Kenyon College - CASE

...And Some Other Things
Things we just hate
The Gambier tornado siren. Does it have to be so deafening? And do they
have to test it so often? And exactly at the moment we’ve stepped out of the
post office?
Boil-water advisories. They always make us feel like Gambier exists
either in the Middle Ages or the Third World.
Power outages. Occasionally an adventure. But every time the wind
blows? Please.
Parking. Somehow, in this tiny burg, there’s never a spot where we need it,
when we want it.
Skunks. They nest under every porch in Gambier, have no natural enemies,
and stink for days even when they’re roadkill.
Gambier’s “roofed” trash cans. They force you to stick your hand in
toward the garbage when you’re throwing something away. Disgusting, and
extremely dangerous in yellow-jacket season.
Course Registration
The problem is anxiety, the evil twin of hope.
For students, each semester brings with it the
renewal of hope that the stars will align, producing
a perfect schedule—all of their first-choice
classes, none of which meets before noon. The
only thing standing in the way is the registration
process. If both afternoon sections of Baby
Drama are already full, the whole plan falls apart.
To address the fears and ensure some
fairness, Kenyon developed a quaint, handcrafted
registration procedure. The elves in the
Registrar’s Office actually went through all the
scribbled enrollment sheets, individually, fixing
it so that each student supposedly got at least
one first choice. Then they went through all the
paper forms again, looking at second choices.
Antiquated, incredibly labor-intensive, and
sweet. Did some people get screwed? Well, there
were always stories. But the point is that, whatever
the merits of the hand-scooped method,
stress still stalked the campus.
And still does, even with a new, improved
all-online system that the College, in a spasm of
modernity, introduced last fall. It’s kind of nice
to edge into the twenty-first century. If there’s
one thing students are comfortable with, after
all, it’s onscreen menus. But stress-free? The
algorithm hasn’t yet been invented that can
soothe the worrywart.
At least the chaos of the drop-add period
survives. So, of course, does the age-old option
of begging a professor to open another seat even
though the course is over-enrolled. It’s reassuring
to know that, even in the age of entitlement,
supplication hasn’t gone out of style.
Things we’re embarrassed to hate
The Great Hall. It’s like hating Harry Potter. But the fact is, you can’t hear
yourself speak, the benches are a throwback to a Dickensian orphanage, and
the stained-glass windows don’t include any foreign or postcolonial literature.
Can’t we just replace “The One-Horse Shay” with, say, Things Fall Apart?
Ascension Hall. Another architectural treasure—but with flights of stairs
that never end and a heating system that either never works or works too well.
Things we hate, depending on who we are
The fraternities. Everyone hates ’em, except for those who love ’em.
The “Shock Your Mama” Party. Hated by the faculty and administration
(who have such fusty notions of good taste and alcohol limits).
First-Year Sing. Actually, emotions are complicated here. The administration
hates how the upperclassmen torment the freshmen. The upperclassmen
hate that Professor Locke seems to be making progress in civilizing the ritual.
And the first-years are just befuddled.
Things we used to hate
Cell phones. Upperclassmen considered them “unKenyon” and persecuted
anyone using one on Middle Path.
Lack of cell phone coverage. After we all got addicted to cell phones,
we discovered that in Gambier they were useless. Bummer.
Things we stopped hating
Cell phones. Now that there’s coverage and we can’t imagine life without
them, we’ve dropped them from the hate list.
The KAC. People railed that it was a monstrosity. But somehow they can’t
stay away.
Getting to the Olin Gallery. You could see it, but you couldn’t get
there without a weird detour. The new Gund Gallery has made Olin just an
ugly library again.
Things We Hate to Love
Gossip. It’s social poison, condemned by both Scripture and Dear Abby. But in the
buzzing mini-world of Gambier, gossip is our nectar. Impossible not to indulge.
Winter 2012 Kenyon college alumni bulletin 17