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Volume CXXXII, Number 20 |
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I want to smell it!
JASON LONG
HUMOR COLUMNIST
While walking across the Quad this morning, someone asked me, "Do you smell that?" Well, I have been pretty stuffed up lately, so I can't smell a thing. I had no idea where he was going with this, but two possibilities ran through my mind. First, I was late to class and didn't shower. I'm not proud of it, but at least I showered the evening before. I think if anything that places me in the top fifth percentile of personal hygiene achievement at this school. I didn't stink; must be something else. Wait-was this scent the elusive but sweet smell of spring? I had to know. I told him that I had lost my sense of smell and anxiously awaited the good news.
"Smells like burning pine," he replied. Okay, well, that seemed a little random to me, but I'll just have to take his word for it. The disappointment on my pale sun-starved face was obvious. He continued, "No, I'm sorry to say it, but it's not the smell of spring."
This is like Groundhog Day all over again: "Sorry, no spring, it smells like people are burning wood for comfort. You're condemned to three more months of big jackets and chapped lips." This is ridiculous. Where the hell is El Niño when you need him?
"That's unfair," I mumbled back. He laughed, whether out of pity or confusion I'm not sure, but I was serious. This weather is just plain old unfair. Everyday I wake up with the same wintry dry throat and stuffy nose. I walk to class in a big puffy blue jacket that makes me look like a frozen smurf. I walk back to my apartment in the evening and kneel in front of my girlfriend's space heater like I am some sort of hell-fire worshipping freak.
No one can escape its depressing grip. Look around campus and you will see the signs of desperation everywhere. Last Friday our activities fee actually went towards having some guy regurgitate billiard balls on campus. If I wanted to watch that sort of stuff, I'd attend more campus-wides. Oh, and by the way, how did the College find the time to build a tunnel between Baxter and Ladd for the time warp party when the pothole by Moulton Union remains untouched? Does it have to be as big as Curtis Pool before someone fills the darn thing? I don't know, maybe if we wait long enough the pothole fairies will just take care of it. The other day I peered down into the pothole. Keep it on the down low, but I think I found Jimmy Hoffa.
In light of the dismal conditions, it is actually kind of funny watching our admission tour guides try to make Bowdoin appealing to the visiting prospects. "Actually, no, it isn't bitterly cold and miserable here all the time. No, sir, the blinking crane and trailer park are not a permanent fixture. Now here we are at the Smith Union, formally known as the Cage-no, Sir, I don't know what that is on the Polar Bear's butt."
It's not just me anymore; everyone is on edge. Consider this: Howell House is actually hosting an event called, "Who Killed Barry Mills?" Whoa, relax my chemical-free brethren. Truth be told, my money is on Dean Bradley in the library with a hammer. Sure, he's a nice guy. Almost too nice…
Okay, so what can we do about this weather? Well, as always, there are options. The first decisive step is to go to the Bowdoin Student Government and pass a resolution condemning the prolonged cold weather. I'm sure the BSG would be receptive; I mean, bad weather is something that they have no control over. Right up their alley. After that, I think we should have an en masse student walk out. That'll teach 'em.
I guess this weather makes me feel sort of bamboozled. Global warming: what a vicious lie. Here I have been using a carabineer coffee mug to save the earth. Forget the earth, I want warmth! Sustainable Bowdoin? Try Sustainable Winter. I say all of us fill our little blue recycling bins with newspaper and meet on the quad for a bonfire. How's that for the sweet smell of spring?
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