Dear Class of 2010,
Welcome back for your very first spring semester: You’re one eighth of the way done! Hopefully, you were able to get a lot of rest and remembered to remind all of your poor and/or stupid friends back at home that your life is empirically proven to be better than theirs, because, well, you go to Yale. Did you also remember to tell everyone that the kid from high school who also goes to Yale is totally a poofter?
That aside, what may come as somewhat of a surprise to you is that from the first day you got back, many of the factors in establishing your realizable social potential here at Yale have already been determined: Everyone now knows for sure whether you simply fell victim to the Freshman Fifteen or you’re just fat.
But an even greater challenge lies ahead. As the climate changes in New Haven from inconveniently true to Terri Schiavo, there will be a demographic transition in the relationships you have formed thus far with peers throughout Old Campus. You will find that commuting between Vanderbilt and L-Dub in a pair of stockings and a soiled Diane von Furstenberg wrap every Sunday morning will check you into DUH faster than your next herpes outbreak. Maybe it’s time to consider going down on the guy(s) in your own building? Maybe it’s time to Facebook befriend that kid across the hall whose mother sends him all the cookies, microwaveable foods and Zoloft?
Dear Class of 2009,
Just go ahead and check in with a therapist, because we all know you are a little more than tired of drinking a liter of Popov every night to make yourself fall asleep. If you think it’s bad now, I speak only on behalf of myself as well as my manic states when I say that the Sophomore Slump only gets worse.
Hang in there! If you’re sane enough to make it through this year, it only gets less bad!
Dear Class of 2008,
Investment banks and consulting firms aren’t the only ones recruiting. Stay on the lookout for wax-sealed envelopes mysteriously slipped under your door with inscriptions like the following:
Do you like talking about yourself and pretending to listen to others? Are you longing for an exclusive environment, free of the commoners and groundlings Yale so often attracts with its financial aid reform policies? If so, Skull and Bones may be the perfect fit for you! Please contact: O. H. Stanley; J. G. Thornton; C. L. Watkins; W. G. Davis; C. Seymour; J. W. Williams; G. Dahl; R. B. “The Good” Shepard; D. T. Griswold; J. M. Townsend; T. M. Dines; G. H Townsend; L. W. Perrin; J. T. Foster; L. B. Bigelow.
Dear Class of 2007,
Sadly, you find New Haven’s panhandlers more recognizable than the crowds that amass at SAE Late Night. That can’t be good.
And while knowing of and/or knowing everyone in the c/o 2007 ensures an efficient diffusion of gossip, our time here has nearly expired. Before we prostitute ourselves to corporate America, let’s all take a moment to stop, reflect and breathe: Just let me know when you want me to cut another line.
Joe Aphinyanaphongs wants to know how long it took you to facebook the above Bonesmen. No luck? Try the 1907 New York Times.