Upon These Pillars

By Daniel F. Linsalata | Sunday, February 11, 2007

A favorite question asked of Dartmouth students, both by their colleagues and others, is to pick their favorite “big” weekend, referring, of course, to the termly indulgences of revelry and debauchery tacitly sanctioned by the College in a nod to their impotence in the face of intractable traditions: Homecoming, Winter Carnival, Green Key, and the now-defunct Tubestock. And I am inevitably in the minority in categorically declaring my affinity for Winter Carnival, an event deemed by National Geographic the “Mardi Gras of the North.” Having never visited New Orleans, I’ll take their word for it. Not that it really matters. Carnival stands just fine on its own as the perfect confluence of two immutable pillars of Dartmouth: snow and beer.

Carnival is rustic, a celebration of everything quaint about Hanover and the still north surrounding it. Rather than hiding indoors from the bitter winds that scream down from the majestic, snow-blown hills to chill you clear through to your soul, we collectively take a weekend to embrace them in an orgy of athletic endeavors, rural simplicity, and granite-muscled resistance to the imperviousness of Mother Nature at her bitterest moments.

What, then, to make of a suggestion in the Daily D last week by a Carnival Committee member that, in the absence of snow, “we make Winter Carnival into a type of Global Warming Awareness Day”? If we were to be charitable, well…not much. But let us be a bit more acrimonious for a moment and run with the suggestion. The self-resilience bred by the near-arctic North Country is replaced by kneeling to political trendiness at the altar of an imagined apocalypse. That is not to say that global warming does not merit our attention—though I have yet to form an opinion on the matter, nor even be convinced I ought to care about it—but rather that such a preposterous suggestion stands as a direct, if flaccid, affront to the incorruptible spirit of the thing. Carnival did not come about as an occasion for B-list speakers to drone on, uninspired, about bureaucratic pet political projects, while handing out t-shirts and trinkets to students by which to commemorate the occasion. Carnival is the time when Dartmouth collectively steps outside and commands Mother Nature to halt at a time when all logic would dictate retreat to a down comforter and a roaring fireplace. Granted, the beer probably helps.

A noble suggestion by a political climber, to be sure, but one that, had it progressed, would have been met with a reality as unpleasant as the wind-crusted snow on a February night: traditions at Dartmouth shift with the ease of an eighteen-wheeler turning about a dime.

To undermine them inevitably becomes an exercise in triviality, usually ending with resounding embarrassment for the instigator. Just ask Kristin Deal, ORL Community Director for the Choates Cluster. Last week, Deal sent all residents an email message announcing a ban on water pong within the residence halls. At first blush, the policy would seem understandable, if draconian. Some people, namely freshman parents who foot the bill for their children to attend Dartmouth, could be offended that the College would overtly condone behavior that makes no pretensions of innocence, a child’s version of a very much adult activity—to the extent one is willing to confer adult status upon eighteen year-olds. In all honesty, many students were surprised such a declaration had not already come to pass.

But then, Deal made the unfortunate mistake of delineating her reasons for the ban. She cited water damage to furniture and other physical property, but focused primarily on health risks, namely from the paradoxically-named “water intoxication.” I haven’t quite considered myself a ‘science person’ since floundering through ninth grade biology, so I’ll spare you the mechanics of what seems like a rather dreadful fate. Suffice to say, I have on good word that water intoxication can and has happened. Just not at Dartmouth.

If this whole ordeal appears laughable, that’s because it is. Water intoxication, while very real, usually necessitates consumption of several gallons of water. If a student were to play enough water pong to consume an amount of liquid comparable to that in an entire case of beer—a nearly unthinkable feat for all but the most seasoned (H2O) drinkers—he still checks in at just over a gallon and, very likely, a quarter of an hour spent over a urinal. This calculation, of course, rests upon one very basic, and very false, assumption: that students are actually drinking the water while sequestered in the basements of Brown and Cohen Halls. However, even freshmen quickly ascertain that consuming the brownish murk that substitutes for tap water in Hanover is a less than appealing alternative. (While I have been repeatedly assured that Hanover tap water is indeed potable, when the hue approaches that of low-grade beer, most will opt for the cheaper alternative.) In all, a valiant effort, Ms. Deal, but you’ve missed the boat on this one. You have once again exiled students into the hedonistic jungle of fraternity basements, to say nothing of nullifying the notion of College-controlled social spaces. Which brings us once again out through the snow and to the beer.

One can’t help but chuckle, really, at these pathetic attempts to strike at whatever target may be convenient. That the targets happened to be symbolic of the pillars embodied by Winter Carnival, an event that breeds and celebrates resilience and revelry, is all the more apropos. If these are the types of ‘pressing’ issues facing Dartmouth in the immediate, then the whole of the community can indulge in jollity, happy in the knowledge that, if for just one bacchanalian weekend, Dartmouth will continue to stand steadfast against the pressures of time on its twin pillars of beer and snow.

Upon These Pillars

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