A terrible thing just happened. I went for a little drive in the early hours of yesterday morning. Sitting in the driver's seat of my luxurious 2002 Subaru Outback with the dance−tastic beats of David Guetta blasting, I surveyed the Tufts campus. It was a beautiful day. A pleasant ocean breeze danced along the hill. The sun cast soft West Hall−shaped shadows across the quad. Birds chirped; squirrels scurried. All was well in the world. And then I saw something so vile and horrible that it shocked me out of my pleasant contemplation and threw me into a deep depression. As I rounded the turn onto Packard Avenue, I saw the sad first of the season.
A North Face−clad, UGG−wearing female.
Now don't get me wrong; I do like the look. It's cute. But oh no! I thought. How can this be? It is only early October. A few weeks ago, I sat on a sandy beach on Rhode Island, casually applying sunscreen across my arms. I was stretched out on a towel waving lazily at sand fleas and watching Labor Day revelers frolic in the surf. And now this? I was struck by the terrifying truth I had worked so hard to ignore.
Winter hits Boston approximately 24 hours after we all get back to school. UGGs and North Faces are about a week away from becoming the de facto dress code. The hoodies and sweatpants are right behind them. And again, don't get me wrong; I do kind of like the winter dress code. In a matter of days, the school will turn into a modern−day version of Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter," where an uncovered ankle becomes the ultimate in sexual exposure. And to think we were all duped into this.
Remember when you visited Tufts? It was probably the late spring, summer or very early fall. When I visited, it was early June. The campus was warm and sunny. I stood on top of the library roof and gazed out at a city that seemed right next door. "I could get used to this," I thought. Good luck motivating yourself to travel to Back Bay or the North End when there's a foot of snow, 25 mph wind and a wind chill appropriate for penguins. And no, Morgan Freeman won't come and narrate your march down to Aidekman.
If you're a seasoned veteran on the Hill, you know what I mean. If this is your first year in the frozen tundra of Medford/Slumerville, consider this your warning: Winter is coming. It's coming fast. And it sucks. A lot.
"Oh no! What can I do to survive this horrible catastrophe?" you ask. Good question. There are solutions, and don't worry, only half of them involve Zoloft. A) Take a good, hard look at yourself right now. You still have the remnants of that summer tan. Fix this image into your mind. It will serve as a reminder that better times will come. B) Winter is coming, and it is futile to resist it. Try — and this is no easy task — to plan some trips off of the Tufts campus. Go snowboarding or snowshoeing. Throw snowballs at Harvard students. Go to the Loj (the wood stove is a godsend). Visit that buddy of yours in New Hampshire. Holing up in your room on campus and weathering the storm doesn't work. Believe me; I've tried it. Three times. Finally, C) Act fast. Southwest.com still has flights out of the frigid cold of the Northeast. Book a one−way ticket to Florida for the winter. E−mail Bruce Reitman, and tell him you have seasonal depression. I think it's technically illegal for them to expel you then.
In the meantime, I urge the campus to fight it out a little longer. Please, shelve those UGGs a little while longer. I'm not ready yet.
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