Cyberstall

Those of you who spent time in the bathrooms of Moore Hall and Baxter House last year should be familiar with the now legendary "Baxter Bulletin". Welcome to the Cyberstall, where we give you more than just the news; we take you behind the stories, exposing the juicy (and often embarassing) gossip that lurks in the shadows. No need to thank us; it's nothing really.

So, I know, I said it was the last time, that was back in the Wintertime. In truth, I did truly intend that to be the last Bulletin I ever wrote. The torch has been passed. Alas, ladies and gents, I just had to snatch it back for a summertime jaunt. Sorry Demps, you'll get your chance again this fall.

For me, and a whole boatload of other Baxter folks, the past six months have been nothing short of life defining. And, back at home, after some intense globetrotting, I'm finding myself torn between competing ideologies. This is the hazard of getting your life defined: the mental wrestling begins. To make this simple, I'll say only that two major mantras have been bouncing about in my increasingly abstract brain. The first, from the autobiography of Barry Lopez: "Get out of town." The second, from countless and varied Zen teachings, the sum total amounting to this: "Wherever you are, that's where you'll be."

What gives here? I've got one guy telling me to leave, and 5 bajillion years of serenity and Eastern Philosophy whispering, "delight in where you are." Both seem sensible, but I need to reconcile the two, because while I'm hearing both, I'm listening to neither. Now look at me, I'm working in a bar 55 hours a week, going to bed at 4AM and waking up at 2. My life, like my sleep, has become a long fit of tossing and turning.

Well, I went fishing last night, and learned my lesson. My father and I snuck out to squeeze in a few casts before heading out to dinner with my mother. We tossed our lures into the rollers on the south shore of Nantucket, and both aknowledged that the prevailing wind would likely mean substandard fishing...at least in terms of catching fish, that is. The sun was still up and leaking yellows into the troughs of the waves from its perch above the bluff to our right. Thus far, we had theorized correctly, where we were casting the sea was empty. All thoughts turned to the drive home.

Just as the sun dipped below the clouds growing on the horizon, I whipped my lure to the left. And that's when the fishing got good. We were catching fish on every cast, pausing only to slip our scaly friends back into the sea. We finally arrived home about an hour late for dinner, but the fishing (and strangely even my mother seemed to forgive us) was worth it.

Essentially the meaning is this: Channel the place where you are, drink it in fully. When you start yearning for somewhere else, your consciousness splits, and you are lost. You must go places to get perspective on your home, so go, but get a complete experience, and when you do return home, make sure you bring your mind along too. You'll need it.

This is the challenge for those who return to the Baxter family this year, those who will set off on their own adventures, and even those who are beginning their time with Baxter. Couldn't this be the challenge for Bowdoin too? The Fraternity system is gone, and we must not bury our thoughts along with it. For the fledgling houses, the lessons of the system in it's waning years were extremely beneficial. We must take stock of those years, and move forward. So when someone mourns the system, laugh at them. It won?t be back, at least not in the next four years (the "institutional life" for even the youngest among us), so the best thing for everyone is to be at Bowdoin the way it is.

I'm confident that we'll all be able to succeed. And, as a member, doesn't it help to know that you're a part of the strongest house on campus?

My best to you all, wherever you are, and whatever state of mind/sobriety in which you happen to find yourselves. Live it up 'till it's time to come back, and then, we'll live it up a little more. DeGeorge is still the King of Beers, and remember: Alpo is never tasty as a bar snack.

cheers!

Natty

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