Wave your freak flag

Wednesday evening, Davidson’s (sorta) alternative culture took its place front and center at Commons, our college’s cafeteria.  The 5^th annual Phi Beta Kommons brought students together to have a long meal, dress up in costume, and attract stares from passersby.  In past years, some students have gone as far as to crossdress.

The name of the event is a suggestive one.  PBK is an obvious play on the fraternities’ Greek lettering.  In some ways, this event makes fun of those organizations’ exclusivity.  On the door to the patio, there was a sign that read,

                        Closed for a

                        Private Party

The sign, though, is a joke.  Anybody was welcome.  Greek lifers attended without resistance.

            Still, it’s important to recognize that this event exists outside the Greek tradition.  PBK affirms that an alternative social life has a place at Davidson.  For anyone who feels excluded from Greek life, PBK is a chance to say it’s okay we don’t fit that mold.  Keep wavin' your freak flag.

Jobs and Marxism: Idealism before you have to pay to have principles

It’s my last month of college.  My last month before I become a “real person,” before I am (relatively) financially independent of my parents.  Before we snip the umbilical cord, though, there’s one thing that needs some figuring out.  I need a job. 

This pursuit is no fun, as most of my classmates know—employers reject you without even seeing your face.  As of late, my search has become even more disconcerting because of my coursework.  This semester, I’m taking the William Faulkner seminar.  Faulkner’s work in itself is a mindbender.  His sentences can be as long as half a page.  He winds you up, and when you reach the end of a sentence, you’re not really sure where you left the ground.  His prose soars; it’s celestial.  So, this semester, I’ve been grappling between two divergent writing styles: between Faulkner’s semi-colon-ridden, long-as-hell sentences and business-like, clear and concise information for cover letters. 

            What makes matters worse is that my final topic for this course is a Marxist reading of Faulkner’s short stories.  All while I’m trying to become a cog in the machine.  Needless to say, these two activities don’t go well together.  Sunday morning, I sat down at Summit, the local coffee shop, where I do a lot of my work.  First, I hammered out some job applications.  After a couple hours of capitalism, I shifted to Marxism and Faulkner.  This coupling of job search and revolution was like sitting down in a nice restaurant, eating a hearty meal—heavy on the butter—and then, instead of ordering my decaf coffee, I went for a bottle of the off-brand vodka.  And then vomited.  The two pursuits didn’t sit well together.  My stomach is going to have a rough next few weeks.