You've seen it in pink writing on a purple background in alternating capital and lowercase letters in an AIM profile. Maybe you've even seen it as the title of a Facebook photo album, followed by several exclamation marks. No matter what color it was written in, it probably made you feel all pink and purple inside. This college mantra goes as follows: "The nights you'll never remember ... with the people you'll never forget."
I know we're all Spartan academic athletes here, fighting neck-and-neck for the scholastic spotlight, so this little swing at sentimentality may seem like a breath of fresh air -- there may actually be an opportunity for canine camaraderie in the dog-eat-dog world of college! But really, as the nation's future, is that the best we can do?
While the phrase is a perfect paradox, most likely formed by some bookish English major who had never lived out its true meaning, it is a flawed view of "how college should be." It calls for basing friendships around raging alcoholism and blackout drunkenness.
First of all, regarding the "nights you'll never remember," I can't say much, because I don't remember them. What I do know, however, is that if you don't remember a night, chances are something bad happened. You will probably find out later that you ran into that girl from your weekly discussion and let her know that you were just baffled by how ugly she is. Even if you ended this interaction with "Not that it's a bad thing...," it won't change the fact that you are now that kid with the black eye and broken nose from weekly discussion.
Also, doesn't the word "memories" have the same word-origin as "remember?" Shouldn't memories be of times we always remember? Without mental storage of our good times, all we have as proof of our nights out are pictures. Several questions stem from these photographs, like "Who was that enormously tall 40-year-old bearded man I have my arm around?" or "How did we ever end up at Waffle House?" Life really just becomes a game of Clue, discerned from bits and pieces of poor photography. Your broken foot, if I examine the photos long enough, came from Your Roommate, with the Frying Pan, in the Kitchen. I'm not really sure why, though.
As for the friends you'll "never forget," what depth do they really have? Are they anything more than drinking buddies? Wasted is an adjective without a face. And honestly, who isn't your friend when you're happy in the haze of a drunken hour? Except, of course, your enemies -- who you may or may not punch in the face. Don't your boring, inebriated friends just glow in comparison?
I'm sure one place we'll never see this phrase, no matter how catchy it may be, is on the Stall Seat Journal. Corny as it may sound, every time I puked my brains out in my first-year dorm, that little Plexiglas-covered sheet tutored me with nuggets of reassuring knowledge. It taught me the true meaning of friendship -- 25 percent of the time, 60 percent of some friends help out their insanely drunk friends. Calculating that 50 percent of my friends were drunker than me 80 percent of the time, I figured I was in safe-enough hands.
Now, by no means am I calling for students to give their Saturday nights wholesome "Boy Meets World"-makeovers. I'm sure we would all love to spend our afternoons tutoring Honduran orphans, then pick up the gang in our minivan and drive over to the church Bingo function. But I think we volunteer enough at Madison House during the week to get some extra credit with the big guy upstairs -- at least enough to earn a spot on the waitlist to heaven.
It's okay to go out Saturday, maybe even to a frat party. You can throw some beers back with your best buds and get a little silly. You could even try dancing a little bit -- though that's probably something you would rather have no one remember. After it's over, you can discuss all the hilarious interactions you had with belligerent drunks, and while it's happening, you can laugh in their faces. As much as I mocked its ridiculous "Hoo Knew" facts and overwrought cheeriness, the Stall Seat Journal once published a three-word header I find to be a much better phrase to sum up how to live a good college life: Everything in Moderation.
Marissa's column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at dorazio@cavalierdaily.com
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