Annenberg Nights

All year long, I have been in a love-hate relationship. No, I’m not talking about some torrid, tempestuous love affair—at least, not with a girl. I’m talking about a dining hall. There are some things I hate about Annenberg—the food is at the top of the list—but nevertheless I am continuously drawn back to it through snow, wind, and rain. But there is a way to alleviate the nostalgia by returning upperclassmen to the jewel of Memorial Hall a few times a year.

Truth be told, all freshmen have a loathing/self-loathing complex for Annenberg. We all know the feeling—excluded from House life and ostracized in the Yard, the ‘Berg becomes a depressing and degrading reminder of the underling status of a freshman. And that’s before you even get to the food: after waiting in line, thanks to the Ec 10 lecture that just let out, you find hamburgers and hot dogs that have been stewing in their own juices for an hour. Yesterday’s chicken appears in the chow mein or fajitas regularly, and many a student has scanned the menu only to find solace in the salad bar. And, of course, there is the constant knowledge that at any given moment, you will likely be in some tourist’s photo.

Nevertheless, Annenberg has its obvious perks: its beautiful architecture, somewhere between a church and a Harry Potter movie, and its great location. But by far the best thing about Annenberg is what is most easily overlooked: seeing all your classmates every day. I for one have spent countless hours wandering amongst the tables, catching up with friends and meeting new ones. For a long time, I took this for granted and resented Annenberg. But looking back I have realized that most of my best memories from this year involve chatting about some random topic over barely-edible food with a group of the most interesting people I have ever met. Forget the dead white men adorning the walls—my friends are what bring me back to the ‘Berg every day.

Not surprisingly, these last few weeks have been tough as my days in that temple of dining are numbered. In two short weeks, my swipe card will no longer let out a shrill beep when I hand it to Domna. Instead, my friends will be scattered from Mather to Currier, and we will only return to Annenberg one day a year (aside from the depths of reading period), when we celebrate our differences after freshmen get their housing assignments. Casual conversations will turn into chants and arguments about who won the housing lottery. Sure, there will always be inter-house dining, and I will no doubt see my friends as I trek across campus. Yet deep down I know it won’t be the same.

But there is a way to keep Annenberg from becoming just a nostalgic memory. The idea is simple: Annenberg class nights. Instead of waiting for the senior champagne brunch a few weeks before commencement, each class would be invited back to Annenberg for dinner three or four times a year. Overwhelmed with nostalgia and a desire to catch up with those who got assigned to the other end of campus, Annenberg nights would be a big draw.

And upperclassmen wouldn’t be the only people to benefit. Freshmen would spend that night in the houses, forgetting their first-year status and chowing down on better food. It would also provide an opportunity for increased interaction between the yard and the houses, something that is currently lacking despite the best efforts of the prefect program.

In the end, nothing will cure my gloom as I exit Annenberg for the last time—not even the promise of more edible food. But the addition of Annenberg class nights would put a damper on my sadness and bring me back, if only occasionally, to the people that have made by freshman year so special.

Adam M. Guren ’08, a Crimson editorial editor, lives in Wigglesworth Hall.