Powered by the kind of brewing resentment that could only have been fueled by hundreds of moronic, babbling responses to, “Who do you know here?”, the folks at university newspapers nationwide consistently provide ridiculous commentaries on those who wield the power that is the black sharpie. In this case, however, “The Dartmouth” appears to provide coverage that is not unjustly slanted against the Greek system by discussing Andrew Lohse’s leaked book proposal, one that chronicles his time as an SAE at Dartmouth and the hazing and drug use he encountered.
The first thing I learned from his proposal is that attending an Ivy League college teaches you how to utilize big words in a completely unnecessary context.
“Not long ago, I was a coke-addled elitist Dartmouth College fratboy watching my life slip away from me on a tide of cheap beer, vomit, and Jim Beam. I got so impossibly far from my humble, conservative middle-class upbringing that a nihilistic alter-ego seemingly overtook who I had been before. I could not stop my identity’s disintegration-instead, I saw its dissolution as a parable of my generation nearing the end of the world.”
Hear that, folks? He’s not messing around. He’s apparently seeking redemption, not through time on his knees in church nor on a couch with a shrink, but rather by dragging the names of his friends through the mud in the national media, and surely only coincidentally making a tidy profit for himself.
Really, having followed this story since well before it was covered nationally, the most remarkable fact is not the drug use or his tales of pledgeship, but rather that both this man and the original whistleblower were able to go through rush and pledgeship next to the other brothers and then engage in this behavior. If, as a member of an organization, you feel concerned about drug use or hazing, it is your responsibility to speak directly with those involved and try to better both that person as an individual and the group as a whole rather than to silently cultivate an attitude of moral superiority.
I could rant on the subject forever, but I think any accusations of this man’s delusions of grandeur that I could make pale in comparison to his own book proposal in which he compares his work to BOTH Catcher in the Rye and I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. Also, his pledgemaster named him Regina, after Regina George, which I think pretty accurately describes him early on as, for lack of better description, a gossipy little bitch. I sincerely doubt anyone with an eigth grade level of critical reading skill will take away his message of a man subject to “victimization by the cognitive dissonance of older Dartmouth boys’ trickery.” He actually sounds like a tolerable human being in his stories of being so intoxicated that his pretension was too much to handle, which I suspect is why he felt such a pressure from his brothers to partake.
Check out his proposal if you’re looking for the kind of casual afternoon read that will take about an hour of your time and cause your soul to rot a little bit. There are a couple laughs which are always unintentional on the part of the author, such as his description of being marched back to the house on bid night and meeting a gentleman described as having two day stubble and the stump of a fat cigar in his teeth who said only, “Greetings, Whaleshit.” I can only hope his final draft manages to be less obvious about the other players in his story, who won’t see a dime of the proceeds.