Retrospective, in its noun form, is defined by dear old Uncle Dick as "an exhibition or performance of works produced by an artist over a considerable period." If you can stomach the idea of my writings as "performances," then this two-semester experiment in editorial writing actually has a rather literal meaning.
I can't stomach that idea, which is why retrospective as an adjective is better. Then, it's synonymous with thoughtful, with an eye on looking back on the past. You see, when I first named the newborn column, I meant to infuse each article with a bit of nostalgia for the things that were, as well as a general distaste for things that keep reminding me that I am - and always will be - getting older.
And in that arena of aging, some things never change. Suddenly, or perhaps not so suddenly, there's no longer enough time. This will be the second-to-last retrospective article ever, and whereas last week I had nothing to write about, this week I realize that there are too many things to cover.
So, to you, my devoted followers and first-time readers alike, I present to you a carpet-bombing approach to opinion writing: an anthology of little bits of information I learned at Tufts, dos and don'ts that I believe need to be imparted.
We'll start simple: Don't drink Red Dog beer. You'll get a better buzz by licking an ashtray. Do, however, make PBR your first choice. That Blue Ribbon is a well-deserved certificate of excellence that you can experience with every can. You can keep your Miller High Life and your Bud Light, but neither of them won first prize.
Do make sure that you drunk-dial your friends. It is imperative that you wait until 4 a.m. to let them know how much you love them or how wasted you are. Those memories are, more often than not, treasured, if only for the next thirty days.
Don't drunk-dial anyone else. The phone makes it too easy to regret your evening. Try texting them and let them know something is coming - at least then you have a bit of a buffer.
Do play intramural sports. Division III is fine if you're down with the glory, such as it is, but nothing beats drinking a beer while behind home plate or thrashing a rival dorm in co-ed volleyball.
Don't let it slide when a line drive over the center fielder winds up in the road and the other team calls it a double; you earned every bit of distance that ball rolled. Chances are, the commissioner is playing against you, and if that's true, the rules start to bend in ways that would make a professional contortionist squeal like a trussed-up pig.
Do procrastinate and pull all-nighters. You are young, your bodies can take it, and it's not as potentially lethal as skydiving. The hours between 3 a.m. and 6 a.m. can be the most productive part of your day, if only because no one is awake to distract you. Hang out with friends and enjoy the evening, then man-up with a 200-milligram booster shot of caffeine and churn out paragraphs and P-sets 'til dawn.
Don't worry about things like sleep; there is plenty of time for that after college - or when you're dead. But that's morose.
Do join a student group. You are wasting money otherwise.
Don't go to a coffee shop with your copy of Faulkner and expect a wild one-night stand. Similarly, don't go to a party and expect meaningful conversation. For those who complain about how Tufts doesn't have worthwhile guys or girls, chances are you're looking in the wrong place. I don't claim to be a dating connoisseur, but I've been able to observe for four years. If you can't locate a single person to connect with out of 5,000 students, all of whom were filtered through a diversity-minded sieve for unique personalities, you are up a very unfortunate creek without a paddle, my friend. And there's a waterfall with a lot of jagged rocks at the end of it.
Do run the Naked Quad Run. Non-sanctioned school spirit is the only kind of school spirit there is, and the Naked Quad Run is one of the few instances (even if it is fading) of Tufts' pride that doesn't have the administration's grubby little hands all over it.
Don't take the academic environment for granted. In 10 years, you won't be able to lean your head out of your room and ask someone what mitosis means. You won't have to know, either, but that opportunity will be gone.
The last retrospective is still to come. Read it next week. Don't not read it. But do not not not not read it.
Alex Sherman is a senior majoring in architectural studies. He can be reached via e-mail at alexander.sherman@tufts.edu
