Things I’m Most Going to Miss Making Fun of at Dartmouth
Making fun of shit is my go-to respite from the desperate futility of trying to take anything about my life seriously at this school. College is all about relishing the last few years we have not to take things seriously, which is why my #1 favorite thing to make fun of is anything and everything onto which we place an unwarranted sense of importance.
Luckily for me, Dartmouth abounds with faux importance. First, I’m going to miss all those fratstars who love comparing their fraternity’s pledge term to boot camp training in the actual military, where soldiers are training for actual life-or-death situations, and where learning how to pull your trigger is a high-stakes lesson instead of a way to figure out how to waste even more social money on beer. I’m also going to miss the sororitystars (aka biddypros) who pose for pictures (usually muploads) while falling all over each other as if their own cuteness makes them incapable of holding up their own body weight.
I’m going to miss Jack Stinson, and especially that eyebrow raise he gave me whenever I looked halfway decent, and that glassy-eyed twinkle that accompanied his not-so-subtle come-ons of “Lookin’ good!” and “I have a social chair jacket for you.” Speaking of social chair jackets, I’m going to miss all those almost-baseless myths about Dartmouth, like that those jackets actually exist, or that JD Salinger frequented our library, or that Panarchy makes crack in the basement, or that Jim Kim owns five IPads, four IPhones, three Blackberrys, and two Macbook pros, or that drinking beer out of another dude’s asshole doesn’t make you gay, or that every single non-dining Hanover business besides (including?) Stinson’s is a drug front (WHO SHOPS AT MICHAEL’S AUDIO-VIDEO AND/OR VON BARGEN’S?).
I’m going to miss all the servers at the Hanover restaurants who treat me as if my very presence is an unwanted and inconvenient burden, and who quite literally scoff at me when I ask for a glass of water. To all of you servers and cashiers out there who are brave enough to unabashedly hate your job and all of your customers, I salute you for being yourselves and humbling the fuck out of me. When I lived in the South, I used to only get the eye-roll from movie theater cashiers when I ordered a side cup of nacho cheese to go with my popcorn (direct quote from my Dad: “We’re gonna have to roll you to high school!”) and the Dairy Queen workers when I paid for my Blizzard with pennies while walking through the drive-thru. But now I see that I am always ruining someone’s day just by walking into an establishment, and that’s a lesson that all of us—especially the Sun God—should learn.
I’m going to miss making fun of the Sun God, the epitome of taking oneself too seriously while being all-around terrible and laughable. I’m going to miss using the phrase “I know brothers” in every situation, like taking an ENGS class and having access to free Thayer printing at 3 in the morning, or knowing how to get a JoYo in the new FoCo. I’m going to miss making fun of freshmen who think saying shit like that grants them access into a sacred club, as if dumb slang defines Dartmouth. I’m going to miss making fun of freshmen in general, because I hate them for having everything in front of them and not even knowing what embarrassingly incredible opportunities they have ahead of them for learning to laugh at themselves.
Finally, I would like to take credit for the song “Out of Control.” Not because I actually wrote it, but because it is certain to be forever legendary if only for being the only secret at Dartmouth that has remained a secret. Whereas my legend will fade faster than gossip about the Kappa Klepto (she’ll pull your credit card right out of you from any hole).
So long, Da Mouth. It’s been real being so fake with you.
Kathleen Mayer aka Frannie Mays '11
Four years have given me a lot to make fun of. When the Sun God came, everybody else was sad. I was thrilled: fresh material.
I’m going to miss feeling disgruntled every time I see a Frisbee fly across the Green. For the last time, it’s a pedestrian zone and not a sporting arena.
See, in the real world, I can’t make fun of Croo or crew. Nobody but a Dartmouth person can understand how facetimey it is to keep your hair dyed for too long during Orientation. And why do people join the crew team just to punish themselves for a year and then quit immediately following rush?
When I first meet my co-workers, the quickest way to win their approval will not be an unexpected “Fuck Psi U/Theta Delt!” (I list both of them because while they are interchangeable to the general public, you have to make sure that you say “Fuck Theta Delt!” if you’re talking to a Psi U, and vice versa. I hate screwing that one up.)
I’m going to miss BG, the GGMM, and everybody else who can tell you the difference between “postmodern” and “meta”.
Collis will one day turn into a giant block of tofu. The building will be closed because everybody knows that tofu is not structurally sound.
I never touched the fire.
I’m going to miss pondering the meaning of life while staring at the one vending machine in Novack that sells sandwiches guaranteed to give you food poisoning.
Yelling, “Stop! Thief!” whenever somebody sets off the beepers in the library will never get old.
If people continue making hand motions to indicate their secret society affiliations in Facebook pictures, I will have material to last me well into my alum years.
I don’t think there are any secret virgins or secret deaf people in the real world. But then again, they are secret for a reason. It still confuses me why they choose to congregate in East Wheelock.
I’m going to miss making fun of forums.
If I overhear(d) something hilarious on the subway, can I still blitz that in to The Mirror?
In the real world, sometimes the football team makes it to the postseason.
I’m going to miss getting passive-aggressive comments from the grill workers at the Hop and FoCo whenever I order something too labor-intensive.
A Dartmouth parking ticket costs the same as an eighth of weed. A utilitarian would wonder why so many stoners get so many parking tickets.
Jim Gusanoz dressed up as Rob Zombie for Halloween. Still gets me. By the way, Boloco takes itself too seriously.
If I ever see a sign in the real world that says “Baby Changing Station,” I’m immediately going to rip off the letter ‘c’.
When I was a freshman, nobody called Sig Nu “The Noodle”. I’m glad we added that to the lexicon.
I’m going to miss making fun of so many things at Dartmouth.
- Tom Mandel aka James Engle ‘11
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