As it becomes less and less likely that snow will grace the Bates campus again this winter (although, with New England Marchs, you never want to say, well, the word “never,” which I actually didn’t say, so I’m clear), I’ve started to become self-conscious about spending time outside.
At least three-fourths of our Bates brochures show people I’ve never met smiling and doing ambiguous things in some tropical part of campus I’ve never seen before. The activities seem to gravitate around Frisbees, guitars, and blankets that somehow fit five people. All participants appear positively euphoric.
The first time I tried “going outside” to read was my junior year. It was Short Term. I got a blanket, threw it somewhere by the chapel, and lay down. Almost immediately, I realized that I had accidentally planted myself in some kind of swamp. I resolutely tried to read, ignoring the mud as it slowly permeated the fibers of my blanket and chilled my skin. This worked for a few minutes until I looked down at my legs and realized that, horrifically, I was covered in bugs.
Reading outside isn’t productive or comfortable, but Bates brochures seem to insist that there’s nothing better than grabbing that copy of “Crime and Punishment” and skipping off to lie down on dead grass amid crusty PBR cans on the Quad, or, through sheer acrobatic genius, attempting to contort your body in a way that allows you to sit on the enormous cement bricks that squat on the Alumni Walk.
I think a great use of Short Term would be the creation of an alternative Bates brochure. I’d like to see pictures of dirt-speckled people scratching at bug bites and looking off into the distance as they try to read outside. Maybe another picture of someone in the library, asleep, utterly defeated by a pile of those pulse-pounding academic papers. How about a picture of two people in Commons passing by each other – one person looking at their feet, the other pretending to be intensely interested in the coffee machines.
A greatly artistic shot would be of a student in his dorm at his computer staring at a blank Word document, while the spring sun glows in the window. To depict Bates social life, we could have a picture of a dance with an uncomfortable-looking girl being grinded on by a shadowy and sinister figure. Another one could show someone in full Gala attire puking in the Gray Cage bathroom. Or party hosts glaring at the male guests who dared to come to the party without female companions. I’d also like one of someone playing World of Warcraft in a dorm while, out the window, you can see the Puddle Jump happening.
We could have people hooting and pounding their chests on opposite ends of a beer pong table. We could have a picture of that passive aggressive stare that happens when you look into a Pgill lounge that you want and there’s someone already sitting there, with all their stupid stuff spread out across the table – even though they’re obviously on Facebook and not even doing things remotely as important as you would be if you had that lounge. Maybe a few people in the middle of Frye Street throwing a frisbee while a truck is barreling toward them, or a picture of a winter fire drill, with some people in towels slowly getting frostbite.
The interesting thing about Bates is that, despite its small size, the student population is extremely diverse. Some of us do Newman Day and/or the Puddle Jump, and other people have heard the story about how the Outing Club dropped a pick axe in the water one year and have never recovered from it. The present brochures advertising our school and community represent just a tiny fraction of the campus body and campus activity.
Let’s embrace the fact that some people like lying on blankets despite bugs and mud, while other people need to be incubated in isolation before even thinking of undertaking such a feat. The people who are only sometimes social need representation too. So let’s start taking these pictures, because someone has to know a professor willing to make the alternative Bates Brochure an independent study during Short Term..
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