Random Thoughts

I was sitting in the '02 room trying to get engrossed in Othello, while the guy next to me tapped his feet on the rung of his chair and flipped through the pages of his book. I noticed it was Paradise Lost.

"Are you an '88?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm a 'shmen," he said (I could sense he was dying to tell me he'd run onto the football field during half-time at the last home game).

"Are you psyched on Dartmouth?" I was feeling friendly.

"Am I what?"

"Do you like it here?"

"Oh yeah, it's awesome," chirped the 'shmen. I grimaced. A typical comment from an overgrown high school senior.

"Where do you live?" I queried.

"In New York ... Long Island."

"No, no. On campus I mean."

"Oh, in the River Cluster."

"I heard there's a 'tails party down there tonight. Is it smooth 'tails?"

"No one mentioned tuxedos."

"I'm sorry, 'tails is short for cocktails, and smooth means you dress respectably."

"Oh, I see. Are you planning to go?"

"I'm not sure. I went last year and it was a pretty grim scene. There were some real horror shows!"

"Why, were they scared?" he asked.

"Uh, no . . . it's just a figure of speech. I'm going to Collis to get a cup of coffee. Would you like some- thing?"

"No thanks, I have to go to phys ed -I'm taking swim lessons."

"That phys ed requirement's a real bummer, huh?"

"A what?"

Poor kid. Learning to communicate at Dartmouth can be a frustrating experience. That first term renders a 'shmen practically speechless. First you have to "get a grip" on the language, and then you must learn when to use it. It's tough. I hoped I hadn't embarrassed the guy. He just needed time to catch on; time to assimilate.

There are countless examples of Dartmouthese (better known as the conformist's language). A personal favorite of mine is random. No longer is random just an adjective, at Dartmouth it's a noun. If someone or something is a bit out of the ordinary, it is labelled random. For example: 1) "Irving is a total random" (he wears bell-bottoms and smokes clove cigarettes); 2) "Last night was sooo random" (an unusual sequence of events occurred-or what you think happened -and you're trying hard to remember, though your head is pounding-seems a bit unusual,) or; 3) if the party responsible for your headache was attended by a group of individuals who don't always "hang-out" together, you might hear someone say, "That party was really random."

A distant relative to random is clueless (in French, if you prefer, "sans clue"). Clueless is a general description for dumb, though maybe that's too harsh. Clueless is more like spacy or dizzy, and is used to describe someone who has a dangerously low level of common sense. Sleeping through a 4 p.m. chemistry final is clueless. Writing a letter to Banker's Trust asking for an interview and forgetting to sign your name is clueless. The relationship between clueless and random should be obvious: someone who is clueless does a lot of random things.

While these words may strike you as somewhat humorous, it was another of Dartmouth's infamous expressions that most amused my friends at home. It concerns the subject that at one time was the hallmark of Dartmouth's rep as the foremost party school in the country-drinking. (Of course that was before the College came to its senses and went coed.) Anyway, I was sitting around with some old high school friends enjoying some good food and drink. Three pitchers of beer and a large cheese pizza later, I pushed my chair away from the table saying, "I feel like I'm gonna boot." Instead of the series of nods and agreeing grunts I half expected, my comment elicited a sea of blank stares. "What did you say?" I fumbled for an explanation . . . "Oh . . . uh . . . boot ... I picked that up at school." I proceeded to explain that when someone didn't feel too well (quite often the results of gross overindulgence) and was suddenly overtaken by a tidal-size wave of nausea, they would say they felt like booting. I whispered, "You know . . . you get sick!" Boot has such a crisp ring to it. It's probably the first word of Dartmouthese I ever learned. I was the nice girl who'd gone off to a classy Ivy League school, to learn how to boot, of course.

Fortunately, I have learned many other things since I've been here. Fraternity brothers "pound beers" in the basement and watch "b-ball in the tube room." What is "in" one year, might be totally gauche the next. When I was a 'shmen, preppy was popular. Today Fair Isle sweaters are few and far between and the only place you can still find tartan plaid is at Psi U. The old preppy exit lines, "We're history" and "Let's bolt" now draw looks that say "I wouldn't leave with you if you paid me, loser!"

Today it's no longer cool to ask, "What fraternity do you belong to?" but rather "What house are you in?" "The house," as it is fondly referred to, is much more chic than "the frat."

Once down at the house, all brothers are given a nickname. They parade around campus in colored jock shirts that have the house's Greek letters across the front and some incomprehensible name (usually an in-house joke) between their shoulder blades. When one of my classmates first started wearing these stylish jerseys, I was foolish enough to ask what hoser meant. You may rest assured I've never been that curious again.

It's hard to know if the words we hear around campus are unique to Dartmouth or are standard across the country. Last week I heard someone called a "couch potato." Because this person happens to be a real slug and does nothing but sit around and watch TV all day, I found this new term to be particularly appropriate. But the following week a friend visited me from Plymouth State and she said the same thing about someone she knew. I'm sure, though, that Dartmouth does have words that belong uniquely to us. The best of these is Tally Rally, a real classic. The Tally House is the local greasy spoon at the bus stop in White River. And the best thing about the Tally House is that it's open 24 hours a day. When the party ends at 3 a.m. and students are hungry, they find someone with a car, load in any late-night ragers, and head out on a Tally Rally for some chili and a burger.

I wonder if the words coined here are a reflection of the student body. If one were to do a case study, what would he find that Dartmouthese says about the students who speak it? Should it not be slightly more scholastic, considering our Ivyness? An outsider listening to a student choose his or her classes might get a few chuckles. Some favorites: Rocks for Jocks (Earth Science 2), Clapping for Credit (Music 5), Cowboys and Indians (History 28), and Oceans (Earth Science 3). Maybe the first person to ever accuse Dartmouth of being anti-intellectual overheard a conversation on course selection.

I wouldn't listen much to such accusations though. The Dartmouth dictionary is just another part of the total Dartmouth experience-and what an experience it is!