How does a SWUG celebrate spring? I just feel so conflicted. It’s all over so soon, but it’s so nice and happy outside my window!
From, Sprung for Spring
Dear Sprung for Spring,
Yes, unfortunately, we are approaching the countdown that makes this lovely springtime weather a little more bitter than it is sweet. While I’m looking forward to Lana’s next big hit, ‘Springtime Sadness,’ I’m trying to keep a positive attitude and always look on the bright side of life. For instance, when else in my life will a paper publish all of my SWUGgy thoughts? @NYTimes, did my column pitch get lost in the mail?
Anywhooo, I recently picked up “The Canterbury Tales” (1475) for some light (required) reading, and I realized my main man Chaucer was on to something with his springtime allegories (P.S. do you give extra credit, Professor Fyler?) Us college students can most definitely relate to Chaucer’s descriptions of spring. For instance, if you’ve ever been through a winter dry spell, you know what Mr. Chaucer was talking about when he said, “The droghte of March hath perced to the roote.” Any horny college student in New England can tell you that the winter dry spell most definitely “perced to the roote.”
We’ve been cooped up all winter long (hehe, did I make you start to hum a Rascal Flatts song?) We’ve been staying in and catching up on Netflix instead of going out, bundling up until we look like marshmallows waddling around campus and ordering in food instead of walking to Dewick or cooking (adding to the marshmallow-like appearance). But now that “Aprill with his shoures soote” is finally here, it’s time to bathe “every veyne in swich licour,” and get our darty on. Chaucer’s orders! Bathe our veins in liquor!
The sun is out!
The sky is blue!
It’s over 50!
Shorts will do!
(From the lesser known, SWUGerbury Tales.)
It only took beloved Beantown an extra few weeks to get here, but now that April is here, we’re in for a whole new ballgame. Literally. Because ’tis the season to root root root for the home team (go Yanks!), and ruit ruit ruit to the final four.
There’s so much to do now that it’s nice out, and so little time until that thesis is due. We need to make the most out of the quality weather before our time here is up. That means going to the marathon even though you can’t afford to lose a full day of working. It means walking to JP Licks instead of walking to your fridge six times before realizing you don’t have anything you want to eat. It means dragging yourself to a darty on the beach instead of wasting your Saturday in Tisch. Or it means turning your porch into a party spot, and letting the people come to you!
So ladies — shave those legs, and men — shave those beards. It’s time to come out of hibernation and join the party nation. The last few weeks of spring semester make it seem like Tufts is actually a party school … until we all realize that we are too Type A to party our spring away and we need to go to Tisch for the rest of the year.
Best of luck dealing with the extreme sadness of graduating in this confusingly joyous weather. (I’ll be the chick sobbing on the Prez Lawn.)
P.S. I am very sorry for this scattered article. I suffered a concussion last week, slamming my head on a freezer door handle (probs searching for pizza bagels).
P.P.S. Professor Fyler, seriously though, extra credit?