Enough is enough. I was up late trying in vain to write a paper recently about the passing of the literary visionary J.D. Salinger, so I ventured to the OMAC in hopes of going for a run to get the creative juices flowing. As they say: might makes write. But after braving the cold Providence night, I arrived at the entrance of the OMAC to discover that it was closed!
Some of you will surely say, "Why don't you just go running outside?" Please. Don't even get me started on how dangerous it is to go running in Providence at night. And besides, I am from the South, so there's no way you're getting me to run outside when it's this cold.
As I was staring hopelessly into the dark cavern of the OMAC, another midnight runner bounded up the stairs eagerly, only to be met with my depressing, "It's closed." The person's face sank like the Titanic. We walked back towards Thayer Street in silence. I hadn't experienced such a slight since President Ruth Simmons declined one of my t-shirts with her face silk-screened on it.
Not being able to exercise late at night impacted my academic experience. What could bemore important to us as Brown students than the sanctity of academics? I mean, imagine how ridiculous it would be if I couldn't get a spicy with at one in the morning after stumbling drunkenly down Thayer Street and rubbing my head on the sneeze-guard above the lettuce. If midnight runs are as much a part of one's work routine as blacked-out chicken sandwiches, then it should be given the same status by the powers that be. Some people prepare for class on Thursday by dressing scantily and going pole dancing on Wednesday. Is my habit really so ridiculous?
We ought to give equal status to all study routines, with complete and total disregard for all potential haters. As Ralph Waldo Emerson says, consistency is the hallmark of a sensible institution. Plus, Brown had almost three billion dollars. We should be able to afford to keep the lights on all night in the OMAC just like we can afford to keep stacks of room-temperature cheese next to a hotel pan of fried chicken. It's just common sense.
It is unfair that my parents are suffering a small loss of value from this arbitrary and seemingly irrelevant policy. I'm sure it was designed by some Corporation bureaucrat to maximize costs and minimize services. If not, then it is probably a law that Gov. Donald Carcieri '65 passed to appease the powerful people-who-look-for-a-flashing-green-light lobby. I demand instant satisfaction of my most ridiculous whims! Or else what are our parents paying all this money for?
As serious as this concern may seem to me, I think this exposes a much darker underlying problem that we all must face: we haven't become a post-circadian society. We all thought that the beginning of the age of the twenty-four hour convenience store was going to change the way we think about sleep habits. But the sad reality is that it hasn't. Tedeschi still closes at two in the morning. Closed-minded time bigots are winning. We cannot let them.
The notion that nighttime is for sleeping is an oppressive discursive construct that is propagated by the diurnalist hegemony. It is a narrowly equatorial discourse bordering on nocturnalist. People like us who live closer to the poles experience night and day as fluid and ambiguous categories that help contextualize the various life-processes that constitute our dominant cultural practices. For most, the equinox is a Paganesque primitive that is a sadly distant ideal. Our progressive sensibilities demand that everything anyone does must be celebrated regardless of how idiotic it is and our conservative sensibilities demand that everything be sacrificed on the altar of efficiency regardless of how valuable it is.
But all this isn't to say that there must always be a temporal hierarchy of privilege when it comes to using gymnastical facilities. Who are the administrators of the Olney-Margolies Athletic Center to say that these ought to be inflexible boundaries? We can't tacitly cede the agency each of us has over the fitness of our own bodies to soulless bureaucrats.
As a wise man from Alberta once told me: "The problem with Fukyama is that he's not Tocqueville."
Take heart, Brunonians: it is darkest just before dawn.
Brian Judge '11 is just trying to get in top form for the Laydeeezz at Fish Co.
