Harbor waits for no one

Saturday:

Harbor waits for no one. Neither, apparently, do rugby meetings.

Backstory: harbor is a game of debauchery that takes place between 8 people (four teams of two) across 2 pong tables with one ball. It is played with paddles with no handles (the way any proper game of pong is played), and each team has "boats" - one of 6 cups, one of 5, one of 4, one of 3, one of 2, and a mine. The goal: hit/sink the cups in any other team's boat. If more than half the cups in any given boat are gone and you sink, you sink the boat. Don't sink the mine. Don't let people hit/sink your cups.

Naturally, harbor can be made interesting in all sorts of ways - alliances can be formed, and any sort of liquid you desire can be played with (water, fruit juice, straight whiskey, etc). The one fast and solid rule of harbor, outside of the basics? Harbor waits for no one. Maybe you have to go to the bathroom, maybe your partner wants to get a snack, or perhaps you remembered you had a problem set due in 19 minutes. I wish you luck on that problem set, but the game will not be stopping for you. It does not stop until it finishes. Harbor waits for no one. Better work on that problem set later so you don't leave your partner in the lurch. Better late than never, right?

Now that you've gotten a taste of this icon of Dartmouth culture, my story will be more relevant. After being awake late last night, in no small part because I live directly above the basement (ie the scene of this sort of debauchery) and because there was a game of harbor being played beneath my bed, with all the paddle-slamming and the screaming required of such an intensely competitive game, I found myself in need of a little mid-afternoon nap. Which I was enjoying, rather contentedly like a cat in the sun, until my floor started to shake. An earthquake, you ask? More delightful earthmovers working on the gargantuan pain-in-my-ass construction project in my backyard, also known as the Kappa Delta sorority house? Nay, I say. This particular earthquake can be attributed to the women's rugby team.

The women's rugby team has weekly meetings, much like a sorority might. This particular week, the women found it appropriate to hold these meetings on a Saturday mid-afternoon (day drinking anyone?), approximately 10 feet beneath my bedroom floor. Now, the women's rugby team prides itself on its strength, its singing ability, and its level of raginess. Also its undefeated season. But we'll leave that aside for now. The former three abilities were all featured prominently during Saturday's session of mid-afternoon debauchery, which woke me from a peaceful afternoon slumber, and left me groggily looking at my shaking paintings on my wall, somewhat confused before reality dawned on me, and wondering who had come up with the **creative** lyrics being sung. Oh my.

The moral of this story? Harbor, and rugby meetings, wait for no one. Collegiate fun, even if I live above it, waits for no one. But you know what? For as much as I might whine about it when it interrupts an afternoon nap, I'm actually happy that someone somewhere close by (read:10 feet under my bed) is having fun. It's a good reminder on days that feel like they are filled with never ending piles of work.

And the gargantuan pain-in-my-ass construction project in my backyard, also known as the Kappa Delta sorority house, which just this (Monday) morning began a new and unfortunate varietal of ear-splitting fun (hammering nails)? Well, I suppose I ought to thank them. They are the one noise I can't sleep through, which means when their house gets worked on, I wake up for class. Usually they start early enough, but better late than never!