I am not cool.
If there were some kind of campus-wide cool contest, they'd hand me my participation ribbon and pat me on the head and direct me to the concourse for the complimentary refreshments.
SGA would bring in celebrity judges Tyrese, Shannon Elizabeth and Carson Daly for the manic, one-day, free-for-all explosion of cool.
Prior to the main competition segments, each contestant's individual cool factor would be figured using a predetermined and agreed-upon algorithm. To determine this, the judges would add the number of parties attended plus sexual frequency per month plus the length (in years) of cellular phone use.
From that sum, the judges would then subtract the sum of the estimated number of hours spent performing community service (based on his or her weekly average multiplied by the number of weeks spent on campus) and the number of offices held in campus organizations.
Those with a negative cool factor will be immediately eliminated, escorted away from the competition and told to lighten up.
The remaining contestants would then compete in a circuit of tests to determine their inner coolness. During the first 30-minute rotation, Tyrese would judge as each individual did his or her best to clothe a mannequin in a modern yet fashionable wardrobe. Shannon Elizabeth would administer an alcohol tolerance test, and finally, Carson would rate each contestant's coolness based on the records he or she buys during a Sam Goody shopping spree.
To break any ties, contestants would sweat it out during a dance-off, with extra points coming for outlandish and/or extraordinary bling.
After the pretenders were eliminated, the fan appreciation/runway portion of the competition would take place. Selections from Nelly's Nellyville and some kid's Dave Matthews Band bootleg would provide the supportive funk and sass necessary for shameless self-promotion. Per respective soundtrack, each contestant would enter stage right and prance, groove, jiggy or strut down the runway to garner fan support and woo the judges one final time before the decision-making process begins.
When all the contestants had cavorted sufficiently, the judges would retire to determine a winner. The crowd would stare in anticipation as Carson Daly added the tallies and subtly nodded to the German house music pumping through the arena's sound system. After, like, an eternity, he'd stand, walk majestically to the center of the runway and clutch the hanging microphone. And as the name of the winner emerges from his vocal cords, the crowd would erupt into fervor for no reason at all.
The winner would get the freaking award and everyone would shout and clap because he really proved he was what, exactly? More devoted to following trends? Who cares?
So much emphasis is placed on having the right things and looking a part that we forget the reason we want to anyway. It's great to be cool, but our pursuit to accumulate all of this materialistic substitution turns everyone into ugly second-generation Xeroxes of each other.
If happiness is the ultimate point, and I think it is, then our annoying quest for "stuff" and the resulting impressive social status should only contribute, at most, a small slice to the pie we call humanity.
Because in my unachievable, unrealistic perfect world, we would all win cool trophies no matter what.
Write to Allyn at aswest@bsu.edu
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