The race to stupidity

I’m simply amazed by Duke students. When we aren’t on campus, people brag a lot about how smart we are. Basing my perceptions of Duke students on their reputation in these discussions, I had every intention of hearing stories from the smartest students in the world my freshman year. While I did technically hear stories from smart people, the content of the stories surprised me. I haven’t heard anyone gloating about how they got Dean’s List or boasting about their research publications (most likely because it is harder to write a research paper than it is to write a non-offensive satire on a Monday). So how do most of us compensate for these lost chances for accolades? We have resorted to bragging about our antics in order to beef up our social resumes. Stop me if you’ve heard these: “Sorry, I can’t chillax with you tonight, I’m sick because I passed out on Campus Drive last night! HAHA,” “Yeah, summer starts in like two weeks, and I don’t have any friends with benefits where I’m interning. LOL” or my personal favorite, of which I have yet to understand the true meaning, “I was so obliterated last night I don’t even remember what happened.... it was so fun. ROFLCOPTER.” These phrases alone are funny, but the real kicker is that I hear these almost exclusively in the library (Social hour commence!) and on Facebook. So why do we do this?

Why do we constantly act like Lindsay Lohan is the one judging our accolades and achievements? I know I’m more likely to hear “Man, Jeremy is awesome because he can down fifteen shots of Jack without blowing chunks*” than “Jeremy’s so smart, he’s a Chem/Econ double major with a 3.8.*” Why are blackout stories proudly shared but it’s hush-hush when someone flunks their midterm? Maybe it’s because a) I’m 21 already or b) I’ve never blacked out, puked, nuked, rebuked or passed out, but I am having a tough time firmly grasping this unspoken adage of “the more stupid you are, the more cool you are.” (*I’m so cool and stupid, both of these are toned down from the real numbers.)

To illustrate this, I’ve defined Beer Proficiency (BP) as follows: BP = (Age + number of drinks you can hold without puking) * (GPA divided by hours studied per week). So the higher your BP, the cooler you are; anything above a 6.5 is cool with Duke goggles. Things that will make your BP better: being old (experience), drinking a lot and spending less time studying. The only thing that will make your BP worse: studying on Friday. Regardless, everybody knows that BP makes its presence known at Duke, so you’d best take some time to know it.

Don’t get me wrong; I love a good BP story just like the next person (my Roflcopter runs on BP fuel); you must have a BP of at least 9 to even be considered my friend. Indeed, this thinking continues outside the Gothic Paradise. Consider your parents and teachers: Why do they love the local news? Because it’s the only place where they can hear stories like “37 houses robbed in Durham, Mike Nifong hired to prosecute suspects. What this means for your child’s college education at 11.” We don’t find this interesting because Nifong didn’t down a Four Loko before he took the case. (Or did he?) Which news video would you rather see on Duke Student Broadcasting: “Student publishes paper on Lemur sexuality, receives A+ in independent study” or “Lemur pees on student who has entire head submerged in eco-friendly trashcan?” Regardless of how many sensationalistic modifiers are used in a single headline, ludicrous tomfoolery will always be more relatable to our peers than alliterative academic accolades.

Seniors have had three years of social misadventures and now have more intelligent ways of increasing our BPs. We’ve realized that at some point, starting a problem set two hours before it is due is funny once, but the second time, it’s downright stupid. I personally have shifted away from these stories by blending the immaturity and intelligence of college occurrences, which I have eloquently deemed as horrawful. The word horrawful (pronounced “hoar-awful”, like a sneeze) comes from something that is so awful and horrible it makes you ROFL. Tricking your vegetarian girlfriend into eating meat? Horrawful. Getting kicked out of a silent reading room for chewing gum too loud? Horrawful. Tearing down the goalposts after winning an away game? HorrawfuLMAO.

As the Class of 2011 starts to carom into graduation, we will start to realize the true volume of memorable, yet horrawful stories that we have amassed since August 2007. Better yet, at graduation, someone will drunkenly stumble across the stage. Horrawful? Yes, but it definitely increases your BP.

Jeremy Steinman is a Trinity senior. This is his final column of the semester.