Guest writer Lev Raanan brings you the definitive guide to our favorite (and least favorite) statues around campus.
The hole in the middle… I– we’re all adults here.
Bellerophon Taming Pegasus
We’ve all had this hookup – the one you want to get over, but can’t.
It’s not because you’ve caught feelings for him; you know better than anybody how terrible your taste is, but falling for this guy would just be embarrassing. It’s not a friendship you lost; he didn’t really have much of a personality besides smoking weed and watching Rick and Morty, anyway. There’s really not to miss about this hookup, except for one unfortunate thing: his absolutely earth-shattering dick.
There was a lot that you were ignoring with him. Everything weird about this guy lurked at the back of your mind for the entire relationship – his bizarrely close relationship with the childhood pet he snuck into the dorms, when he went to the bathroom completely naked and one of your suitemates saw everything, how he bought a new bong the day after telling you didn’t have condom money – but the second he got you into bed, it all fell away.
He moved on, of course, and you did too. But those moments you shared together still creep into your memory, unbidden; your passion so all-consuming it was impossible to tell whose limbs belonged to whom.
These Guys on Broadway
Okay, I think we’ve ALL wondered what getting freaky with twins would be like.
I’ve never been married, personally, but if I had, I think I would still say what I’m about to: that a marriage should be built on a solid foundation, should be easily movable if need be, and good from any angle you can see it. I think all of these can describe the Tooth.
And your love would be beautiful.
Imagine caressing those gentle slopes, worn down by years of soft touches. Imagine the tooth’s joy – no longer is she being rubbed with the sticky hands of drunk freshmen, or pushed in circles by lone football players trying to show off. Imagine learning every curving line and sharp angle.
Gentle, dependable Alma strikes me as a comforting domestic presence to have around. An educated woman, you know she’ll be the breadwinner of the family, so your role is simply to sit back and watch, with awe, the power of your wonderful wife.
The SEAS Statue
Strong hands, rough from years in the foundry, to provide for you. A wind-beaten but gentle face to look upon you with tenderness. What more could you ask for from a spouse?
A middle-aged relative of mine recently shared a Facebook meme that I leave you with now. It read: He who works with his hands is a laborer. He who works with his hands and his head is a craftsman. He who works with his hands, his head, and his heart, is an artist. May we all work to become artists in our relationship with the SEAS statue.
These fucking idiots are going to get themselves killed without any assistance regardless, so you might as well. I’m sure they deserve it, too.
I waffled over this for a little, but honestly I’m fine with getting cancelled for this: I am proud to discriminate against jocks. I think they deserve more hate and I’m not afraid to be the one who doles it out.
If you’re a person who runs for fun, I’m revoking your right to life immediately. If you go for a run and enjoy it, I don’t think you should get to leave your house without fear.
I do feel a little uncomfortable with a sculpture that is almost certainly based on the image of a reclining woman, meant to inspire, I’m sure, “appreciation of the female form” or whatever BS, that is nonetheless headless. Obviously SoCiEtY values women’s bodies more than the rich internal lives of women themselves, and we all know that, but seeing it proudly on display any time I manage to drag my miserable, dilapidated corpse to Gen Chem recitation is something else. Besides, it’s just kinda ugly.
photo via Bwog Archives