Final Word: 300 lbs. And Rising: A life in the life of a BU lifer

Buckaroos and cowgirls! Homies and gangstas! Hope you guys enjoyed the snow! I was stuck in my room. I imagine that if I had a social life, I’d be worried. Luckily for all concerned though, there was no beautiful woman pining away for me to show up in my velvet best with champagne and a volume of Sylvia Plath’s most wretched works (for even in my wildest fantasies, you can’t get over the fact that girls like Plath). But hey, at least I wasn’t reduced to planning an epic battle between my toy soldiers from “Star Wars,” which I’ve never seen, and “Lord of the Rings,” which I’ve never read! Allah forbid!

My social life aside, Fall 2003 is almost over. I’ve been around for a good many semesters, and if my grades keep up the way they’ve been, I sure will be around for a lot more! And every semester so far that I’ve been in this fine institution has been characterized by some sort of grievance, complaint or minor student rebellion in the form of letters to The Daily Free Press.

I don’t remember half of them, since I spent my three-semester sophomore year drunk. And the minor issues — like say, wanting cable television so as not to miss out on the re-run of the “Thundercats” episode where Mumm-ra turns out to be a mall-pants-wearing rapper — I’m not even going into. Nor will I discuss the abysmal quality of food at Warren, which I suffered last spring when my buddy Vincent James and I, our hearts broken, would miss class, get drunk and lunch there.

Love and gastronomy are facts of life — we accept them with a tear and a sigh; and then we move on.

But there are the serious debacles that scarred themselves into our collective subconscious like the Paris Hilton (or was it New York Radisson?) sex tape. Among these are the one (or two; it’s small change anyway) million dollars that the Mugar Library lost in the Laundry Room balance sheets. (I hear you say: but Arafat, the Mugar doesn’t have a laundry room! I nod my head sagely and riposte with “Exactomundo, Drewberry!”) Then there’s the whole Gay-Straight Alliance fiasco, where Long John Silber made those school kids walk the plank because they were getting too (arrr!) matey with each other. And no revolution would be complete without that big deal about the Guest Policy, where students threatened to hold their breath and/or pout for two weeks straight unless they could have friends over after bedtime! Silber pointed out that amendments to the policy implied rampant and promiscuous sex being had amongst the lowly freshmen that couldn’t get into South Campus. I say: I wish!

This semester was no different. We were given a buildup about Dan Goldin being so cool that even Captain Planet had gone on record saying that the power was his. And then right before he was supposed to punch in for his daily nine to five, he got removed. Thankfully, Aram Chobanian stepped in and did us all a favor. (So, just for the record: thanks dude.) But we were still the subject of national ridicule for a week or so.

Optimists among us will point out that things really can’t get much worse, and there are only so many ways in which the university can publicly embarrass itself. But I have faith in the ingenuity of Man, especially our trusty Trustees. A very close friend of mine — let’s call her Lauren McChesney — left BU last year to go to Wheelock College. She said that the only times she hears from BU these days are when:

(a) The administration does something embarrassing,

(b) Professor Christopher Ricks gives an interview about how reruns of “The A-Team” are actually post-modern palimpestic documents looking into the very nature of what it means to be American,

(c) The administration does something embarrassing,

(d) UNI buys another professor, or

(e) The administration does something embarrassing.

And she was right. I’m really afraid for what the new year will bring us. It’s a major concern in my book (which you must buy!!! Go to www.thewatsonbrothers. com/300lbs). On the one hand, I’d like to think that the tomfoolery will stop with the new administration. On the other, I have the experience of two-and-a-half years proving that the Trustees, and the BU administration in general, are happiest when armed with cream pies, a camera and a big ol’ target with all of our faces on it.

What can we do then? First of all, I’d suggest kidnapping Boston Globe living/arts columnist Alex Beam for calling us Banana University. You could also show the administration who’s boss, like I do, by not wanting to watch TV, not having sex and so on. Just for good measure, donate a million dollars to Mugar and then yell “Psych!” when the drool reaches optimum levels and they’re about to go cash it. Finally, crown your roommate King President of BU, although one could say that that’s happened before.

Or, you could just go home like the mindless sheep you are, get hopelessly drunk and stay drunk the entire winter throughout, coming back horribly hung over and embittered about an almost-great university that never fails to fall flat on its face every three months. And I don’t know about you, bunky, but that case of Newcastle Brown is sure lookin’ good to me right now.

Arafat Kazi, a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences, has been a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. His email address is futhman@thewatsonbrothers.com