On the Campus - May 17, 2000

Is it Mayday or just a May day?

At least one sophomore needs help, or perhaps sympathy

by Ed Finn '02

Ah, spring. At first, I was tempted to blame Yale for New Jersey's rapidly changing weather patterns, but then I recalled the Bard's sage advice-to paraphrase Hamlet, "don't be an idiot." With that nugget of wisdom firmly in mind, it's a little more difficult to indict New Haven for the Picasso-like abstraction of heat, rain, sun, and humidity that is Princeton in May. We could at least expect it to rain bulldogs, but all we seem to get are squirrels and exceptionally carnivorous insects. Instead, I think it's safe to proclaim that spring has unleashed its rosy fingers once again upon the world, spreading naps and Frisbees like an especially insistent Homeric dawn. Walking to class, the whole school is transformed. Every room is empty; the pages of discarded books flutter aimlessly.

There are the seniors, prancing about a maypole and frolicking hither and yon, but carefully avoiding thither, where their bound theses await internment in Mudd Library. There are the juniors, doing their penitential dances of JP purgatory, where they are presented with the paradise of sunny days and the certain knowledge that they will spend the next year of their lives in the bowels of Firestone Library. And of course the freshmen, wandering about in a daze of unrequited youth, just as they do the rest of the year.

So what about the sophomores, those particles of mental detritus slowly being absorbed into various academic departments? What are we, the Class of 2002, doing to bear our mighty palindrome into the new millennium, where no palindrome has gone before? I, for one, am composing an epic, a sweeping look at The Decline and Fall of My Work Ethic, an opus in three volumes. Or at least, I would be writing it if I weren't so caught up in research. Most of this research revolves around not working and observing its effects. Initial results tell me there's a direct causal relationship between laziness and sleep, but the only thing I've really been able to document is the intoxicating power of free time. It's addictive.

Sadly, if freedom is a drug, I seem to be the only dealer around. My roommates, a dependable bunch of engineers and math/science majors, suffer from lemming-like urges to succeed, and I find it's a difficult market for an up-and-coming leisure vendor. I mention sunshine and parks and they start erasing phone messages to work equations on the whiteboard. I suppose balance is always a good thing, but wasting time is no fun on your own. At least I'll have friends who can support me financially later in life when I prove empirically that dealing freedom isn't economically feasible. Why should anyone buy what everyone gives away so easily?

Once I began to grasp the ominous nature of my future prospects, there was only one thing left to do. I declared moral bankruptcy and, following the example of so many nation-states (various incarnations of France spring fondly to mind), decided to lead a life of debt and deferment. It's worked for millions of Americans, why not me? So I signed up for my very own Capital One credit card, complete with a Byzantine "points" system which apparently gets you free plane tickets or a lollipop or something somewhere down the line.

I must admit I was a little taken aback when Capital One decided I was worth only two hundred dollars on its credit limit. In a society where failing to own a credit card is viewed as well-nigh seditious, it's quite a blow when you are told you may only participate two measly bills-worth in the glorious corporate fiefdom that is our world. How to conform with only two hundred dollars' worth of vital consumer products? Fortunately, the American Dream involves significant amounts of both the "diligence" and "get lucky" components, so I figure if I keep charging donuts at the Wawa Market and counting on the luck of the Irish, one day my vagrant limit will turn into a super-duper platinum extra-rich guy limit, and I will be able to enter into debt bondage with pride. In the meantime, well, I've made some free time in my schedule, and it's nice outside right now . . .

Ed Finn is a confused sophomore; he enjoys writing and playing Frisbee, but not at the same time.

Tooke's Take -- Paw's newest online column, written by former On the Campus writer and paw staff writer Wes Tooke '98.

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