelter volunteer and a certified genius.
Pause for a sec — it’s too complicated to explain but I would like to reiterate that I do indeed have a job and steady income to support me and the cats I plan to embrace as my postgrad children. And don’t you worry, dear old Dartmouth, I will be back. Oh will I be back!
Hide your kids, hide your wife.
Phil, we’ll hide from your wife together.
Let’s just say no future Hanover High student is safe. There are so many aspects of my Dartmouth experience that I will miss with all my black heart. I can’t bear the thought of parting with this elite institution.
TBH, graduation is going to be a butt-sweat-plagued, embarrassing affair. It will be particularly embarrassing if, like me, you are a lady who has a tendency to sweat a great deal even when she isn’t looking at/drooling over Mr. Handsome Moustache Guy himself.
It’s going to be hot, hot, hot on June 14.
Have I checked the weather? No. But we all know it will be.
Thomas Edison once said: “Genius is one percent inspiration and 99 percent perspiration.” What about those of us Dartmouth undergrads who have self-diagnosed overproduction-of-sweat-related afflictions?
Just know that while I may not have cum laude next to my name on the commencement program (but don’t count me out just yet!), I am doing 99 percent of what is necessary for genius. As a Harvard Medical School student, I can say with certainty that I have the gene for sweating major balls all the time.
I was not as genetically blessed in the intelligence department.
So I guess the message here is that while I think we all know that I’m not a certifiable genius, I sweat like one.
Honestly, though, I need to check my privilege — those of us who are in the top one percent of sweaters have done nothing to deserve our esteemed position.
Despite the one percent sweaty status I have just revealed, my life has never and never will be a day at the beach (somewhere along the coastline of New Jersey, of course). I still don’t have the iPhone 6 and if my handling of this embarrassing fact is any indication of the challenges I continue to overcome, I have the true grit required to make a name for myself in the field that I have a job in. Because, as I’ve made very clear, I have both a spot at medical school and a full-time job, and, as I’ve stressed, I will also simultaneously be the mistress and lawyer for one Adnan Syed.
Court adjourned, your honor. ;)
I have some advice for those who aren’t leaving Hanover. Acquire mini hard alcohol bottles from a local hotel room minibar and stick them in the one to two orifices that can accommodate these items.
To the College, I have just a few demands. First, please pick an actual school mascot. What’s something we can all agree on? There’s the moose (a surprisingly dangerous beast) and Big Green (our current mascot is #basic). Keggy the keg? Honestly, I think Keggy is a tool. He really wears his alcoholic predilections/emotions on his green sleeve. Act like you’ve been there before, Keggy.
I myself am partial to Big D. It really rolls off, or on, the tongue.
The protests are really starting to lack that pizzazz that they once had. If I don’t see a takeover of at least one administrative building in the next few months, you know I won’t be sending in that alumni dough next year (not to be crass, but yes I am making bank at my job next year).
As my career as an esteemed, respected columnist comes to a close, I can’t help but wonder: Will I have to start writing my thoughts about life in the fast lane/the rich and powerful/famous in a diary?
That would be truly pathetic. Therefore, I’m in.
