What puts the ?B? in Bowdoin

The View from the Tower: Much too old to be bad at this

The other night at dinner I found myself sitting down to eat without a fork. Or cereal. The first is noteworthy because I had prepared a salad; the second because the only utensil I had grabbed from the abundant silverware holders of our very own Thorne dining hall was a cereal spoon. In fact, the latter is doubly noteworthy because you can't accidentally acquire a cereal spoon in Thorne

The View from the Tower: Striving for survival, not success

The odds of success when reintroducing a species to the wild are slim?statistically speaking, these odds are about five percent better than really really crummy, plus or minus five percent. These precise statistics don't only apply to box turtles and the elusive blue manatee; they apply to the reintroduction of lethargic college students as well. With less than a year before my own reintroduction to the "jungle out there," I am beginning to fear for my life?well okay, my life of luxury.

The View from the Tower

This piece represents the opinion of the author:

October 15, 2004

The air is getting colder, the days are getting shorter, the leaves are drying and dying; and as is the case every year, with the death of the leaves comes the death of something else: the hopes of all the Red Sox fans that one day the Sox might win the Series. The next time you see something red fall to the ground only to be crushed by a speeding bicycle or passerby, give it a double take?was that a leaf or a little red sock sent down by God as a symbol: turn off the game and get back to your homework.

Now before you hunt me down and make my socks red, I should explain: I am neither a Yankees fan nor a Cubs fan. I do not burn flags or worship The Curse. I bring up Boston's impending doom only because Boston is so essential to life at Bowdoin (after all, we are "just outside" of it).

It was Boston that put the 'B' in Bowdoin, not Barry, not the polar Bear, not the football team?definitely not the football team. Bostonians are our lifeblood; they flow through our halls like the T flows through the underbelly of Boston itself. Without Boston our school name would be nothing but a collection of vowels, and the letters 'd' and "n," and "w," which I'm not sure is a letter to begin with. Without the "B" the vowels and letters and 'w' make no sense. The best I can get out of it is "in wood"? which is true?and the Latin cheer "id owno," which means "give me a 'B.'"

Since Boston is the prime in our pumps, the juice in our goose, the Cheez and the It, let us review what we know about Boston lest we forget our, say, our Cheez or It. All of the following statistics come straight from my highly scientifical survey of Bowdoin students caught unawares early in the morning walking into the dining hall. So, here we go, Boston in a New York minute...

Despite less population and overcrowding than New York, Boston has invested approximately 18 bigigglion dollars, thousands of man hours, two virgins and goat into "The Big Dig" in order to ensure their possession of the title "absolute worst city to even think about driving in." This in turn ensures that Boston is better than New York at something. Unfortunately, in the process the Road to the Series had to be rerouted and now runs through Worcester which, lacking a pro team, has benefited by having a sick little league team.

Boston's most famous contribution to TV was Cheers, a show about how drunk everyone in Boston gets before hopping in their cars and driving home through the Big Hole or whatever it's called. It starred Frasier and that frumpy old woman who does Pier 1 commercials. Reruns are usually aired after the evening news sandwiched between Star Trek episodes. Sex and the City and Seinfeld are funnier, and take place in New York.

Finally, and most importantly, Boston is the center of the universe, the locus about which the rapid expansion driven by dark matter mystifies cosmologists and tantalizes astrologists who are usually part-time hygienists of orthodontists. However, New York is still bigger.

Despite all of these great qualities, the Red Sox are shriveling and dying like the leaves, and soon enough the harsh winter will be upon us, leaving Sox fans hungry, bitter, and most likely drunk like George on Cheers. Ditto for people at Bowdoin. I would never let my personal opinions taint the evidence I put forth?I am but a pawn, a receptacle through which the Word of the Campus floweth?but I will say that if we turned off the Sox game and still drank as much as people do while watching the game, Bowdoin would be a whole lot more fun.

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