Welcome to the world of the creatures that dwell within the upper levels of the campus center, the basements of Lincoln Filene and Barnum, and the shadows of Cohen Auditorium. Welcome to a world that is full of struggle, sacrifice and sometimes if we're lucky, a little satisfaction. Welcome to the world of the student programmer. Yes, we're the ones that walk around with the free T-shirts and the cool headsets, and we occasionally enjoy easier access to some of the premier University-run events on campus. Yet, although the glam associated with getting to strut around campus in our free T-shirts can be somewhat fulfilling, it is getting increasingly difficult to just grin and bear it when yet another student decides to blatantly blast us in the school newspaper.
I am a co-chair for the Tufts University Programming Board, an umbrella organization that is responsible for a large portion of student-run programming on campus. We are essentially a group of 30 hailing from the four Class Councils, Lecture Series, Entertainment Board, TUSC, Film Series, Concert Board and an Executive Board. Weekend movies in Barnum? That's us. Fireworks on the Residential Quad? Us again. Trips to Salem, Winter Bash, Senior Week, comedy shows? All of these things and more are annual events programmed by members of our organization.
Never heard of us? We're not surprised, not many of you have. We don't hold it against you and will instead readily admit that it is probably largely our own fault that you are unaware of our existence. It seems that a lot of the time we are devoting our efforts exclusively to providing quality programming to the University community, and dedicating our allotted funds to programs that will better serve you, rather than on advertising that would better serve our own egos.
Yet, despite all our efforts to please, we have yet to discover the root to a Tufts student's appreciation. This has namely manifested itself in the general tongue lashing of the concert board in recent months.
Sometimes it seems as if the larger university community has the general impression that the day in the life of a Concert Board co-chair is as follows:
11:30 a.m. - Wake up late, because I spent all night doing a rain dance like I do every night to ensure that there will be rain for Spring Fling.
11:45 a.m. - Practice the way in which I will break the news to the campus that yet another Spring Fling will be cancelled due to the rain I caused by doing my many rain dances.
12:00 p.m. - Skip class because I am still practicing my announcement.
9:00 p.m. - Hold my Concert Board meeting that is closed to the general Spring Fling-going Tufts public, and blatantly shoot down any attempt to bring indie bands to campus. VIVA Britney Spears!
9:45 p.m. - Decide that Britney might not be the best choice - we'll stick with Busta because he always brings rain.
10:00 p.m. - Go to play dodge ball on my intramural team so I can hone my skills at dodging the beer cans students will throw at me after I make my now well rehearsed cancellation announcement during Spring Fling.
We understand how unfortunate it must have been for all of you to have been unable to see Busta Rhymes perform. Believe me, as a member of the Class of 2006, I feel your pain. However, a very key fact seems to be continually lost in the mix. The cancellation of such a high profile event as Spring Fling is not an accomplishment in which we relish, but rather can be equated to the feeling you get when you've spent hours cooking a meal and then drop it in the dirt. Months of preparation go into the planning of the various large-scale events that happen on campus every year - a list that includes but is not limited to Fall Ball, Tuftonia's Day Fireworks (yes, there is an event commemorating our April 21 birthday), Culture Fest and Spring Fling. These are months chock full of meetings with the administration and city councils, hundreds of phone calls to agents and vendors, and hours of logistical planning in which every possible scenario is discussed and planned for, including the onset of rain.
We are the ones that willfully sacrifice, waking up at 6 a.m. to set up, remaining sober and responsible while everyone else is enjoying themselves at our event, staying late to clean up after everyone has gone until we finally get to stumble home and collapse into our beds in an oddly satisfied exhaustion. We're the ones that become the target of your yelling and screaming when you can't get your way, the ones that are there to watch over you when the urge comes to empty the contents of your stomach onto our shoes, and the ones that even will endure the onslaught of full beer cans being chucked at our heads from a crowd of our peers. Yet, even with all the time, effort and sacrifice we can dedicate and all the planning we can put into an event, we still lack the ability to control everything, and it is for this that it seems you want an apology.
To that, from one ordinary senior to the general Tufts public, I ask you to merely give us a break. We're going to make mistakes. Not every quote in the Daily is going to be perfect, not every semi-formal is going to have the best DJ, and not every fireworks celebration is going to be able to happen if the gods of earth, wind and fire don't will it to. We're not professionals, we don't get paid, and we're doing this all in addition to our duties as students at this fine institution of higher learning simply because we enjoy it.
We are not an exclusive group and we apologize if we may have created an atmosphere in which you feel unwelcome. We have always invited and will again extend an invitation to all members of the Tufts community to come and share your opinions, join our groups and become active members in our organizations. We strive to bring the lecturers, comedians, musicians and films that you want to campus - a task that is more easily accomplished with your active participation than with suggestions offered to us in editorials after the fact.
Caroline Kennedy is a senior majoring in History.
