To the Class of 2005:
If your pants are wet, don't fear: You're not alone. We're all pissing ourselves due to this being our last year, our last everything, as we bear witness to the "death of our youth." We're all grown up now, and we've got to prove to not only ourselves, but the world that our last three or so years at Brown have not been in vain. That as the oldest kids on campus, we can handle the pressure of such. This, admittedly, is a rather large load to carry, and our reactions to it over the course of the months will surprise us often, but I may have a few solutions to a smoother senior ride.
If I am to take from my older friends who have since graduated, it is now our responsibility to keep this school rolling. We have to lay domain on Faunce steps (usually with a brown paper bag), unabashedly refuse invitations to dorm parties and dole out $20 for membership to the exclusive Graduate Center Bar. We have to throw the weekly parties, wherein we must recognize strangers in our homes and drunkenly tell them to stay out of the just-cleaned kitchen. We have to construct our schedules in order to have both Mondays and Fridays free, and convince ourselves that it is in no way shady to hit on those that are younger, but instead, practical.
It's also probably best we start at least one new addictive habit to slightly alienate friends both old and new - nothing too critical to spur an intervention, but something at least to convey our incessant fears of growing up. We should develop codependent relationships with our roommates, which arouse healthy doses of Freudian tension in the house. Though slightly unhealthy, these relationships can produce amazing results, such as someone constantly cooking for you just to keep you from yelling at them. It would also be helpful to brainstorm at least one new household game, that squanders perfectly useful hours and demands the use of a Nerf ball.
I would also keep in mind that you don't necessarily have to be a "full-time student" your final year. You can divvy up your remaining classes anyway you choose - two here, two there - and use the rest of the time to simply dawdle in the Rock lobby or "think about applying to grad school." You will of course eventually give up and strictly do the former option, but, hey, you still got choices. We should also consider having a committed, long-term relationship with someone, that way we can at least say that all of our relationships in college were indeed not "alcohol-based." This relationship should of course begin about a month before graduation and induce grimaces from those actually studying in the Rock lobby.
It also seems that a thesis should always be written - that way in the Graduation Bulletin you'll receive a little asterisk by your name, which will somehow justify the suicidal thoughts you'll often generate over your thesis's mere existence. It will also provide you months worth of conversation fodder, which you can break out in environments where you usually feel inadequate and socially inept. This will allow you to rely less on those newfound addictive habits of yours for a notion of social and academic acceptance.
But even more importantly, we should never begrudge underclassmen. It is not only tacky, but not worth it. Eventually their tireless cheer and curiosity will subside to produce panophobic fears of their once- familiar Providence environment. You should instead make one younger friend who always feels compelled to ask rather large favors of you, like borrowing your car to go the fabric store or to buy him liquor. You will then feel needed, and they will feel validated. And to top it off, you can give each other cute little nicknames like "Theo" and "Rudy."
Now, in truth, I'm not as cynical as one would think. In fact, I believe this year should add up to be quite interesting. But I think it's pretty safe to admit that this is the last year to be unapologetically self-involved, and so we should enjoy it by doing what seniors do best: blocking out that little thing called reality.
Marjon Carlos '05 don't dance, she just pulls up her pants and does the rockaway.
