No, this column wasn't written in December. Yesterday was my favorite holiday. It's a very special day in New England that comes but once a year, and this time around, Boston decided to make it a whole holiday weekend. What is this mysterious day of days, you ask? Well, my esteemed colleagues, in case you've been stuck under a rock straight James Franco−style the past couple days, this weekend was warm. Real warm. But, more importantly, it was Spring Hottie Come Out Day.
What exactly is Spring Hottie Come Out Day? Well, technically, it's that day (or weekend in this case) toward the end of winter where the frozen Nordic tundra that is Boston finally releases its icy grip on our souls and allows some sun and warmth into our hearts. Realistically, it's that day toward the end of winter where it is warm enough that girls break free from the cocoon of Uggs and North Face jackets, emerging clad in sundresses, brightly colored skirts and legs without two weeks of stubble. Basically, it's that day when you finally see some skin around campus and realize, "Daaaaaamn people around me are looking goooood." Mmmmmm. Can you smell the pheromones? (No, you can't, because pheromones are odorless. You get the point though.)
While not officially recognized by the Tufts administration, Spring Hottie Come Out Day has been celebrated by people all across the great state of Massachusetts for years. And as long as we're gonna pretend Patriots' Day is a legitimate holiday, let's do the same for S.H.C.O.D. Rumor has it that Massachusetts Gov. Deval Patrick has legislation in the works to put it in the books. (Rumor also has it that Lady Gaga has a penis. Look it up. I'm just saying...)
For those of you out there immediately disgusted at the perceived male chauvinistic and misogynistic nature of S.H.C.O.D., understand that this isn't just about guys eye−bleeping every girl on campus. Dudes look better in springtime too. We tuck away the stained gray sweatpants and Hopkinton High hoodies and replace them with something a bit more superfly. We want you eye−bleeping the bleep out of us too, so that, just maybe, you'll consider actually bleeping us after a romantic dinner date at Anna's. We're all trying to get to Pleasure Town together.
Yes, at its core, S.H.C.O.D. is a dirty, immoral, pagan holiday. But who gives a crap? Everybody knows about the Tufts scale of attractiveness. Add to that the pasty, pale ugliness of winter. It's oppressing. But as we come out of it, we find ourselves with a bit of Stockholm syndrome. Boston winter crushes your spirit and lowers your standards so far that spring seems like a gift from on high. I say we take advantage of it. For a couple days, you can roll out to parties in just a button−down. It feels like I'm back in Athens, except sans molotov cocktails and tear gas.
But for all its glory, S.H.C.O.D. isn't straight peaches and cream. There's a little caveat attached to it. It's a tease. Sunday's high, in the 60s. Today, back into the 40s. Boston will flash a wink of warmth and general happiness and then dump 15 more inches of snow on us. She's a cruel mistress. But Spring Hottie Come Out Day lets us know what's right around the corner. And fleeting or not, as long as the holiday is here, let's celebrate it through the ancient traditions set forth by our forefathers: with some sex.
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