The Streak

One night, when I was a sophomore at Lawrence, I was sitting in some smelly cushy chair on the third floor of the Mudd, tracing the words of some article – I’m sure very interesting, really – with my sleepy eyes. It was late May.I heard some whispering and giggling nearby, and then saw someone running. Then a voice over the intercom: “Will all seniors please report to the circulation desk.” Huh? I looked up, just in time to see something pink and pale zip by me. Flesh! In the library! Some seniors were streaking.

It was great. Chaos on an late-term Thursday in the Mudd. It made me happy to be at Lawrence.

That wasn’t the “official” streak, though. That I went and watched a few weeks later, feeling mostly awkward and disappointed. It just wasn’t as cool. I didn’t streak when my turn came because, well, people had couches set up along the path. Cameras. Discussions of relative merits. That was Gross. But mostly, I didn’t streak because it wasn’t streaking; it was merely parading, and I didn’t really feel like parading. Nobody ran, and everyone else was expecting it to happen. A drawn-out, anticipated, institutionalized streak is simply not a streak – it destroys the very core of what a streak is.

So, all the seniors (and underclassman) who are disappointed that this year’s streak has been Officially Cancelled, instead of bemoaning the loss of a tradition, should see this as a great graduation gift from the administration. You have an opportunity that I never had: you get to streak a true streak! Your streak will mean something; it will be a rebellion, anarchy. And it can happen at any time, at any place, in any situation.

Frankly, I’m jealous. I wish the administration had banned the streak back when I was a senior. Then it might have been fun.