"They say I'm lazy - but it takes all my time."
-Joe Walsh
You may have noticed throughout the course of this semester that my column has often strayed from the realm of the arts. I don't bring a lot of credentials to the art world. I have no formal art, music or theatre education and prefer Van Halen to Van Gogh.
The greatest performance I've ever been a part of was the North Star Camp for Boys musical production of "The Sandlot," and the greatest painting I've ever done was painting myself up as Cubs shortstop Ryan Theriot for Naked Quad Run. That being said, outside of a 15,000 song iTunes library and an unhealthy ability to discuss the merits of 1950s doo-wop artists with your parents, my résumé in the arts world is pretty thin.
Therefore, knowing I had to force something into "Art" while swamped with midterms this week made me feel a bit handicapped. It's like trying to play Tetris but getting a square every time you want the long bar. In both cases, it's just harder to force 100 lines than you'd like.
So instead of fighting it, I thought I'd bust out these 100 lines with the one thing I can contribute to the art world during midterms: the art of the all-nighter. And like all the best 4 a.m. work, forgive me if this article is a sloppier affair than normal.
As a disclaimer, I don't recommend all-nighters. But if you do indeed find yourself still awake and in need of some resurrection working at an hour normally reserved for the "penile enlargement infomercial" demographic, Ari Goldberg's Guide to All-Nighters is equally guaranteed to please - it's been proven in a recent major university double-blind clinical trial to increase your staying power to go all night. (These statements have not been reviewed by the FDA. Individual results may vary. Consult physician immediately if resurrection lasts longer than four hours.)
First of all, and most importantly, there is one central tenet of all-nighter dogma that must be adhered to: "There is no amount of work that cannot be accomplished in 24 hours." Hold onto that religiously. For the next 24 hours, it is your 23rd Psalm - though you will not be maketh-ed to lie down in green pastures anytime soon.
The most common pitfall is in terms of food intake. For those who only dabble in the art, coffee might get you by. But it's dangerous. After that caffeine rush subsides, you're going to crash. This is a marathon, not a sprint, so train for it like one. You need to have real food and stay hydrated. You need to find another meal in the day. Breakfast + supper = breaker, which not only is as delicious as brunch, but as fun to say as lupper.
Get yourself set musically, because outside of your roommate's snoring, this will be your company for the night. Don't go for a playlist with a lot of variety. It will slow you down. You need to stay with a style, a mood or one artist's catalogue for long stretches at a time. Nothing shorter than at least an album. Something that chugs along so you always know it's there, but you can still tune out - you know, like a wife - or so stand-up comedians have led me to believe.
I could go on...but I'm late for breaker as it is. Just remember, when inspired by the greatest of muses, Last Minute Panic, there is nothing you can't accomplish in 24 hours. Just ask Jack Bauer.
Ari Goldberg is a senior majoring in history. He can be reached at Ari.Goldberg@tufts.edu.
